


ASYA FF: Prem Kahani Thi Mushkil

by DixieJ



Category: Qubool Hai (Season 1)
Genre: F/M, Indian TV soap opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2018-10-25 20:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 137
Words: 592,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10771740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieJ/pseuds/DixieJ
Summary: Unable to express his feelings, Asad accidentally records a video message for a departing Ms. Farooqui: "Mat jao Zoya!" His half-confession makes her realize her own feelings for Mr. Khan.But finding true love isn't easy.Zoya, the eternal misfit and optimist, came to Bhopal to find a long-lost father; she found much more instead.While Asad's raging angst built precise walls at 90-degree angles, Zoya bumped into them leaving behind a glittery giggle heap. When Jahanpanah six packs collided with badass New York ki Jhansi ki Rani, stars fell to the earth and an unparalleled passion ignited.Two families wrenched apart by scars and secrets heal and unite to battle toxic villains and a variety of desi and pardesi gundas – from Agra to Mangalpur, and even New York.This story has it all: Four weddings and a funeral, a royal honeymoon aboard the Palace on Wheels, sexy trysts and sexier feminists, a multiplying charm bracelet, multiple orgasms, sagais and a godh bharai.Fall in love with Asad and Zoya again and find out what could have been.





	1. Jo Bheji Thi Dua

 

 

Typical Mr. Khan she fumed, after she came away from his room frothing with excited frustration. Allah miyan, what's wrong with him? Runs hot and cold. Kabhi haan, kabhi na. Confused man!

Zoya paced in her room replaying the scene in her head, frame by slo-mo frame. 

     "I found this recording of you not wanting me to leave India."

     "Umm … voh actually … it was a mix up … I said it becau—No, I want no such thing! I didn't mean any of it."

     "Oh really? So the 'mat jao, Zoya' was just a slip of the tongue?"

Oh how he'd hemmed and hawed! The man was impossible. 

     "What did you really mean in the video, Mr. Khan? I happened to stumble across it—what if I hadn't seen it? What if I'd left for New York?"

     "Go back to your room, Ms. Farooqui."

Annoying emotionally stunted man!

But why do I want him to own up to his feelings? She paced some more. 

Shut up, Zoya! Stop playing coy. You know why.

She sat down on her bed and watched the video again. With her thumb she gently touched the screen when his face appeared.

     "Actually, main khud ko express karne mein utna accha nahin hoon," he said softly in the video that he wasn't supposed to have recorded. 

Ya think, Mr. Khan? But she smiled. 

     "Itni si chhoti si baat tumse nahin keh pa raha hoon," he continued.

Funny. For a guy who loved yelling at her 24/7 he seemed to be fumbling with words all of a sudden. That catch in his voice … It tugged at her something bad. And saying, "Tumse?" Never had he ever said, 'tum' or 'tumse' before. It was always the icily polite, "aap." And that "aap" had almost always been a reprimand. For the hundredth time, she marveled at how torn he looked here; the hesitation, the look in his eyes when he looked straight into the camera, the intensity in the tone of his words … how vulnerable ...

     "Main nahin chahta ki tum jao."

Again the "tum." And no. No way was this a slip of the tongue. 

Everything added up. It had to. The realization sent tingly shivers down her spine.

Yes! Yes! Yes! She pumped her fist in the air. He does really want me to stay back!

Duh, of course he does. He said it in the video, didn't he?

But he disavowed it all when I confronted him just now? Did a total about-face!

Umm maybe if you left another laptop in front of him with the webcam on, he'll contradict himself all over again?

Ugh, Zoya was getting sick of this filmy double-role voice in her head, or heart, or wherever the hell it kept popping up from.

No, he wants me to stay back because I must mean something to him! That's why he's struggling with the words … I've always called him emotionally challenged before, and yet this video says so much. Mr. Khan does feel something for me! He even said "Zoya!" Usually he hides behind the cold, "Ms. Farooqui."

There, she had put up a solidly logical justification for her spiraling hope.  

But was it "love" that he felt for her...? Love wala love?

She felt a jolt in her heart.

Damn that voice. That cowardly voice was intent upon crushing her hopes, tryna pull her down.

Zoya huffed in annoyance before laying her guard down. 

Could it be? 

She hadn't dared to admit this to herself, but hadn't she feel the same about him? Wasn't this that love with a capital 'L'? That ishq wala love, that Najma and she were discussing once? That racing of her heart each time she ended up in his arms ... When he danced with her on Valentine's Day? When he held her in the rain at the farmhouse? The countless times he'd rescued her, heck, even when he glowered and yelled at her? A reluctant knight in shining armor, she'd joked to herself earlier. Someone he'd like to kill, instead of having to rescue again and again.

And again, that snarky voice chirped.

Zoya grinned. But then her dimples disappeared. 

She had never challenged another man so. She'd never been so rude in her life either. But somehow this guy made her want to be badtameez with a vengeance. She shivered feeling that punch in her gut again. C'mon, I even felt jealous each time he showed affection and concern for Tanu! It's got to be the "L" word. I totally meant it when I told him that I've come to rely so much on his strength, "when I'm in trouble, I think, Mr. Khan sab theek kar denge!"

Her mind replayed some of the most intense moments she had shared with him.

How he had come at just the right time and fought for her safety when Akram had forcibly tried to marry her. His fury at the injuries they'd inflicted on her ... that reluctant protectiveness during the Mangalpur fiasco. He'd even helped her find information about her father and been a pillar of strength and support when he told her about his death. He brought coffee for me ... listened to me about Abbu and Ammi, my fear of fire ... and now this ... and lying about the coin being heads when it was really tails ...

See, he does care!

She hugged the phone to her, hopeful and confident.

     "Kash, main keh paata ..." his tentative words repeated themselves in her ears on a happy, giddy loop.

Aap kyun nahin kehte hain, Mr. Khan? Mr. Khan, please sab theek kar dijiye, na. Please, say it! 

 

All afternoon and evening, Zoya stayed in her room agonizing over her feelings for him and feeling elated yet scared about the possibility of him reciprocating those feelings. At the dinner table Najma chattered on not noting her accomplice's pensiveness.

Zoya couldn't take it anymore. And she wasn't the kind to dwell for too long overthinking things. She was the apologize later-instead-of-asking for permission kinda girl. She made decisions swiftly and stuck to those decisions, whatever the consequences-it was her DNA.

After dinner, she resolved to talk to him.

She ran through several rehearsals and do-overs in her head.

     "Aap nahin kahenge. So I'll say it, for both of us ..."

No. That hardly sounded like a confession of love. Jeez, Zoya! Back it up, girl. 

She twisted her fingers together. I don't want to nag or guilt him into confessing his love for me.

Whoa! There, she'd said it, the "L" word.

Yes, I do love Mr. Khan!

She giggled and tried again looking at herself in the mirror: "Mr. Khan, this is equally hard for me to say. But if I don't, then we'll never be together ..." Hmm. Much better. Not too threatening that he'd go running to hide under his patthar-dil shell? How about ...?

Enough! She didn't need lame-ass rehearsals to delay the inevitable. The words would come. She was not Zoya Farooqui for nothing!

 

She barged into his room without knocking.

Asad was on his settee at his laptop, and looked up in exasperation.

     "Ms. Farooqui, how many times do I have to tell you about knocking first?"

In her usual fashion she ignored his irritation and the way his hand crept up to his forehead to squeeze the bridge of his nose. 

     "Mr. Khan," she said softly.

He went still. There was something in her tone, the texture of her breathy voice ... the way she hesitated. It alerted him to something bothering her. She looked eager, yet timid. Her eyes shone and pleaded. She had spoken too softly, not her style at all.

     She cleared her throat. "Umm ... Mr. Khan, I want to talk to you about something."

He couldn't believe that she of all people was having a hard time saying outright what she wanted to say. Never before had she prefaced her speech with words seeking permission. Usually, she bulldozed her way in and yelled at him, or picked a fight, and even pronounced him an insensitive sexist from the seventeenth century. Oh boy, all this hemming and hawing meant that this was going to be something big. He just knew it. Ms. Farooqui, and nervous about saying something? That's new. His heart missed a beat, but he said nothing, just gazed at her intently.

     She licked her lips. " I ... I know that I call you emotionally challenged all the time ..."

Oh god, here she goes again, Asad sighed. He couldn't take his eyes off the pulse in her neck, or her unsure lips. Those lips ...

     "But ..."

Hmm, more hesitation? This should be interesting, he wondered. But his heart flipped and bounced around erratically in his chest much to his alarm. Asad's eyes were drawn to her agitated fingers, twisting and squeezing nervously.

     "I now realize that you're an intensely private person and ... and as you said in the video, I know now, that you have a hard time expressing your emotions. I'm sorry that I taunted you … or nagged you about it."

That damn video! He'd made a complete fool of himself and she was never going to let him forget it. To make a dumb confession and have it accidentally recorded was bad enough. To be called out by this woman who represented everything he disliked was worse. But wait ... an actual apology from the mighty Ms. Farooqui! He couldn't tell where this was going. But he sensed a seismic shift. He knew that something momentous was coming, that she was leading up to something big because he'd never known her to be so tongue-tied, or be so careful about the choice of her words. Her agitated hands were a blur now. If the man wasn't so besotted himself, he'd see that she her body language was mirroring his combo of hesitation and vulnerability from the video.

He still said nothing. Asad crossed his arms. 

Zoya began to panic. His brooding silence was intimidating. Allah miyan ... ? She felt the blood rush to her face. Allah miyan, am I doing the right thing, she wondered for the millionth time.

     Gripping her hands tightly, she plodded on, "but I am not like you. I … I'm open about my feelings." Her nails dug into her palms, and she clenched her eyes shut as she swallowed, "I ... I like you a lot." Her voice broke, "... and ... and I hope that I never have to leave. This feels like home. I want to love your mom and sister as mine and be a part of your family."

She ran out of his room and into her own.

 

Zoya slammed the door to lean heavily against it. There. It was done.

Good job Zoya, she mentally patted herself on her back. Not bad at all. At least now there's nothing unsaid and unheard between us anymore. Now the ball is firmly in his court. He can either be alone with his best friends "Tehzeeb," "Tameez," and "Lihaaz," or he can tell me how he really feels. She giggled at her wit and then sighed. And no video this time, Mr. Khan! Better put your big-boy pants on and tell me to my face!

Zoya hugged herself tightly reliving some of the moments of closeness between them, how he was always there to catch her from falling, how they tended to be lost in each other's eyes when they got so close.

Mr. Khan, please! she begged, god knows who. He certainly couldn't hear her.

But he won't say it, a voice whispered in her head. He's not the type, it insisted more loudly now. Look how long it took him to say, "mat jao Zoya!"

A grim idea stuck her numb, and Zoya's smile evaporated.

What if he doesn't feel the same way about me?

She remembered that moment in the farmhouse when they had come inside from the rain and sat side by side on the sofa. She still got warm and gooey all over thinking of those beautiful words he'd said, so passionately. The words had such an intensity. 

     "Agar aap mujhe itni napasand hain, to mere khwabon mein apke saye kyun? Agar aap mujhe itni buri lagti hain, to kyun meri tanhayiyon mein khalal deti hain? Kyun mere andheron mein roshni ban ke aati hain?"

See? "Mere andheron mein roshni?" Of course he feels the same way about me; he said so himself! He wouldn't have got me that cheesecake when I was feeling so low that day, or helped me find out about Abbu and deal with his death, or even been so romantic and such fun at Holi. He's saved my life so many times, taken care of me. And then in the video he was so clear about wanting me to stay back! She hugged herself tight.

But what if all he feels is pity?

No! Stop it, Zoya! Don't open that door.

But then she remembered the rest of their conversation from that evening at the farmhouse. 

     "Khwabon aur hakeekat mein bahut fark hota hai. Main apne jazbaaton mein nahin beh sakta. Kyun ki aap mere liye, meri zindagi ke liye, mere ghar ke liye bilkul misfit hain! Aap kabhi bhi ek achhi bahu ya acchi biwi nahin ban saktin. You are a misfit."

And she was devastated.

Oh god! The other memories came flooding back too: how he detested the way she dressed, her liberal views and ways, or when she argued with him. How her messiness seemed to always put his teeth on edge. How he had yelled at her about that leaky gas cylinder, or when bailing her out of jail, the cricket match, Najma's wig ... the attack on Phuphi!

The hate-list was endless.

And so was her misery.

She nearly gagged on the horror.

That is why he hasn't ever said anything Zoya, and never will.

Oh my god, I'm so stupid. He still thinks I'm interfering and irresponsible, childish and insolent ... that I nearly killed his family with that gas leak. He thinks I'm a bad influence on Najma. He dislikes my wearing jeans. He thinks me unladylike and loud, badtameez and ... 

     "Aap misfit hain ... kabhi ek acchi bahu ya biwi nahin ban sakteen."

Zoya moaned.

He even hit me when he thought that I'd endangered Phuphi's life. And although he's apologized for that, his opinion of me has barely improved! Allah miyan, Zoya what's wrong with you? You stupid, dumb girl! She flashbacked to yet another favorite opinion of his regarding her: "Aapko rishton ki ehmiyat nahin pata hai!" He would never want to be with someone like me! He said so that day, that no matter how he feels, he would never give in to his emotions. It wasn't that he was emotionally challenged, it was that he looked at emotions and love as a sign of weakness, something to be resisted. And feelings for a woman like me? I'm nobody, illegitimate, and representative of everything he detests in women. He likes women like Tanu, well-mannered, highly accomplished, demure and conservative. Even Phuphi was talking of how everyone used to say that Asad and Tanveer should get married. And even if he does feel something for me, he'll fight these feelings to his dying breath.

She broke down.

I can fight his silence but not his prejudice. He likes me but hates himself for liking me. I'm so stupid. Why am I always so impulsive? So blind? Why did I have to go and make such a fool of myself?

She thought about going back to his room, but stopped herself.

How could she ever face him again?

Zoya paced in her room and then decided to take the coward's way out by texting him. 

     "Please ignore all the stupid things I just said. I'm sorry for being so inappropriate."

She broke down fully after hitting send.

He's right about you. You are such a total idiot! No self-restraint, no sense of decorum. Congrats Zoya, you just confirmed every negative thing he thinks about you. Zoya Farooqui, you deserve to be miserable. 

     "Aap misfit hain ..."

Misfit.


	2. ... Woh Jaake Aasman, Se Yoon Takra Gayee

 

   

In his room, a shocked Asad still stood in the same spot, blitzed. He was rooted to the ground. His mind churned. 

But his heart thumped and rejoiced. I want you to stay forever with me ... with us, too. I just can't say it so directly because I don't have your courage ... Ammi always did say that I overthink things.

He was surprised by how clear his mind was about his feelings though. 

All these months of awkward and silent attraction, the strange pull he felt each time she laughed or pouted or bristled in anger at him. He thought of how, so often these days, he liked to provoke her by feigning strictness or seriousness just to see her eyes widen in response and then stab him with their glare as she retorted, "oh really?" The feel of her in his arms that night when she'd nagged him about dancing because he'd lost a bet? The vision of her in a saree? What were the words he'd said to her that day ... "phir mere khwabon mein aapke saye kyun?"

The jolt he'd felt when she had said, "aap bhi toh dekhne waali cheez hain na Mr. Khan!"

The way she always called him Mr. Khan. Only once she'd called him Asad, and hadn't he yearned to hear his name on her lips ...? He had certainly loved pranking her at Holi! 

Had it really been love all along?

Love ...?

If not, then what was that "mat jao Zoya," video plea all about? Why couldn't he bear the thought of her leaving? Going away to New York for ever … To never see her again? Why pretend that the incredibly foolish coin-toss had been in favor of her staying back in India? Why not admit that when he had seen her injured at the bus accident site and she fell into a dead faint in his arms, his heart had stopped cold. Just admit it, you can't bear it when she's in pain. When you hit her, the cut she got, the anger you'd felt course through you when you saw her bleeding at Akram's house. When that bastard slashed her hands ... 

Asad ran his hand through his hair in agitation. 

He hadn't even realized the camera was still recording last night. Having recorded his real message to wish her luck for the trip and her life, he had turned around and stared into the heartless night. It had seemed darker, the sky more starless. 

When Zoya had showed the video to him this morning he'd been so embarrassed. And terrified that she knew how he really felt about her. 

Somehow he'd stuttered his way out by pretending to be angry and impatient just so he could get her off his back.  

He had sighed in relief when she stormed out of his room. But she had just stormed right back in, hadn't she? 

He grinned.

Only Zoya! 

Asad remembered the first time he'd seen her at the dargah in her wedding finery. The bridal veil, the deep henna on her hands, pearls at her throat, in her hair … He had been a man bewitched. Her tears that day had affected him so strongly. 

Those tears had seemed his own. He'd flinched when she wiped her cheek. Was it because he had seen the lace of dark bridal mehendi lacerating her hands?

He hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. 

He'd wanted to wipe her tears away, rest her head on his shoulders, and promise her that she would never cry again. The intensity of his emotional attraction to her that day had staggered him. But their next few meetings had thankfully erased that powerful tug. 

Or so he thought. 

She had been insolent and defiant, and he'd tried to put her in her place. She been a mouthy pain in the ass, he'd tried to shut her up and forget her each time. But she'd given her own back. And then a few days later, he'd found her in his bed. Asad glanced at the bed. 

His heart hammered. 

He crashed on the settee, holding his head in his hands. Zoya! Why can't I get you out of my head?

He stretched out, hands behind his head now.

Truth be told, he still couldn't bear to see her cry, and ached to hold her whenever he saw her with her father's music box. When she had broken down at her father's gravesite, he wanted to crush her in his arms and hold her till her soul was mended. And his. He still remembered it all so vividly. When after offering his prayer he'd looked up that day at the dargah to find her gone, he had felt a hollow sense of unexplained loss. 

And now he had the chance to ...

His phone pinged, and he looked at the sender's name and smiled fully. Tracing her name with his thumb, Asad opened it eagerly. He read Zoya's text with a sinking heart. 

No! Please, it wasn't stupid at all! I was stupid for not saying anything.

He felt terrible that his reticence and unfounded fears of hurt and betrayal were making her doubt herself. He needed to talk to her, to tell her … 

He started to go to her room and ran into Tanu just outside his room.

     "Jammy, can I talk to you about something really important." 

Asad looked longingly towards Zoya's room, but then sighing said, "sure." 

     "It's private, can we go to your room? I'll bring badaam milk which you used to like so much." 

     "OK."

He walked into his room, but not before looking back at Zoya's closed door for one last time. 

Tanu had already prepared the milk. All that was needed was to slip something into the glass. 

     "I'm sorry, Jammy. But this is the only way out for me." 

She carried the tray into Asad's room. 

The door closed behind her.

 

The night dragged. Zoya's misery escalated in direct proportion to her earlier joy—right here, in the same spot. She sat on the floor by the bed, unconsciously hugging herself close. 

Please ... If you saw the text, come tell me that I'm not stupid or a dumb loser. Tell me that you do think I am good for you and your family. Please! Tell me I'm not a misfit.

Her torment multiplied with each ticking second. Each ticking second hope diminished and doom magnified.

How am I going to face him tomorrow? Stupid idiot! What were you thinking?

She kept looking toward door; her tears fell, and she rocked herself. 

 

In his room Asad listened distractedly to Tanu. The coil of unease in his belly grew heavier. He kept stealing looks at the wall clock as it got later and later into the night. Tanu talked of rebooting her life and starting over. Could he help her? 

     "Of course, whatever you need." Just hurry up, please! 

She urged him to drink the milk and started to monotonously drone on about her business plans and to rebuild her life here in Bhopal with his support. Because she felt so close to his family. 

Asad nodded vaguely in agreement and peeped at his wristwatch. The seconds were ticking away. He needed to say so much to Zoya. Where would he start? He stumbled. Asad began to feel disoriented and sat down heavily on the bed.

As he tried to put away the half-drunk glass of milk, she coaxed, "oh, you don't look so well, Jammy. Drink up, and you'll feel a lot better." 

Not wanting to create a fuss as well as speed the meeting along, he did. He hoped this would get her to finish sooner so that he could go talk to Zoya, take her in his arms ...

But why was he feeling dizzy ... ?

Asad collapsed on the bed. 

 

Next morning found Zoya asleep on the floor of her room, curled up in a ball. 

 

Asad woke up in his bed with a terrible headache. He looked down at himself groggily and saw that he was undressed. Surprised, he turned to the side to see a naked female back. A mass of black hair spilled on the pillow.

Wide awake now, he jumped out of his skin in alarm. God knows why he thought or hoped it would be Zoya, but he tried to shake her awake and almost yelled at her. How could she send him that text and then do this ...? 

The woman turned. 

It wasn't Zoya. 

Asad looked at her shocked and dismayed. 

     "What happened? Why are you—?" 

She covered herself up and promptly burst into tears. Through loud sobs Tanveer told him how they both had got carried away when she started to cry last night and he tried to console her. 

He couldn't process her words. His head felt woolly; it pounded like a jackhammer on asphalt. 

Carried away? What the hell was she talking about? Her wails were grating on his shredded nerves. What? How? 

     "What's going to happen to me now? I'm ruined. How could you do this to me?"

Asad tried to calm her down, mortified and panicked. Why can't I remember anything? What is happening? How did ...?

     "It'll be OK. It's not the end of the world. Just please stop crying so I can think." 

She lashed out at him, "it may not be for you, but it's the end of the world for me! I'm damaged goods now. Already I'm all alone in the world. And now this," she continue to wail. 

Asad's eyes widened. He winced. The bright light hurt. He was in a state of utter panic and horror now. This could not be happening. He could not have done what she said! 

     "Please don't worry. I'll take care of it. I won't let anything bad happen to you." Just please don't cry or talk.

She continued to scream, "how? How will you take care of this? What if I get pregnant? How will I raise the child all on my own? Will you marry me and make this right?

He felt shame and resentment bubble up and choke him. No! Never! But taking a deep breath, and with a heavy heart, he ceded all hope and signed away his miserable life away, "yes, I'll marry you." 

She hugged him through her tears and he held her awkwardly, hollow with complete horror and self-disgust. 

Asad squeezed his eyes shut.

I'm sorry, Zoya.

 

At breakfast Dilshad and Najma bustled around the kitchen. Zoya was in the background trying to smile as Najma nattered on. Act like nothing's happened, she kept reminding herself. An hour at a time. A day at a time. It can't get any worse, can it? It's just a matter of getting through breakfast. I'm strong. I'll be able to fix myself by dinner. By tomorrow it'll feel like she'd done nothing stupid at all. 

In the bright light of the morning she had felt that may be she hadn't completely ruined everything. She could fake some cheer and may be make a joke out if it. She could pretend that she was just pulling his leg. He would frown in disapproval, and she'd tease him with that dumb sher of hers, "kab kahenge Jahanpanah six packs ..."

Oh god, you stupid, dumb moron!

Thank you Allah Miyan! At least she hadn't said, I love you! No "L" word. Yay, right?

Tanu came in smiling, and Mr. Khan trudged in after her with a heavy tread. Zoya's heart dropped. Them coming out together like this from his room, her dressed so traditionally, just the way he likes ... 

Zoya's eyes fell to hide her shame.

Asad's eyes hungrily sought her face. She did not meet his gaze, but he noticed shadows under her eyes and felt a pang. 

Everyone sat down except for Zoya who lingered at the counter, cutting fruit.

Good mornings were exchanged.  

     Tanu excitedly proclaimed, "Khala, there is some good news to share!" 

Asad swallowed hard, and looked crushed. 

     "Jammy wants to tell you all something. Hai na, Jammy?"

Asad was annoyed at Tanu. They had not discussed telling everyone. He had hoped that they could discretely wait and find out if she was pregnant first, before deciding and announcing anything. He hated that she'd put him in a bind in front of Ammi and, Zo—

He sensed Zoya behind him as he prepared to crush her. 

     Asad looked up at Dilshad and stuttered, "woh, Ammi, actually ..."

Tanu's lips thinned in annoyance. 

She hadn't worked this hard to have him hem and haw about this. She had bulldozed through his grogginess earlier. Getting him to say yes to marrying her had taken a lot of tears and wails. Her throat was raw. She knew that he wouldn't be able to get the words out, and also that his woebegone expression would contradict his words even if he was able to slur them out somehow. 

     "Jammy and I have decided to get married," she declared with contemptuous glee. 

There was a muffled gasp and clatter behind him that only he heard. 

The evidence of the end of Zoya's world was quickly covered up as cheers of joy erupted from his mother and sister who rushed to hug and embrace the two. An emotional Dilshad blessed them and bustled about to ward off evil spirits.  

     While Najma and Dilshad continued to excitedly ask Asad how and when, a simpering Tanu walked up to Zoya, "Zoya. you're so quiet. Aren't you happy for us?" 

     Zoya wiped her hands on the apron and said in a soft, strangled voice, "of course, I am just shocked that's it's so sudden. Congratulations." She hugged Tanu and blinked several times. As she parted from her, she said after clearing her throat: "I hope you both will be very happy. Allah aap dono ko mere hisse ki bhi khushiyan de de."

Asad's eyes stung as he looked away. 

Zoya removed her apron and told Dilshad that she was expecting an important call from Jeeju about her visa and that they should carry on without her. She fled to her room, raced to the bathroom, and fell down to the floor sobbing. 

She stuffed her fist into her mouth to silence herself, biting down hard on her knuckles.

 

After breakfast, Dilshad was cleaning up and looked closely at the apron; she saw some bloodstains. 

     "Arre, where did this blood come from? Oh, Zoya must have cut herself when she was cutting the fruit. Allah! This girl is so clumsy!" 

Asad heard this and went to his room. Closing the door behind him he leaned against it. Tears of fury and self-loathing now threatened to stream down his face. Images of Zoya's tortured face swam before his eyes. He took out his phone to re-read her text. He remembered how she had looked when she said those things to him. He had come so close to telling her about his own feelings. And now a door had slammed in his face forever. Seeing her dash to her room made him want to run after her to tell her that none of this was real and that he loved her and only her.

Now you admit that you love her?

Fool!

He balled his fist, close to smashing it through the glass. He needed to go a few rounds at his punching bag ...  

 

After a long cry, Zoya tried to compose herself. Looking in the mirror, she gave herself a pep talk.

Stop this crying. You can't let anyone see you like this. What if Phuphi found out? Do you want to dim her happiness? Then just man the hell up Zoya Farooqui! Allah miyan, please give me the strength to bear this. And please don't make me mess this up any more. 

She reeled as a new thought squeezed her heart. What if Mr. Khan had already proposed to Tanu before she had gone in like a blundering baby rhino and blurted her heart out? No wonder he didn't say a word! Oh god, Allah miyan, what have I done? What was I thinking? 

You weren't thinking you stupid idiot! she chided herself. How could you even think that he'd like ... love ... someone like you? Zoya Farooqui, have you forgotten who you are, what you are? A nameless, fatherless nobody! A scarred, defective misfit!

And that set her crying again.

Splashing cold water on her face, she tried to rationalize her miserable way out of a mess she had created. Tanu will be right for him. She is exactly what he wants in a life partner, someone who is good around the house, so capable, someone who has the values and cultural upbringing that he holds important. They've known each other for years and been best friends. This is the right thing. She will be good for him and take good care of Phuphi. Be a big sister to Najma. Phuphi also loves her like a daughter. 

And me …? Phuphi loves me too.

You would have never been good for him.

     "Aap sirf ek mehman hain ...  misfit ... "

She remembered what she'd said to him yesterday, and burst into tears all over again, all resolve forgotten. 

I should go back.

Leave.

Now.

 

Zoya splashed more water on her face and carefully applied make-up to cover up the evidence of her crying. She squared her shoulders to walk out into the living room. 

Mr. Khan had left for work and Phuphi, Najma and Tanu were in there making plans. Thank god.

     "Oh, come Zoya, help us. There's so much to be done. They want to get married as soon as possible," Dilshad gushed.

     Zoya, came up and said bravely, and much too brightly, "Sure Phuphi! Aap sirf shaadi ki taiyari par dhyaan dijiye, I'll help in any way I can." 

     Dilshad happily embraced her and said, "you are so sweet." 

The three of them talked excitedly about the colors of dresses, flowers, menu, decorations, functions, themes, etc. 

Zoya felt left out, excluded from a charmed circle that she'd never be a part of. She saw Tanu looking at her and plastered a smile on her face.

     "Zoya, what do you think would be the best color on me," asked Tanu sidling up to her.

     "Umm," she pressed her fingers to her lips to keep them from quivering. "All colors look good on you, Tanveer. Aap designer hain, aap ko behtar idea hoga. I just know jeans and tops." 

She rubbed her palms down her thighs self-consciously. 

     "Lekin tab bhi, kya khayal hai apka?" 

     With hands tightly gripped, Zoya offered the first color that came to mind, "Green?" 

She closed her eyes. In Mangalpur she had worn a green bridal dress.

     She swallowed. "May be red?"

     "Lehenga ya sharara?"

Nails digging into her palms, drawing fresh blood from her earlier wound, Zoya stammered, "umm, you'll look great in both, I'm sure." 

     "Oh my goodness Zoya, you're bleeding! Here, let me help you bandage it." 

     "Thanks, I'll take care of it. It's a small cut, no big deal." 

Getting the first aid box, Zoya quietly dressed the wound.  

     "Phuphi, if you don't need me right now, main thodi der bahar ho kar ayoon?" She asked Dilshad a little later.

     "Haan beta, but come back soon. Bahut sare kaam hain. So much to do. So many lists to make ..."

     "Jee."

Zoya left to go to the dargah.

 


	3. Jaane Kahan Chhup Ke Baitha Hai Khuda

 

 

Once at the dargah, she sank to her knees and wept silently. Please Allah miyan, don't let me make a bigger fool of myself.

This was becoming a litany.

Please give me the strength to accept your will and not ask for something I don't deserve. I should have left then. I had the tickets in my hand … that dumb coin toss. If only I hadn't seen Mr. Khan's video. I've made such a stupid mess of things. I should have never come to India. Aapi was right.

Really, Zoya? Do you really wish you'd never come to India, never met Phuphi and Najma and Mr. Khan? Never seen him express that pain, that hunger …?

She wept silently.

Ayaan happened to be there too. He had promised Ammi to drop off some donated supplies for the poor. Seeing Zoya he couldn't but help remember the first time he'd seen her. Right here, exactly like this, crying softly. What was bothering her? Was everything OK? He had to find out. Somehow he had never found out why she was crying that first time either. Having got to know her over these past few days, he was surprised at her tears. She didn't seem the type to cry. She seemed so bindaas and chilled out. Something terrible must have happened.

He waited for her to leave, and just like the last time, he chased after her. "Zoya, what happened? Why're you so sad? Is everything OK?"

Zoya tried to smile and deny it. She was mortified that he'd seen her be so vulnerable.

He persisted, "tell me what's going on! Come on, don't you think of me as a good friend?"

She told him that she was missing her father.

     "Is he in America?"

     "No, he passed away a long time ago," she murmured with lowered lashes and walked away with her head bowed.

 

At work, Asad couldn't concentrate.

He was haunted by Zoya's memories, her expressions, that silly shayari ... But most of all, her face this morning when she found out about his damned engagement. Her nonsensical sher from not too long ago, arrested his thoughts:

     "Jahanpanah six packs, kab kahenge mujhe koi mil gaya,

     Jahanpanah six packs, kab kahenge mujhe koi mil gaya

     Woh pyaar mein girenge, aur bolenge,

     Oh no! Mera ghutna chhil gaya!"

She'd been so determined then to suss out Ammi's assailant, and to prove him dead wrong about his father. She hadn't given a thought to putting her life on the line for his Ammi.

So fiercely loyal to Ammi's faith in Mr. Rashid Ahmed Khan's innocence!

Even he had not supported Ammi then. And Zoya had stood up to him and his rigid principles. No one had even stood up to him like that ever before. And that too for his family. Fighting with him about Najma first, then Ammi.

He squeezed his eyes in bitter remorse.

The terrible words he'd said to her about her character, her parents, her upbringing!

Asad slammed a hopeless fist on the desk.

She must have cried in her room this morning hiding her pain from everyone. Before leaving for work he had glanced longingly at the closed door of her room; he'd yearned to to walk in and gather her in his arms, and kiss her tears and self-doubts away.

He could only pace in angry frustration and pain.

I wish I had told you much sooner how I feel about you. You were right. I can't express myself and am emotionally challenged. I wish I could turn back time.

Idiot! 

Ayaan called just then and told him that he'd seen Zoya at the dargah and that she was really upset.

     "Bhaijaan, she was crying like the last time. You remember, right? When--"

Asad did remember. Her crying that first time he saw her at the dargah last year had changed his life. He covered his face in anguish.

     "I didn't know that her father had died. She said that she was missing him and that's why she was crying."

Asad told him of Zoya's reason for coming to India in search of her estranged father and how they had only recently found out about her dad's passing.

     "Oh my god, I didn't know," said Ayaan. "How can she be so chirpy, and yet carry around so much grief inside her?"

Asad kept quiet and closed his eyes.

You don't know the half of it, he thought. This time she's crying because of me. And there's nothing I can do. 

 

Back at home, when Zoya returned, Najma excitedly told her that they had decided to take the previously-discussed road trip to Ajmer Sharif.

     "Such fun, no? Hum sab saath saath itni masti karenge. Gaane gayenge, yummy dhaba food khayenge. Make sure you pack right away. We leave tomorrow morning."

Nicely done, Zoya, you moron, she scolded herself.

The trip had been her brilliant idea and now it was to be her punishment--close quarters with Mr. Khan and Tanu? Serves you right for being a complete ass. Have fun--here's looking at you kid.

At the dinner table that night, everyone made eager plans for the trip and the wedding. Silent misery mirrored on their faces Asad and Zoya simply looked down and toyed with their food.

     "Zoya, why are you so quiet," asked Tanu archly. "Don't you want to go to Ajmer Sharif?"

Asad looked up at Tanu slightly annoyed. He seemed to detect a cruel streak in her lately. Lately? Had it only been a few miserable hours that his world had been turned on its head? 

Dilshad interjected, "nahin, nahin, that can't be. The road trip idea was Zoya's. She's the one who suggested it in the first place!"

Zoya gripped her fork and knife tight. She smiled gamely and said she'd love to go and had always wanted to go because she has heard so much about Ajmer Sharif's spiritual power and healing. She had heard about the place from Jeeju and Aapi who had visited a long time ago.

     "Ajmer Sharif ka bulawa aaya hai," Dilshad said to her and Zoya smiled, nodding her head.

     "Jee."

She bravely joined in the banter asking Najma what clothes she would be taking and what shopping they would do there, and Najma took over the conversation. When the conversation faltered, she asked how long it would take by road, and again everyone jumped in to answer her question and make more plans. How long would they be there for? Where would they stay? What would the weather be like?

Asad stole a look at her. Only he could see that she was covering up her lack of real participation by posing neutral questions. He saw that she was barely eating and that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. He also saw her tightly gripped and bandaged hands and how she was barely holding on to her self-control. He pushed his plate away unable to swallow a single morsel.

Later, Asad turned to Dilshad and said, "Ammi please make sure that you pack your medicines. In fact we should talk to the doctor about what precautions to take during the trip." She had just barely recovered from the shooting.

      "Don't worry about it. Zoya's organized all my medicines and I already talked to the doctor today. I'll be fine."

As everyone was leaving to turn in for the night, Zoya cleared her throat and said soflty, "Mr. Khan?"

He turned around too quickly at the sound of her voice to look at her. She was twisting her hands again.

Without meeting his gaze she said, "umm ... please remember to take your anti-allergy injection."

Dilshad burst out, "yes, Zoya is absolutely right! You are really careless about your health, Asad. If Zoya hadn't found the injection that day in your room, I don't know what we would have done." She shuddered with remembered horror. Any longer, and he would have gone into complete anaphylactic shock. Thank god for Zoya!

Asad nodded and walked away. In his room Asad walked toward his closet and opened the drawer to pull out the epi-pen so he wouldn't forget. He noticed her earring and the coin that Zoya had childishly insisted on using to decide whether she would stay back in India. He also recalled how, for the first time yesterday, his heart had intuitively made the decision to lie about the result so that she wouldn't leave for New York. He had never lied before. It had felt so right. He had pretended to be angry at her bizarre pranks, but now Asad knew how happy he was then. When he had seen her hug Ammi, and Ammi give her a fond kiss, he knew that he had wanted that moment to last forever and that he had found the girl who would love Ammi even more than him. He bent to caress the earring, but stopped. Had it only been twenty four hours since she'd told him how she felt? In just one day he had turned his and her world topsy-turvy. How did they go from him struggling to stop her from leaving India, to losing her forever?

He sat on the bed and held his leaden head in his hands while images of Zoya's face danced in his head, taunting and plaguing him for his silence and cowardice. Again. Forgive me, Zoya.

This had become his own tortured litany that he whipped himself with every waking moment.

 


	4. Main Hoon Gumsum Tu Bhi Khamosh Hai

 

 

The next morning everyone was packed up and eager to set off. 

Asad told Dilshad that he'd invited Ayaan to join them. 

Ayaan stepped out from behind the SUV and grinned at them while ruffling his messy hair. Dilshad smiled and patted his back. She loved how the brothers were so close to each other despite the rancor between the two families.   
   
They set off with the men in front and the women in the back. Zoya and Najma were in the third row. 

Soon they left the city behind and were on the highway. 

Fields and tiny towns whizzed by. Any other time, and Zoya would have been glued to the window exclaiming and squealing at the merry sights zipping by. Kids playing cricket on the streets. Vendors with food, magazines, balloons wove in and out of stalled traffic. But not now. Now those sights were blurred and fuzzy through a sheen of unshed tears. Now, unrequited love wedged in deep and raw.

Zoya plugged in her earphones to watch the video of Mr. Khan asking her to stay back, "mat jao, Zoya." Just one last time. It was hard to keep away. Masochism loved toggle the splinter of heartache.

Asad, meanwhile, had been trying to steal glances at her in the rear view mirror, but was unable to get a clear view even after adjusting it several times. He could just barely see the top of her bowed head.   
He sighed in frustration and remorse.

Soon a bored Najma piped up, "let's play antakshari. It'll be fun."  
Almost everyone groaned, but Ayaan liked the idea and soon had convinced everyone to join in.   
Najma and Ayaan high-fived. 

     "Tanu aap, Asad and Ayaan Bhaijaan can be a team, and me, Zoya and Ammi will be in the other team."   
   
They sang some of the most common songs that one remembers by default when this game first starts. Zoya and Asad joined in only when prodded by others.  

Najma's team got "Ha" and she started singing "Hum tum, ek kamre main band hon." 

All, except Asad, joined in.   
   
He looked away and remembered that time they were handcuffed in Mangalpur. Finally working together as a team they had managed to escape from their captors and find shelter at the ridiculously-named, Apna Dhaba. But they'd still been handcuffed to each other.  

     "… aur chabhi kho jaye …"

Irony had never hurt this much. The words from the song were enough to take him back in time ...

At night on the stairs he had forgetfully moved too quickly to his right, and she had been dragged helplessly across his knees, her face mere inches from his. It could have been just the two of them in the whole wide world. They had been so close. One inch more, and he could have feathered her reddening cheek with his lips.

And then later at night, in the room they had been forced to share, he must have yanked his hand in sleep. And she had fallen on top of him tumbling into his arms jolting him awake. Her hair had spilled over their faces curtaining off a private world in which only the two of them breathed while gazing into each other's startled and heated eyes. 

He could feel her racing heart and— 

Both those times, and so many other times too, there was always such a crackle of awareness between them. His eyes and hands had lingered longer than they should have. How easy it would have been to turn her over that night and tuck her soft body under his, bury his face in her neck and—  

Even then he had to have known that his mind and body had never reacted this way to any other woman. When he had feared her lost forever in that forest of despair, his heart had clearly told him what it wanted as he'd prayed for her life.   
Why hadn't he listened to his heart then? 

Coward!  
   
When Najma's song ended at "Ya," Ayaan started to sing, "ye raat bheegi bheegi," while lightly strumming his guitar. 

And this time Zoya remembered the night at the farmhouse and their sensuous dance while it had rained.

 

That night had been so magical. She'd never felt so happy, so delirious, and so in love.   
For the first time, Mr. Khan had allowed himself to open up before her and been playful and flirtatious. Allah miyan, he had actually laughed and teased her! Had they really danced together? She could still feel his caress on her chin and how her breath had hitched when he had brushed his knuckles against her lips. She had completely surrendered her heart that night when he had held her hands in his against his chest. The drizzle had added a veil of heated privacy as their bodies had swayed against one another.  
His reluctant confession that night ... those words had melted her heart.

And then the next day, everything had changed. 

Yes, Zoya. That was the sign that you should have heeded. The universe was already telling you to not dream so big ...

She squeezed her eyes shut and a tear escaped. She quickly dashed it away and joined in the song.  

Much later, Ayaan was driving and Hindi songs continued to play on the radio. They heard some caller request the song "bol na halke, halke" from the film "Jhoom Barabar Jhoom." 

Najma squealed, "ooh, I love this song. It is so romantic, isn't it Zoya? It's one of my favorite Rahat Fateh Ali Khan songs! I know it's your favorite song too, isn't it?" 

Zoya said yes softly. She ducked her head and let her hair cover her flaming face.   
This time Asad, pretending to be asleep, relived their heady dance from that night. It was still a blurry memory because of the bhaang, but he could vividly recall the sensation of holding her warm and soft body in his arms and swaying to some unheard music. Wasn't this the song he thought he'd heard? It couldn't have been real. But it felt so real.   
It had steamed that night.   
It was the first time he had seen her in a saree and she looked stunning with her hair still damp and that dimple still flashing. 

He remembered her spinning in langurous circles around him and how he had tried to catch her floating palla but she'd gleefully escaped his grasp, laughing up at him and mocking him for not being quick enough. When she had turned her back to him his breath had caught at the sight of her bare back with two flimsy strings holding her blouse together. One flick of his wrist to tug at them, and he could have rained a thousand open-mouthed kisses, tasting the rain on her exposed skin. What would her skin feel like against his? What if he was bolder that night and scooped her into his arms, carried her inside and made love to her all night? 

He shook his head to get a grip on his flyaway thoughts. Hollow desire and searing regret rippled through him.  
 

  
They made many stops along the way. They crossed state lines. The language changed as did the geography and food. The old Zoya would have loved this vibrant India. But the new Zoya saw colors run and fade to sepia.  
She mostly stayed quiet, and close to Dilshad and Najma. Najma's excitement and constant chatter helped cover her misery.   
Sometimes. 

She would pretend to be immersed in her iPad or stuff her ears with her headphones when Najma mentioned mehendi functions, shaadi songs, weddings, waleemas and honeymoons. She didn't want to pretend that she had a headache. Phuphi and Tamatar would fuss and then she'd die of embarrassment because Mr. Khan would know why she was faking. 

     "Zoya, we have to make a list of songs! It'll be such fun!"

When her voice became steadier, Zoya would get Najma diverted by talking about Ranbir Kapoor, his upcoming film and how they'd watch it when they returned home.  

     "And we still have to watch Aashiqui 2," Najma gushed.

Ayaan rolled his eyes, "chick flick," he muttered. His sisters and Humaira too would go on and on about that one. Najma glared at him.

     "The songs are so nice, na? Here," she grabbed Zoya's iPad. "Let's play some of them."

Oh god! Not that one. Please, please Tamatar, Zoya screamed silently. Not "sun raha hai na tu, ro rahi hoon main" Because I'll really burst into tears right here, right now. And everyone will know how stupid I've been …  

     "No, let's listen to some peppy songs. How 'bout Badtameez dil' or 'Balam pichkari'?" she asked Najma who eagerly agreed.

Ayaan noticed something being off and grilled Asad about it later, "what's going on with Mona darling? Why is she so quiet? Do you think she's still thinking about her father? So sad, really."  

Asad turned his face away and shrugged.

     "C'mon Bhaijaan, I know that you don't like her! You think that she's a goofball, like me, heh heh, but she's not all that bad. Remember how she kidnapped me from the hospital so we could meet?"

Asad swore under his breath and kicked a stone away savagely. How had he forgotten that? Zoya had seen how upset he was about being forbidden to visit Ayaan at the hospital and she'd promised him a surprise. Just because she wanted him to be happy. Besides Ammi and Najma no one had ever wanted that for him. And yet, he'd growled like an injured bear later ...

   
   
They were soon back on the road. This time Dilshad sat in the passenger seat, while Ayaan slept in the third row and Zoya was at the window. Najma was fast asleep with her head resting on Zoya's shoulder. Tanu too slept from exhaustion. 

Asad could now see her face clearly in the rear view mirror as he drove. Not that it helped. He stole glances at her as she stared listlessly out of the window. He knew she was avoiding looking into the mirror. 

Zoya too was exhausted. She couldn't bear the plugs in her ears any more. Her hands hurt. And that permanent lump in her throat just wouldn't budge let alone slide down.

The song, "Ajeeb dastaan hai yeh" came on, and Dilshad exclaimed, "Oh I love this song."   
She increased the volume and started softly humming along with it. 

     "Kisi ka pyar le ke tum, naya jahan basaoge,   
     Yeh shaam jab bhi ayegi, tum humko yaad a-ogey."

Asad sharply looked up into the mirror and saw tears streaming down Zoya's face as she hastily wiped them. He swerved to avoid a car and rushed to switch the radio station. 

Dilshad asked crossly, "why did you do that, I was listening to it?"

     "It was boring. I want to listen to the news."

Zoya made a strangled sound in her throat and Dilshad turned around to ask with concern, "are you OK, beta? Do you want us to stop, Zoya?"  

With her face averted Zoya nodded a yes. As soon as Asad pulled over, she rushed out and ran a little distance behind the car. She fell to her knees on the side of the road and sobbed uncontrollably. 

Dilshad exclaimed, "oh the poor thing is carsick, let me take some water for her." 

Asad stopped her with a hand on her arm, "Ammi, aap baithiye, I'll do it." 

He walked up slowly after her. She felt someone coming and started to choke back her sobs. 

Asad placed his hand on her shoulder and offered her the bottle of water. She took it from his hands, and turned away to splash cold water on her face. She took a sip hoping to wash the taste of ashes from her mouth.

He offered her his handkerchief and she shook her head no.  

     "Zoya, please" He whispered hoarsely. 

He wanted to hold her hand and beg her forgiveness on his knees. If only he could pull her into his arms, kiss her tears away, and promise to keep her smiling all his life. He thought again of her tears at the Dargah when he had first seen her. That vision taunted him these days. Yet again he was responsible for her tears and lost smile. His heart squeezed and he clenched his fists helplessly. 

That's all he could do these days besides lashing out at himself for being the biggest fool in the world who had blindly gambled his life away. He saw her wipe her face hard with her hands, push her shoulders back and stalk proudly toward the car, a queen ready for the guillotine. 

His forlorn eyes looked after her, gritty from guilt. 

In the car, Zoya shut her eyes and couldn't help but play back his words to her right now. He had sounded just as tortured as he did in that video. She knew he felt guilty and that splintered her even more. She didn't want him to feel guilty because of her. She didn't want him to feel sorry for her. I don't want your pity! 

Why, Allah miyan are you making this so hard? Why can't I accept that he's not mine, never was. His words and eyes hold me back but his actions scream that he doesn't see me as someone worthy of being a part of his family. 

And don't actions speak louder than words?

She dug her fingernails into her palms to punish her dumb heart.  
 

 

 

Song in Title:  
Talaash (2012): "Jee Le Zara"


	5. Mere Saath-Saath Chal Raha Hai Yaadon Ka Dhuaan

**  
  
**  
   
The next morning they went to pay their respects and offer prayers at the famed Dargah of Ajmer Sharif. Everyone was modestly dressed with their heads covered as they moved toward the inner sanctum.  
  
Crowds of pilgrims from all over the world milled about, praying, chatting, chanting, and tying sacred threads by the millions.  
  
Vendors sold sacred chadors, flowers, sweets, and other offerings; holy men called blessings and duas as they brushed passing heads with peacock feather clusters.   
Families and loners bustled. There were sick and the elderly on crutches and in wheelchairs. Kids darted about and bumped heads, young married couples with hopeful faces offered prayers ...  
Incense smoked and perfumed the air; hope and despair collided and rubbed shoulders.  
  
The men and women separated to offer their prayers and seek blessings. Najma, Dilshad and Tanu later moved on to tie their threads on the elaborate lattices groaning under millions of wishes and hopes. 

Asad, still hyper aware of Zoya and her torment, noticed from a distance that she was simply holding her thread, looking on, dazed. Of course she knew what to do with it. He'd seen her tie many a thread at the dargah back home. Her still grief tore at him. Was he forever doomed to be a spectator to her pain? 

A little boy came running and slammed into Zoya, nearly knocking her off her feet. Asad leaped towards her but she she was too far. She recovered. He watched her bend down and smile at the boy. The little boy was being pushed around by his older siblings and complained that he wanted to tie a thread too. He had dropped his somewhere and no one was willing to give him another one. Zoya gave him her thread. He beamed. He tried to unsuccessfully tie it, but was being bumped around by the crush of bodies. His tiny fingers were uncoordinated.

Laughing now, she helped him by picking him up in her arms so that he could get closer and have better access. But he still fumbled and she tried to help him, but couldn't. Asad's knees went weak at this sight of a smiling Zoya with her head covered, holding a squirming child in her slender arms. He stepped up and guided the boy's hands to help him tie the thread. Once done, Zoya put him down and the boy scampered away to join his siblings.

Zoya was about to walk away when Aasd offered her his thread. Not meeting his gaze she shook her head.      

     "No thank you, it's OK, " she said softly, and walked away to wait for everyone to be done.

Slowly he walked to the lattice and tied the rejected thread. Through the intricate mesh, Asad gazed at her receding back and bowed head; the distance yawned between them.

 

After dinner, back at the hotel everyone lounged in the plush suite, discussing the trip to the holy site as well as upcoming wedding plans. Zoya busied herself by scrolling her cramped fingers across her iPad. She had to hold it together or she'd lose it and ruin everything. She tried concentrating on her breathing to distract herself.  
In ... out ... in ... out ...  
Anything to tune out the crashing and burning of her miserable heart.  
  
But Tanu's hawk eyes weren't fooled. She deliberately began to bait Zoya. Sharp that she was, she had noticed something deeply unresolved between Asad and Zoya. The usually giggly and annoying Ms. New York wasn't in her element. And surprise, surprise, Jammy wasn't scowling or being hyper-critical of her. How was it that no one else had seen both of them being miserable. Tanu smirked in smug spite.  
  
     "Zoya, what do you think about marriage? Maine suna hai ki aap apne nikaah se bhaag gayin theen."  
  
Every one looked at her in horror as an angry Asad started to interject.  
  
But Zoya spoke up, softly, yet firmly. "Yes, you heard right. I wasn't ready for marriage. I panicked ... aur mujhe koi aur rasta nahin soojhha, so I ran away," she owned up miserably. Oh god. That running away had landed her at Mr. Khan's feet. She'd fought with him. They'd spat insults and then turned their backs on one another ...  
  
     Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Marriage …" She needed another steadying breath. "Love and trust … and mutual respect ... fairness make a beautiful marriage. My method was wrong, I know that. But I had no intention of insulting the institution of marriage. May be I am irresponsible and don't think about consequences. I seem to act first and think things through later ..." Ain't that the truth, she reprimanded herself yet again. "I'll always regret that I hurt Aapi terribly, but not that I ran away. He was not a good man."  
  
Dilshad and Najma nodded in agreement. They knew about what had happened and how they had nearly lost Zoya.  
  
Her self-condemnation slayed him. No, you aren't irresponsible, Asad wanted to yell. You did the right thing! I was irresponsible for trusting Akram and forcing you to apologize to that snake. Asad recalled with hollow fury how he had reached Akram's house just in time to prevent the forced marriage. He remembered how his heart had stopped at the sight of blood on the side of her mouth. 

Asad felt the rage and shame rise in him once again. How dare that man drug her, beat her, and force her to get married to him? Thank god he'd gotten there in time, or god knows what would have happened. He would have never been able to forgive himself. His fists clenched and he very nearly smashed a vase through the window. But seeing Zoya's bent head, her hair screening her face once again, made his anger evaporate. 

Shame and dull loss replaced it. 

He hadn't yet apologized to her for that incident. Despite her reminding him that he owed her an apology. How could he? He didn't know how to. Asad still shuddered imagining how Akram and his cousins had kidnapped her, drugged her, and beat her up. What if they'd …? And he had bullied her into going self-righteously demanding that she do the right thing. Is that what she was thinking too?  
  
She was. But not the way he feared.  
  
     "Qubool nahin hai," he'd said for her. He hated her, and yet he'd come to her rescue. Even later in Mangalpur ... He'd risked his life for her so many times. What if something had happened to him? What about Phuphi and Najma? Yes. She was irresponsible. For Zoya, it was yet another reminder of how he must think the absolute worst of her. She had been mad at him for that Akram incident then. But now, she wished she could just curl up and die. 

     "You're a misfit," he'd said a few weeks later. 

     "Aap kabhi bhi ek acchi bahu ya biwi nahin ban sakti," he had reiterated.

He was right.  
  
She cleared her throat dislodging the painful lump that had formed, and not succeeding completely.

     "Umm ... Mr. Khan?"

Asad whipped his head around eagerly to look at her. I'm so sorry for being a total jerk. Please forgive me, he wanted to say.  
  
     "I never thanked you for saving me that day. Thank you."  
  
He hated himself even more.  
  
But he couldn't pull his eyes away from her face. Her angry words that he always judged her character by her wardrobe, slashed him. She was right. He had let corrosive prejudice blindside him. And the irony was that when he'd finally realized his folly, he'd also blown his chance of ever being with her. Asad lowered his gaze.

Meanwhile everyone else joined in saying that yes, Zoya was right about the importance of love and dignity in a marriage. Thank god she had made the right decision.   
Tanu was miffed.  
  
     Ayaan looked unusually thoughtful and sad. But then he said, "Aap kitni himmatwali hain Zoya. I don't think anyone else in your place could have done that. Chahe who shaadi ke kitna bhi khilaaf hota, chup chap, samaaj ke darr se, 'qubool hai' keh deta."  
  
Asad looked up sharply at him and sensed that there was something deep bothering Ayaan. He had never seen his brother this serious, or as contemplative before. 

     "You're right, bhaijaan," Najma added. "I hate that some parents or relatives pressure their kids into marriage. That's so unfair! Ammi, I'm marrying only for love!" 

Dilshad laughed at her daughter's boldness in front of Asad. But Asad's eyes were gritty with regret.   
 

Later, when both brothers were in their room, Asad recalled the conversation about marriage.

     He asked Ayaan, "what is going on, why are you so tense? Is something the matter?"  
  
     Ayaan tried to brush it off, but Asad persisted, "Ayaan, I know you too well. And I also know something's wrong with you even before you know it. I can tell that some kind of worry or stress is eating you up inside."  
  
     Ayaan chuckled ruefully, "Bhaijaan, I could say the same for you. For a man who's engaged to be married, you don't look all that happy."  
  
     Asad ducked his head and said sternly, "we aren't talking about me. Ayaan, tell me, what's bothering you? You've never hidden anything from me. It must be something big."  
  
Ayaan sighed and then reluctantly told him about being pressured to get married to his uncle's daughter.  
  
Asad urged him to tell him everything.  
  
Ayaan recounted Mumani's conspiracy to trap him and Humaira in his bed when his brother was away in Mangalpur. And then how, for a price, he had said yes to this engagement with a girl who loved him, but whom he only cared for as a good friend.  
  
Asad was quick to connect the dots.  
  
     "That's where you got the money to pay off that corrupt police officer?"  
  
Ayaan said nothing.  
  
     Asad started to pace the floor. "This is all my fault. If I'd allowed Ammi to pay off Haseena bi that day, this wouldn't have happened. You wouldn't have been blackmailed into saying yes to a forced nikah." He knelt in front of Ayaan, "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I wish I could have done things differently and spared you this pain."  
  
     Ayaan shook his head saying, "it's not your fault, Bhaijaan. But now that I've given my word I will follow through even if it kills me." 

 

Long into the night, as Ayaan slept fitfully, Asad tossed and turned too. 

There are so many things he would have done differently today. Why had he been so rigid and so smugly blind? He glanced at Ayaan. Both of us are silently chafing against being forced into loveless marriages. Yet Zoya fought against being forced into a marriage against her will. How difficult it must have been as a girl in a new country to make that choice that neither of us are able to make? Guilt curled up inside to smother him. He had always seen himself as right and her as wrong. And today that self-righteousness was thumbing its nose at him, strangling everything that was right, everything that was just.  
   
He got up to pace angrily in the limited space in the room. Why did this have to happen? Why didn't I ...?  
Asad stopped in front of the wide plate glass window.  
It was pointless.  
Knuckles gripping the window-frame tightly, he stared sightlessly into the black night for a long time.  
   
Meanwhile, Zoya was in the bathroom of the room next door that she shared with Tanu. She looked at herself in the mirror and upbraided her reflection, "just snap out of it and get over this. People are starting to notice your being too quiet. Don't let Phuphi find out about your stupid crush! Accept what you can't change, and don't let anyone find out about this. Stop this moping and get over yourself already. C'mon, Zoya, you're a strong girl! You can do this. You have to do this. You must!"  
  
   
  
Song in Title:  
Shanghai (2012), "Duaa"


	6. Tujhse Naaraaz Nahin Zindagi, Hairaan Hoon Main

  
  
   
Next day in the car Asad noticed Zoya smiling, talking a lot more, and making an aggressive effort to participate in the activities and chatter.

He heard her babbling non-stop about inane things and with a pang knew that this too was a facade. She didn't want anyone to notice her heartache or ruin the trip. His heart wrenched as he thought of the thousands of times he had yelled at her calling her inconsiderate and selfish.   
He remembered the time he nearly said, I hate you, and his cruelest words to her, "accha hua khuda ne aapse apni ammi chheen li, kyunki aapko rishton ki ehmiyat nahin hai."   
  
Asad's fingers clenched on the steering wheel yet again. Self-loathing bubbled up to gag him.  
  
There was just no way he could make up for the terrible things he'd said and done to her. He was still awed at how she never held a grudge and forgave so easily.   
He would never forgive himself as easily. Once after a bitter fight, she'd actually smiled at him as he continued to scowl at her. "Main zyada der tak kissi se naaraz nahin reh sakti. It's not in my nature. Jaiye, aapko maaf kiya!" 

Every day since he'd learned a new facet of her, he felt chastened for judging her, misreading her. Just because she wore jeans and came from the US, he had stereotyped and humiliated her.   
She was right about him being judgmental.   
He deserved to suffer for his behavior, but she didn't deserve this.  
  
Everyone soon got tired of Zoya's incessant yapping and Dilshad crossly told her to go sit up front with Asad so that she could keep him awake while he drove.   
Zoya froze but nodded her head in silence. Soon she settled in the passenger seat next to him armed with her iPad.   
She swallowed several times and fiddled with the radio stations.   
Finally, taking a deep breath, she said to him with bent gaze. "OK Mr. Khan, what should we talk about or do to pass the time? You know what, aapne 'Dil Chahta Hai' dekhi hai? No? Then main apko apni favorite movie ki story sunati hoon." 

He'd seen the film, and liked it too. But he let her tell the story and just listened to the texture and tenor of her voice. She got more and more animated as the story developed, and even decided to play the songs from the film.   
Najma and Ayaan joined in gleefully.   
Tanu rolled her eyes.  
But Zoya's voice started to falter as she got closer and closer to the romantic scenes between Akash and Shalini. Shalini's attempts to get him to accept that love was real and worth reaching out for made her squirm in embarrassment now.   
Nicely done, Zoya. Another moronic and lovesick choice to make a bigger fool of yourself. You may as well have it tattooed on your forehead: Misfit Zoya loves Mr. Khan.  
Her eyes stung.  
Thankfully Najma and Ayaan had gotten into the storytelling as well and started to narrate those parts while speaking over each other. 

     Najma said, "C'mon Zoya, it's time to play 'jaane kyun' at this point. It's such a cute song! I think Bhaijaan likes it too." 

While Zoya fiddled with the iPad to find and play the song, she ducked her head to hide her blush. Asad too remembered the time she had walked in on him in the bathtub while he (badly) whistled "jaane kyun." 

He swore softly. 

Zoya heard him and shriveled up inside.

Thankfully the song ended without her embarrassing herself any more, and Ayaan started to act out the cult proposal scene. He recited Akash's romantic words to Shalini, loud and clear with the exact expressions. Zoya looked away and Asad looked straight ahead unblinkingly.   
Zoya thought about that scene in the film and imagined Mr. Khan on bended knee. She shook herself and pasted a smile on and clapped with the others when Ayaan finished with a flourish.   

     After the story was done, she said, "OK, how about a cricket quiz now?" 

Najma screwed up her face in distaste, but knew that her Bhaijaan would love that. She settled back quietly. Zoya tapped on her iPad and after a few minutes began asking trivia questions which he tried to answer distractedly. Ayaan kept blurting out the wrong answers from the back, and both she and Asad kept correcting him. Neither could forget the time when she'd challenged him to a trivia match on cricket and won. While he had acted annoyed then, he'd been impressed with her knowledge and passion for the game. To live all her life in America and to still be such a cricket-enthusiast was remarkable indeed.  
As if in sync, both remembered his hateful words after she and Najma returned from the match he'd forbidden them to go to; Zoya cringed, mortified, and Asad kicked himself for his repeated assault on her character.   
  
Tanu did not look happy at all, but congratulated herself, "no matter what you do Zoya, Jammy is all mine now."  
  
After they ran out of cricket questions, Zoya started to read news headlines from her iPad but that got boring real fast. Then she hopped to Bollywood news and Najma sat up and chimed in about celebrity gossip.  
  
As her energy started to flag, Asad reached out and handed her his water bottle. She gulped down the water thirstily and seeing her head thrown back, throat exposed, he again remembered their return from Mangalpur after their harrowing escape. She'd looked so vulnerable, so beaten. Even then he wanted to hold her, but he had resisted, choosing only to wipe her face and tuck her hair behind her ear.  
He told her softly, "why don't you rest now and may be take a nap. I'll be fine, you don't need to feel obligated to entertain me."  
She looked into his face as he looked straight ahead and quickly lowered her gaze. "I'm sorry, I'm being annoying." There was a barely discernible tremor in her voice that only he caught.     

     "No, please don't think that." He tried to reassure her.     

     From the back Ayaan quipped, "Zoya we haven't heard any of your shayari for so long." 

Her eyes watered in fresh mortification. In painstaking clarity, every playful sher of hers against Mr. Khan played on a sick endless loop in her head.  
  
          "Ruhani sukoon aur dil mein chaiyn hona chaheye,  
          Ruhani sukoon aur dil mein chaiyn hona chaheye,  
          Aapka naam Asad nahi, chairman hona chaheye."  
  
          Humsafar na baniye, humein akele ki aadat hai  
          Zubaan ko mishri na banayiye, humein karele ki aadat hai.  
  
     "C'mon Mona Darling, how about some bad shayari?" Ayaan clowned and urged.  
  
Any other time, Zoya would have jumped down his throat and mocked his own shayari as lame. But today she just smiled tragically saying she could only do so spontaneously and not on demand. 

     "Nothing is coming to me right now. I'm sorry. Besides, Raabert you can't force genius. It just happens," she tried to assert haughtily. 

Only Asad saw her hands gripping each other tightly.  
  
     "Accha, main ek line bolunga, then you complete it."   
  
He recited a line and Zoya, for the first time fumbled, at a complete loss for words.   
  
     Asad tried to cover up her silence and visible discomfort by saying, "stop this silliness. I don't want to hear any bad shayari."  
  
     Ducking her head, Zoya turned to Tanu and offered, "I am beginning to feel sleepy, may be you can come up here and keep Mr. Khan company."   
  
Tanu agreed eagerly and after a brief stop, they both switched places. Tanu tried to start a conversation by referring to past experiences from their childhood, but Asad was still looking at Zoya in the rear view mirror. Gratefully he noticed that she had put on her ear plugs and was leaning back with her eyes closed. He saw her lips quiver. Her hand came up to cover the telltale sign of her torment. But not before he'd seen her throat move as she swallowed several times.   
His impotent hands clenched on the steering wheel.   
  
Reluctantly, he returned his attention to the road while listening to Tanu, answering only in monosyllables.  
  


 

  
Song in Title:   
Masoom (1983) "Tujhse Naaraaz Nahin Zindagi" 


	7. Tootata Kyun Nahin, Dard Ka Silsila

 

 

 

 

After Ajmer it was decided that they would stop over in Jaipur. 

Najma was excited. She nattered on about jewelry shopping with her mother as they discussed wedding functions. Antique jewelry! For so long she'd been on the lookout for huge silver jhumkas. Najma had a gut feeling that she'd find them here.  

     "Ammi, you have to decide on the date of the sagaai soon." 

Tanu preened with pleasure. Asad looked up sharply at Zoya in the rear view mirror. Thankfully she had her earphones on and probably didn't hear this discussion. 

     "Oh and once we are done with shopping, can we please go to Chokhidani? My friend went and said that it's beautiful. Please Bhaijaan," Najma pouted prettily. 

They soon reached the historic city. After checking in and freshening up at the hotel, they went to a reputable jewelry shop recommended by Dilshad's friend. The women were soon engrossed in designs, and oohed and aahed at the diamond jewelry. 

Asad and Ayaan rolled their eyes and sat by themselves on a settee. 

     "This is so boring," said Ayaan. 

     "Just wait," said Asad, "when you go back home, they'll drag you around like this too." 

Ayaan shuddered. 

     "Chaliye na, Bhaijaan, we'll go sit in the car, crank up the AC and jam on my guitar." 

Asad almost refused but liked the idea and decided to give in. He glanced at Zoya and noticed that she was not really interested in the jewelry either. She was tapping away on her iPad, headphones stuffed in her ears, and only looked up when Najma dragged her attention to admire some piece of jewelry. How had he never noticed her simplicity and lack of adornment? He hadn't seen her shop for clothes or jewelry and trinkets with the same enthusiasm as Najma and Tanu. Even on the trip so far, she'd mostly bought souvenirs and gifts.  
He shook his head.  
Just more proof of his blindness to her true nature and what he had truly lost in the process. Asad walked up to Dilshad to tell her that they were going to the car. 

     "No," she insisted, "you have to stay so that we can pick out the engagement rings."

Asad's hands fisted and he mentally slapped his head. Looking over at Ayaan, he spread his hands helplessly, and sat down by Dilshad. 

Knuckledragging and with slumped shoulders, Ayaan walked over too, and sat by Zoya peering over her shoulder to see what she was up to. 

She slapped the cover shut and glared at him. 

Thank you Raabert!  

She couldn't bear to hear any more talk about engagement rings. She had blocked out the sound. But wasn't able to do the same with the sight of boxes of rings spread out before Phuphi and Tanveer. From the corner of her eye she had spotted Mr. Khan come and sit next to Dilshad and her heart had stopped.

Ayaan grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her. 

     "Secrets? I am going to find out what you're hiding!" He would tease his sisters and Humaira with the same threat back at home. The ensuing fights and squeals keep him entertained for at least half an hour. 

     "Impossible," Zoya snorted, her voice almost not quivering, "you'll never be able to figure out my password."

Asad heard this exchange and was immediately reminded of the day he and Ammi had walked into the house to see a big mess in the kitchen. Ammi had been upset, and looking at the mess a muscle had ticked in his neck. Asad was furious for Ammi's sake. Trying to figure out the cause of it, they had been surprised by Zoya popping up like a jack in the box from behind the counter.  

Her chirpy announcement that she was baking a cake for Phuphi had brought a smile to Ammi's face on the day that she was most sad. Zoya had then walked over to her propped-up iPad on the dining table, equally messy with dry flour all over the surface, to find a recipe for chocolate sauce.  

     "Oh, yeh toh sleep mode mein chala gaya. Wait." 

And then the strangest thing had happened. 

She did a little jig, waved her arms about rhythmically, and sang, "la, la-la-la, la." 

And they heard a similar sing-song response in a cartoon voice come from the iPad. 

Both he and Ammi had looked at each other and then at Zoya quizzically.  

And in her inimitable style, she had cocked her head to one side and said, "mera password hai" as though it was the most natural thing in the world.  

Ammi had smiled more and almost laughed, while he had mentally rolled his eyes and clutched his forehead in annoyance. Why did he think she was annoying then? Why couldn't he see that she had helped to bring joy to Ammi at her darkest moment of despair? She was right. He'd always been too judgmental. 

And now everything was over. 

Asad sighed heavily and Dilshad looked up at him. She had noticed that he'd been tense and distracted of late. She stiffened and glanced at Najma and Tanu trying on different rings. Her thoughts raced. What is going on? Why is Asad so moody and silent? He is not as hyper about Najma's safety or correcting her every two minutes about being too chatty, he isn't even getting annoyed with Zoya or trying to control her. In fact Zoya is behaving strangely too. 

She looked more closely at her son who was frowning at Ayaan and Zoya who were bent over her iPad, heads together. He didn't seem happy or content with the decision to marry. What had made him take this decision? 

     Najma broke into her thoughts. "Ammi what about this one?" 

Dilshad no longer had her heart in it. She shook her head and abruptly said, "actually, I already had a ring made for Asad's sagaai a long time ago. We'll use that one. Let's go." 

Najma reluctantly returned the ring to the salesperson. 

They left, to Ayaan and Asad's relief, and Tanu's dismay. She had hoped that Khala would buy the ring that Najma had shown her. It was the latest design and she didn't really trust that the ring she would have to wear would be as stylish. But she continued her pretense in being the dutiful future bahu.

Ayaan and Najma had decided that after shopping they would spend the evening at Chokhidani. Dilshad found it strange that Asad was allowing both of them a free rein, and not objecting to any of their giddy plans and schemes. 

     She said, "I am tired. Why don't you drop me off at the hotel and then you all can go."  

     Zoya and Najma wouldn't have it. "No, you have to come with us."  

But Dilshad held firm.

 

They reached Chokhidani after dropping Dilshad at the hotel.

Zoya was enchanted by the place. The smells and sounds, the ethnic decor, the colorful costumes, and camels and elephants were just like the India she had seen in travel brochures. She ran ahead of everyone, whipped out her iPad and started taking pictures. At the entrance they saw beautifully decorated earthen pots in front of a rustic thatched hut and a charpoy. Both Ayaan and Najma urged everyone to pose for a family photo.  
Zoya took a few shots of all four of them. 

     Then Ayaan said, "OK Mona darling, you come and I'll take a few snaps." 

She handed him her iPad and went to sit by Najma. 

     Ayaan finished taking the photographs and then holding her iPad aloft gloated, "yes, now I can see what you were up to." 

 Zoya charged after him. 

 He held the iPad higher as she unsuccessfully hopped around him in circles trying to grab it out of his hands. Ayaan being taller kept switching it back and forth from one hand to the other driving her insane as she pouted, screamed, threatened and grabbed at his arms. It was the oldest trick in the dating rule book that girls didn't know of.

 Ayaan lapped up this attention and playfulness. 

     "Raabert, I'll kill you," Zoya panted, face red, as she wiggled and tried yet again to retrieve the iPad. 

     "Arz kiya hai...," started Ayaan. 

     "Ayaan!" he heard a stern voice, and looked at his older brother sheepishly. "Give it back," commanded Asad crossly. 

 He was not liking the sight of Zoya in such close proximity to his baby brother who was deliberately baiting her by holding her precious iPad out of reach. 

 Ayaan complied reluctantly. Damn! Bhaijaan always ruined his fun with girls.

 Zoya slapped his hand when he returned it. 

     Najma found all this very amusing and asked Zoya, "when will you ever tell me the story behind Raabert and Mona darling?" 

 Ayaan leaped in and putting his arm around his little sister, began to animatedly tell her about "Operation Laal Rumaal," and how that failed dismally because their Bhaijaan, Akdu Ahmed Khan, and he waggled his eyebrows at Zoya devilishly, was always over-prepared.  The man could foil the CIA.

 Zoya just didn't have the heart to hear this story. Too many painful memories resurfaced. And she certainly didn't want to see the expression on Mr. Khan's face when Ayaan told Tamatar about their ridiculous plans.

That was the night he'd called her a misfit.

That word.

It said so much about them, about the gulf of Indianness between them. In the one word he had rejected her as that stereotype — ABCD. American-born confused desi. A desi who didn't know her proper place. A desi who could never fit. 

 Stop it!

 Determinedly Zoya wandered over to look at a folk dance performance not too far away. She took more pictures of women in colorful folk costumes dancing on broken glass and the edges of blunt swords without drawing any blood!  

     Ayaan continued, "and then we had to execute Operation Pyaasi Aatma.'" 

 Najma was helpless with laughter when he told her how he had worn a white sari and wig and stood in the middle of the road with a burning candle to delay Bhaijaan so that he couldn't testify at court the next day. And for his pains, Bhaijaan had given him a resounding backhanded slap, which had hurt for days after. He massaged his cheek, stuck out his lower lip playfully, and made puppy dog eyes at Asad who hit him upside the head and then ruffled his already unkempt hair. Then Ayaan told Najma how he had locked them in the farmhouse that night. 

 She raised her eyebrows in amazement. She couldn't get over how Zoya and Ayaan were still alive after tricking Bhaijaan like this. Bhaijaan was obviously getting soft. He wasn't even nagging her too much during this trip. The engagement must definitely agree with him, she thought.

 Tanu, however, sniffed and felt left out of all the merriment. Her ears pricked at the part when she heard of both of them spending the night together in an abandoned farmhouse. Asad's aloofness was grating on her and she resented how he kept looking at Zoya with concern. 

     "This has to stop," she murmured to herself. "High time Ms. New York went back to where she came from."

Everyone enjoyed the camel and elephant rides.

Tanu was the only one to decline. Zoya had been reluctant initially. It didn't seem right to treat animals this way. The camel looked stoic, but the elephant's sad eyes just tugged at her heart. After the ride, she had stroked its trunk and patted its cheek with the Mahaut's permission. But she had to smile when he told her its name: Anarkali. So cute! She cooed and murmured silly assurances in Anarkali's ginormous ears.

Asad watched from a distance, smitten and bereft. Tanu had complained of her feet hurting so he was giving her company as she rested on a nearby bench. He dragged his eyes away form Zoya's slight figure dwarfed by the elephant. He had to stop this. It wasn't right for him to pine away like a tragic Majnu. And at least Majnu had the guts to tell his love that he loved her.

What was done, was done. He better get his act together and start to focus more on Tanu. He'd have to live with his gutlessness in silence.

 

Ayaan and Najma were having the most fun of all. 

And by now, Zoya too was getting into the spirit as she and Ayaan traded insults and shayari. Ayaan hooked his arms with her and Najma and strutted around like a peacock. Zoya gave him a side kick and fled giggling as he bellowed like a bull and charged after her. 

 While Asad was relieved to see Zoya's spunk and smile return, he was not liking that Ayaan was getting so close to her. He itched to be part of the charmed circle but felt excluded. He wanted Zoya to be on his arm, not Ayaan's. 

 They had hot badam milk at one of the stalls and Asad almost choked on his, as he remembered that last time he's had some. Zoya almost leaped to his aid but clenched her fists instead; she crossed her arms tight to control them. He has others to take care of him. 

 Ayaan thumped his brother's back with glee winking at a laughing Najma.

 Najma dragged everyone to dinner after various stops at jewelry and souvenir stalls.

 

Dinner was an elaborate affair. The men were honored with tikas and crowned with vibrant pagdis as they sat on the floor. They were treated to a colorful smorgasbord of Rajasthani traditional foods with generous servings of desi ghee. Servers in traditional outfits ladled spicy foods, condiments and lassi. 

 Zoya was entranced. 

 Before eating she just had to take several photographs of her food and post them on her instagram account. She even took a video of everyone enjoying their food and of the servers. 

     Najma put her hand out to block her, "Zoya, stop! Don't you dare take a picture of me while I'm eating."  

     Zoya grinned and playfully pinched her cheek. "I love this, Tamatar. I love India. So gorgeous. I'm going to miss it when I leave."  

 Najma's face fell. 

     "You can't leave. You have to stay until the wedding at least."

 Tanu, sitting next to Najma heard this exchange and rejoiced that Zoya would soon be out of her hair. She sat up straighter and felt her appetite return.

 Asad heard Najma's aggrieved voice and felt his heart twist. 

 Suddenly, he couldn't enjoy the meal. With his head bowed, he strained to hear what Zoya said, but he couldn't catch her reply.

 

 

Song in Title:

Salaam-e-Ishq (2007) "Ya Rabba"


	8. Noor e Khuda, Noor e Khuda, Tu Kahan Chupa Hai Humein Ye Bataa

 

 

 

Back at the hotel, Dilshad couldn't shake off her restlessness. Something was not sitting well with her. She couldn't put Asad's pensive face out of her mind. 

I need to talk to him. I should have sat him down on that day itself and had a heart to heart chat with him. But everything just happened so quickly. The announcement of their engagement, the road trip ...

She paced her room. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became of her instincts trying to tell her something.

Why didn't I pay more attention? I should have talked to him.

Covering her head Dilshad sank to her knees to offer evening prayers. 

 

When everyone returned, Dilshad called Asad on his phone and told him to come to her room after freshening up. She sent Najma to be with Zoya and Tanu since she wanted to talk to her son in private. 

He knocked on the door and she opened it to let him in. 

     "Baitho, mujhe tumse kuchh zaroori batein karni hain."

He alerted to the tone in her voice. 

     "Kya hua Ammi? Is something wrong?"

     "You tell me. I've noticed that since the day Tanu announced your engagement you don't look very pleased."

Asad ducked his head in misery. 

     "Nahin Ammi, aisi koi baat nahin hai. Aap galat samajh rahin hain."

     "No Asad. Don't try to fool me. I know when something is bothering my kids. Just tell me honestly, what's going on?"

He stood up and started to pace the floor restlessly. He couldn't bear the irony of how Ammi's words today echoed his own to Ayaan from last night. His chest burned with unsaid confessions. Self-loathing gnawed at his gut. Every time he closed his eyes, Zoya's face appeared. There were smudges under her eyes. She didn't even make eye contact with him these days. Whenever she was forced to say something to him, she focused in his ear or collar. He unconsciously punched the back of the sofa.  

     "There's nothing to tell Ammi."

     "Really? And that's why you're behaving like a caged and wounded lion right now?"

She sat back in the chair grateful for her screaming instincts. Yes, something was terribly wrong and she would get to the bottom of it. 

     "Asad. Do not make me take those filmy kasams. I am not going to let this go till you tell me what's bothering you."

Asad sighed and knew he was beaten. But how could he tell her about what happened that night. How sordid! He hemmed and hawed, but Dilshad gave him a stern look.

     "Enough! No more voh, actually! Tell me right now. Main tumhe yahan se jaane nahin doongi jab tak tum mujhe sab sach sach nahin bata dete. That's why I sent Najma to Zoya and Tanu's room. You will stay here all night if you have to."

He sat back down on the bed and looked away from her. Running his hands agitatedly through his hair he tried to pacify her by telling her that she always wanted him to get married. Since he'd known Tanu for most of his life, he had decided that she would make a suitable bahu for the family.

     Dilshad shook her head. "This was true 10 days ago too. And you always brushed me off when I brought up the topic of your nikaah. Why did you decide suddenly to get married? Knowing you well, I know that you would have asked me first. Why didn't you? Why this rush? Something has changed. I know this in my heart."

Haltingly he told her how he had made the gravest mistake of his life and lost control one night. Now he was only doing what he thought was right. 

He hung his head in shame. 

Dilshad was aghast. She could not believe her son capable of such a thing. For a morally upright and highly principled man who respected women, this would have been impossible. Her Asad? The man who didn't even look at women wrong? Someone who hated his father for what he'd done to his mother so long ago ...? 

She was too stunned to respond immediately. 

Asad looked at her shamefacedly. 

     "Do you hate me Ammi? Have I completely fallen in your esteem?" 

She rushed to sit next to him and held him in her arms. 

     "Never," she said. "I just can't believe it, that's all."

He held his head in his hands and wept for all that he had done, and not done. His pride and silent procrastination had cost him his love and happiness. He had turned his back on the best thing to have happened to him.

Dilshad could not bear to see him so broken. Her Asad was her shield, her pride. This could not possibly be true. She wanted him to marry, but not this way. She hugged him harder and pushed his hands away to hold his face in her hands. 

     "I refuse to believe this of you. You? A man who has defined his life by hating his father's actions, could not possibly have done anything like this, or hurt anyone. You are always so restrained and self-controlled. Tumne aaj tak kissi ladki ko chhua tak nahin hai, buri nazar se bhi nahin dekha hai! It's impossible. There must be some misunderstanding."

Asad shook his head regretfully. 

     "No. I don't think so. And now I must make things right." Irony seemed to be slapping him upside the head tonight. Hadn't Ayaan said almost the same thing to him last night? Why was this happening? Were they both doomed for their father's sins? 

 

That night Dilshad could not sleep. 

She kept replaying the past few months over and over again in her head. Somehow she had thought that Asad had been showing signs of liking Zoya. He seemed to smile more, even though those were mere half-smiles. There seemed to be nothing between him and Tanu except for friendly concern. They hardly seemed to have anything in common except for memories of their childhood. 

But no one could miss the sparks between him and Zoya. 

What happened? 

Could this be the reason for Zoya's recent silence? She had thought, that Zoya was sad and quiet because of her Abbu. 

As sleep overcame her just before dawn, she'd made up her mind. She would get to the bottom of this and make things right one way or another. Never would she let anything break her son down so. 

 

Next morning at breakfast, Ayaan and Najma were elbowing each other and whispering among themselves. The other four members of the party were too preoccupied to really pay any attention to these two. 

Ayaan cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. 

     "Badi Ammi, what if we went to Agra from here?" 

     Before anyone could react, Najma jumped in full steam, "Please, please Bhaijaan, it'll be such fun. I've never seen the Taj and I'm dying to see Fatehpur Sikri. I've heard it's beautiful." 

     "No, I'm sorry," said Asad in a clipped voice. "I have to return to work. There are important meetings that I postponed for this trip."  

     As if Ayaan knew that this would be his response, he quickly interjected. "But Bhai, just take one day more, and then you can fly back from Agra and we can drive back on our own."

     "Are you crazy," Asad bit back. "How can you drive such a long distance? No, this is just not happening."

     "But Bhai, Zoya knows how to drive, she and I can take turns."

Before Zoya could say anything, Asad scowled and curtly said, "No." 

Zoya bowed her head letting her hair cover her pained eyes. I'm sure he doesn't trust my driving skills. He would never entrust his family's safety in my hands. She turned to Ayaan and said quietly, "Raabert, I can drive, but I don't have an Indian license."

Ayaan and Najma looked conspiratorially at each other. 

     "OK," he said to Asad, "you cannot turn down this idea. It is so brilliant and so foolproof. You take the extra day off. In the meanwhile call your driver to take the train and reach Agra by tomorrow. You fly out day after tomorrow to attend your precious meetings, and he and I can drive the ladies back home." 

Najma clapped her hands and pleaded with Mr. Khan. "Please bhaijaan, this is the perfect solution. You can't say no. We may never get such a chance again. And I'm sure Zoya has never seen the Taj Mahal before. Have you Zoya?"

Avoiding Asad's gaze, Zoya shook her head. 

     "See? You have to say yes." She folded both her hands placatingly, "please, please, PLEASE, Bhaijaan!"

How could he withstand this onslaught? He glanced at Zoya's bent head and took the decision. 

     "OK."

     "Yay!" shouted Ayaan and Najma pumping their fists in the air and high fiving. Other diners looked at their table indulgently.

Dilshad sat back in her chair and sighed. She no longer wondered why Asad was letting his arm be twisted by his brother and sister. She had also seen Asad and Zoya's pained faces when Najma had gushed about the Taj being the most romantic place on earth. This solidified her resolve. While she had hoped they could go home as soon as possible, she couldn't resist Najma and Ayaan's obvious glee. 

May be this is a blessing in disguise, Dilshad thought.  It'll give me more time to observe Asad, Tanu and Zoya closely. Allah, help me guide my children to happiness. Let their lives not be shadowed by doubts and crushed dreams. Asad has seen too much pain. He's taken such good care of me and Najma. Don't condemn him to a lifetime of more pain. He deserves so much more. Reham kar mere bachhon pe, mere Maula!

 

 

Song in Title:

My Name is Khan (2010): "Noor e  Khuda"


	9. Himmatein Ataa Karo, O Madadgaar, Maula

At the Concierge Desk, Asad got the information about routes, distances, and the time it would take to reach Agra. He wanted them to be in Agra at least by that evening not wanting to drive at night. He called his office to reschedule some meetings, book hotel rooms in Agra, and have his driver reach there at the earliest.  
Asad's shoulder and neck muscles felt stiff. As he rotated his neck and stretched his arms, he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see Tanu, and his hopeful and tentative half-smile slipped.

What was he thinking?

Zoya never ever tried to touch him the way Tanu always tried to cling to him—her long nails mocked his prejudices. For all his harsh words regarding her lack of manners and etiquette, Zoya, despite having been born and brought up in the US, was never touchy and feely with him, or even Ayaan for that matter. She constantly hugged Ammi and Najma but never once tried to stand too close, or touch him, or hold his hand. The one time she had held his hand was to bandage it when he had cut himself. She seemed to intuitively sense people's personal boundaries and balance it with her genuine warmth and compassion.  
And, like an ass, he had made fun of her lack of boundaries and limits that night.    

     "Aapko apni hadein nahin pata hain," he had taunted her.

Asad half groaned in despair and self-loathing as every past word and action came to haunt him. How could he have been so blind and such a fool?

     "Kya hua, Jammy? I know, your shoulders must be hurting after such a long drive. Yeh Ayaan aur Najma bhi, kaise bacchon ki tarah zidd karte hain! Why insist that we go to Agra? After all we have to make wedding preparations and need to get home as soon as possible."

Home? No, home no longer felt home with her by his side. Home wouldn't be the same ever again with Zoya gone. Asad pulled his arm from under her oppressive grip and said patiently, albeit somewhat resentfully, "It's OK Tanu, I'm fine. Aur main Ayaan aur Najma ki khushi ke liye kucch bhi kar sakta hoon."

She made a face. He was warning her, was he? Setting limits. You'll have to try much harder, Jammy. And even I know, you're too much of a gentleman to not give in to my plans for you.

As he looked away from her, suddenly Asad remembered the day Zoya had hugged him.  
His hands fisted.

Heartbroken at not being able to find any clue about her father, she had blindly turned to him for comfort and like an idiot he had taken forever to hold and comfort her when she needed it most. He relived the sense of her soft body quaking against his as she wept bitterly. That day he had seen her defeated and beaten. More so than the first time at the dargah. He should have held her closer and tighter to ease her pain, brushed her hair off her forehead and wiped her tears with his thumbs.

He had certainly wanted to.

But that day he had taken far too long to fight against his desire to crush her in his arms, kiss her tears away, and never let her go.  
Taken so long with the woman he was attracted to? But to have tumbled into bed heedlessly with a woman he had no feelings for? This was a new layer of horror that laced his self-recriminations these days. Nothing made sense. Everything he knew of himself was fading away. Never had he doubted himself more.

That day Zoya had quickly disengaged herself and looked mortified and apologetic for having come so close to him. He couldn't help but compare her to Tanu and hated himself for not recognizing Zoya's kindness, strength, and integrity sooner.

Asad moved away to join his mother and Tanu grimaced as she let her arm fall away from his.

Dilshad noticed this chilly exchange. I have to end this. I will not see my son live this way his whole life. I won't let him throw his life away for a mistake which I still refuse to believe he made.  
Mind made up, she felt more cheerful today.  
Allah would make things right.

 

They checked out of the hotel, loaded up the car, and piled in for a half-day's drive to Agra.

Ayaan stretched out and relaxed in the third row so that he could relieve Asad later. He lazily strummed his guitar almost not missing his bike that Bhai had got for him. Najma turned around to look at him in delight as he hummed. She was having the best time of her life. She hadn't spent so much time with Ayaan Bhaijaan and loved his playfulness and contrast to Asad Bhaijaan's seriousness. Such a great idea this was. The best road trip ever!

     "Play something for us, Ayaan Bhaijaan," she urged.

Ayaan sat up straighter and mussed up his already messy hair. He chuckled and said, "sure Tamatar, but I'm not too good. Bhaijaan is much better."          

     "I know," Najma piped up. Was there ever any doubt of that? "When you're driving then may be Asad Bhaijaan can also play something for us. But right now please, koi accha gaana ho jaye."

     Ayaan fiddled with the guitar self-importantly and then grinned and said, "OK, but only if you all join in."He began with the song "Challa" from the film, "Jab tak hai jaan."

Only Najma and Zoya knew some of the words so they joined him. Even he didn't know all the lyrics. Najma teased him.

Asad was relieved to see that Zoya was beginning to be more involved in Najma and Ayaan's antics. She smiled more these days.

After a few songs that Dilshad had never heard, she told Ayaan to at least play a song or two that she knew the words to.

     "Kaun sa play karun, badi Ammi?"

     "How about this really sweet song, 'uthhe sab ke kadam dekho rum pum pum?' "

But Ayaan hadn't heard that one.

     "Oh I know an old song, and it's really fun."

He started singing "Pyaar tumhein kis mod pe le ayaa" from the movie, "Satte pe Satta."

Dilshad slapped her forehead and shook her head tragically. But she laughed as Najma and Ayaan belted out the silliest lyrics.  
She remembered bitter-sweetly when she had gone to see this film with Rashid. They were newly married then, and Rashid would sing this song in his besura voice later on, just to annoy her.

     "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," she mused.

Ayaan was feeling more playful now.

     "Mona darling, can you play the guitar? You are so multi-talented," he kidded, "I'm sure you can play at least four musical instruments."

     Zoya smiled and shook her head, "no, Aapi wanted me to learn the piano and I did for four years. And yes, I can play a little guitar."

Ayaan's jaw dropped. He hadn't expected that answer.

     Najma's excitement could not be contained. "Ooh," she jumped up and down in her seat, "now you have to play something for us."

Zoya started to protest, but Ayaan and Dilshad too begged her to play a little something for them.

     Shyly she said, "I know only this one song well. It's my favorite and I used to think of it as my theme song." She laughed self-consciously.

Ayaan tried to hand her the guitar but sitting with two other people so closely was not going to work. She hoped that the seating arrangements would deter them and get her out of this mess. But she hadn't known the force known as Ayaan plus Najma. They squeaked and nagged and bleated till Asad had pulled over, and Ayaan had exchanged seats with Zoya.

She was mentally kicking herself for even telling him that she knew how to play the stupid guitar.

With everyone settled in, and the car on the move again, Ayaan and Najma turned around to look at her with twin puppy dog expressions.  
And her heart lightened.

     She laughed softly. "OK, OK, I'll do it. But I may be rusty. It's been a while. And, you all have to join in, or I'll feel too silly. I don't even know if I remember all the words."

Experimentally touching the strings she tested a few chords and hummed softly. Tentatively first, and then growing more confident, she sang her favorite song that Aapi had told her was also her Ammi's favorite song which she would sing to her as a baby.

     "Aaane wala pal, jaane wala hai.  
     Ho sake to iss me, zindagi bita lo,  
     Pal yeh bhi jaane wala hai."

Dilshad turned around, surprised and mesmerized. She loved this song too! In fact, it was on one of the cassettes that Rashid had made for her.  
Zoya's soft voice floated above them. It broke and caught in some places, but brought a smile to everyone's faces.

Asad's heart sank.  
He thought about her earlier words, "I used to think of it as my theme song." Had his indecisiveness and anger done even more damage? He remembered how that fateful night she had barged into his room to unburden herself, and how she had looked half-timid but still so self-assured.

     "I like you a lot," she had said. "I hope that I never have to leave …"

Her there with them, forever. Yes, that would be home.

Asad tried to shake off the regret but more flooded in. Like algaeal blooms it now sucked all oxygen away leaving dead zones behind.

These past few days he had seen Zoya go completely silent and yet display a tragic kind of dignity and maturity, that a month ago he wouldn't have imagined her capable of. He took his hand off the steering wheel and pressed his knuckles tightly against his lips. He ground his lips against his teeth unconsciously punishing himself and breathed a heavy sigh. He couldn't believe the irony of how, now that he had admitted even to himself that he fell a little bit more in love with her each day, that they would never be able to be together.

     "Aaane wala pal, jaane wala hai?"

It was gone. All gone. His fingertips had brushed against love … happiness …

But just before he could close his fist to grab on, someone had yanked him away.

And then he'd thrown hope, everything good … pure ... off a cliff.

All he had left now was the taste of ashes.

 

They soon stopped for lunch and found out about a local dargah that though small, was frequented by travellers of all faiths.  
After paying their respects and offering prayers, they once again took to the road.

Tanu was finding all this feel-good togetherness and piety absolutely suffocating.  
She felt caged in the confines of the car sitting elbow to elbow with Khaala and Najma. Once in a while she got to sit up front with Jammy but that was getting to be such a bore. He kept stealing glances at the rear view mirror. She wished she could rip out that thing so then he would at least concentrate on the road ahead. How they hadn't had an accident as yet, she didn't know.

     She tapped her fingers restlessly on the door armrest and pursed her lips. "Patience, meri jaan, patience. Sabra ka phal meetha hota hai," she consoled herself.

She pressed her palm to her stomach.  
Dilshad's eagle eye caught that gesture.

 

At the outskirts of Agra, Ayaan began ragging Zoya and Najma about stopping for routine servicing at the local paagalkhana.

     "Thode screw tight kara lete hain tum dono ke. Do char saal aur acche se nikal jayenge."

Najma playfully slapped at him and Zoya laughed at both of them.

     "Bahut jaankari hai, you're speaking from experience right, Raabert? Tumhare naam ka special ward hoga wahan par."

Najma giggled and brushed shoulders with Zoya conspiratorially.  
Asad smiled appreciatively looking at both their heads close together in the rear view mirror. There was genuine warmth and affection between Zoya and Najma. He hadn't seen any between Tanu and his sister.

What had he done?

Zoya's love and regard for Ammi was indisputable. She would have taken a bullet for Ammi; she very nearly had. She would have been an ideal bahu and sister-in-law to Najma. He had let himself be blinded by prejudice and outward appearances. While this austere belief system had mostly served him right all his life, when it most mattered, his die-hard principles had bitterly conspired against him. Tanveer may dress conservatively, but Zoya's heart was pure, without malice or spite. She was fiercely protective of Ammi and Najma.

Exactly like him.

With a leaden heart, he watched Najma giggle and give Zoya a sideways hug in the rear view mirror.  
Ayaan and Zoya were still bickering playfully.

     He retaliated in mock anger, "Najma, Mona darling ke sar se door reh, New York wale jooyen chhad jayenge."

Still laughing, Najma reached back and swatted his head.

Zoya felt at peace.

In her prayers she had thanked Allah for the time he was allowing her with her new family in India. She had fallen in love not just with Mr. Khan, but his family as well. How often had she felt that Phuphi was exactly like Ammi. And now, she was so grateful to Najma and Raabert for inadvertently melting the ice bands around her heart. They would never know what their playful and unconditional acceptance of her in their midst, meant to her.

For a glorious second, she had belonged.

She looked up, and her eyes collided with Asad's tortured gaze in the rear view mirror. Her eyes misted, and a frisson of heartache hit her, leaving her breathless and weak with longing.

Don't look at me like that, Mr. Khan. It reminds me too much of that video, and when I made the biggest fool of myself.  
She blinked, but didn't immediately look away. She wanted to let him know that somehow, she would be OK, that she didn't hold anything against him.

 

 

Song in Title:  
Kurbaan (2009): "Ali Maula


	10. Kahin Toh Har Lamha Honthon Pe Fariyaad Hai

 

 

By now, even Zoya was excited to see the Taj. 

They had just finished visiting Sikandra and the Agra Fort.

The armies of monkeys at Sikandra, Allah miyan! She and Najma teased Ayaan about the real reason for his wanting to come to Agra: wanting to be reunited with his long-lost ancestors, after visiting with aging relatives at the paagalkhana! He had chased them like a madman at that, grabbing Zoya by her waist and swinging her around in circles as she screamed with laughter, and begged to be put down.  

Asad gritted his teeth savagely. 

He wanted to grab Ayaan by his collar and shake him. Hard. He imagined himself grabbing Zoya from behind similarly, and molding her body to his. He wouldn't have cared who saw him as he nuzzled her neck and tightened his grip on her waist promising her more intimacy in private, later on. Oh god! He raked his fingers through his hair. This trip was a terrible idea. It was making him crazy to see her suffer. And now, when she was actually beginning to emerge from her grief, he was feeling cut off and exiled. And to feel tormented by this gnawing jealousy against his own kid brother? Incredibly foolish!

Asad glanced at Zoya who by now had found a cute monkey family. The mother hugged her baby to her chest tightly and a smaller monkey followed them about. Zoya eagerly took pictures with her iPad. Later handing her iPad to Ayaan, she pulled Najma into a hug and asked him to take a picture of both of them with the monkeys in the background.

As Ayaan tried to focus on the shot, a male monkey came charging out of nowhere, and rearing up his legs, smashed them into Ayaan's backside.

     "Whaa—?!"

Najma and Zoya collapsed on the ground, laughing hysterically. Even Asad couldn't resist that sight and wondered if in his jealous stupor he had imagined this. Dilshad didn't see what happened, but she turned around and looked at the sight before her: Najma and Zoya breathless from uncontrollable laughter, holding their sides, Asad laughing with his head thrown back, and Ayaan looking offended and embarrassed, scratching his head with one hand and massaging his lower back with the other.

Dilshad wanted to capture this moment forever. She whipped out her phone and tried to snap shots of all four of them.

 

Later, when thinking about this scene, Dilshad tried to recall where Tanu was during all this hilarity which felt so right and so perfect. To see Asad laugh like that had warmed her heart and soul. Capturing the moment on camera had been a silent plea to Allah. Please give me this. Let this moment be forever. It had been a vow to herself and her children. I will make it right. Then she remembered that Tanu had begged off earlier, and wanted to stay in the car because she felt tired. She had noticed lately that Tanu was acting cranky and not as solicitous of her and Najma as she had been in the past few weeks. How had this girl waltzed into their lives and turned everything awry? 

Dilshad stiffened.

On the other hand, there was Zoya. If it had been Zoya with Asad that fateful night, she would have never accepted a doomed proposal of a marriage of forced honor. She would have taken equal responsibility, and never bound Asad to a loveless marriage. She would have run away in typical Zoya fashion, but not once entered a marriage where there was no love.

Dilshad's heart twisted.

But there was something between Asad and Zoya, wasn't there? They avoided each other. But she didn't miss him stealing glances at her. This girl kept out of his way, and looked shattered. Whenever Zoya caught her Phuphi looking at her, she put on a fake smile. But her eyes continued to look like muddy pools of torment.

Allah!  

Now, back in the car, she took out her phone to look at the pictures she had taken. Dilshad looked closely at a group picture she'd taken of all the kids. Asad and Zoya flanked the others on either side. Asad's face looked grim as he stared ahead, jaw clenched tight. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes but that set of the mouth didn't look like a man happy with his engagement. And Zoya's shoulders drooped even as she linked arms with Najma. She wore a slight smile, but it was not the smile that Dilshad was used to seeing on her face. Her hand shook. How was she going to set this right?

Najma peeked over and grabbed the phone out of Dilshad's hand to share with Zoya. Ayaan leaned over from the back seat. Zoya swatted him saying she didn't want his Bhopali lice to get too cozy with her elite New York lice.

A frowning Asad relaxed and smiled.

With their heads together, the three Musketeers, as Najma had named them, peered at the tiny screen and laughed again at everyone's expressions.

Zoya took the phone and quickly sent all the pictures to her account. She loved the picture of Mr. Khan laughing. She had seen him like that only once, and it was the best memory she had of him, and of them being together.

 

Najma and Zoya would not let up on Ayaan's encounter with the monkey.

     "He came to say, sup homie, long time no see,' " Zoya joked.

Even Mr. Khan chuckled softly at this and her heart soared.

     "No," Najma exclaimed, "he got jealous of Bhaijaan. How dare he flirt with my wife he must have thought."

Asad felt that he could relate with the monkey.

Ayaan roared with laughter at Najma's quip, and pulled her ponytail. He was so glad Bhai had asked him to join them on this trip. He could see that Bhai too was a bit less tense than he had been at the start of the trip.

Ayaan felt relaxed. 

He was able to take his mind off Mumani's constant threats and blackmail, and didn't feel as guilty about Humaira. Although he missed his sisters and the Zingo Hotties Club, he was having a great time with Najma and Mona darling. Mona was quieter than he'd imagined, but still intriguing. She had seemed preoccupied initially, but was sassy as hell as she verbally parried with him and held her own. And getting to know Najma better was an added bonus. Bhabhijaan-to-be, he wasn't so sure of. She seemed a bit cold, but she did seem to fit Bhai's image of a perfect woman, so who was he to say anything.

 

They parked to go to see the Taj Mahal. They had to park away from the monument and either walk some distance, or take a rickshaw or a horse-drawn buggy. Najma and Zoya were not interested in a ride. They wanted to explore the dozens of little souvenir shops on both sides of the street. Dilshad had to be the bad guy since Asad had given up correcting these two. 

     "Girls," she scolded. "You can walk back and look to your heart's content. But right now we need to go together, so that we don't have to wait hours for you at the entrance."

Zoya touched her hands to her ears, and mouthed a sorry to Phuphi.

     "Horse cart!" shrieked Najma in delight. "Please Bhaijaan!"

They piled into two horse carts and were soon deposited at the entrance. But not before Ayaan took the reins from the tangewala and sang, "main mard tangewala, main hoon mard tangewala. Dushman kya maarega, mera dost hai uparwala!" Najma roared with laughter and Zoya couldn't resist a soft giggle. 

Asad rode with Ammi. He watched Zoya relax at Ayaan's antics and then linger to pat the horse and tip their driver a little extra. But Najma dragged her by her arm and they raced ahead to catch a glimpse of the Taj through the gate. 

     Dilshad clicked her tongue in frustration. "These girls," she mock-groaned. 

 

Tickets bought, and about fifteen eager tour guides fended off, they all trooped inside the gate and held their collective breaths at the first glimpse of the Taj. Thousands of people swarmed about, tour guides held up mirrors against the gate to show the complete reflection of the monument. People posed on the central marble platform pretending to hold the Taj by its tip.

Zoya's eyes misted as she stood before the most romantic monument of the world. 

All clichès fell away. 

She could not believe that she was actually seeing it in all its snowy magnificence. She had always imagined that the color would have dulled with centuries of muck and grime and decades of air pollution. But it shone milky white as if untouched by time. The manicured gardens around the Taj contrasted with its whiteness. The pool in front reflected its glory.

Around her, she could hear snippets of historical details from guides.

     "...minarets aren't at a ninety-degree angle. They tilt slightly outwards, so that if they collapsed they wouldn't destroy the monument."

Zoya peered at the minarets and couldn't really tell if that was true. But it did make a lot of sense.

     " ...Taj has a vacuum foundation so that the Yamuna couldn't cut through ..."

     She noticed an elderly khadi-clad gentleman ask his grandson, "Taj Mahal kisne banaya?"

     The child innocently replied, "Shahjahan ne."

     "No," the grandfather said, "majdoor ne."

Zoya laughed and shook her head. Exactly what Jeeju would say. 

She gazed long at the monument without the urge to take a single photograph. Asad noticed two men leering at her and moved closer to stand beside her while scowling at them threateningly. He rotated his clenched fist. They slunk away.

She sighed in contentment. This was so right.

     "Thank you Allah miyan! For this day, and for all these experiences. Mujhe aapka har faisla qubool hai."

He saw the vestiges of pain lift from her face. Asad too felt his prayers answered, and a burden lift.

 

Slowly, as if in a trance, everyone moved closer to the main edifice. Najma wanted to pose on the platform and take a picture pretending to hold the Taj from its spire.

     Again Dilshad gently explained, "after we've visited the monument."

God, correcting her constantly was exhausting. How did Asad do this all day long all these years?

They removed their footwear, covered their heads and reverently climbed up to the central courtyard. Even Ayaan was serious and quiet for a change.

 

At one time tourists could venture down below to the real tombs of the seventeenth-century emperor and his beloved wife. But now that had been sealed off for restricted access only.

Asad had managed to wrangle special passes for this hallowed visit, and with an official escort, they descended into the cool and dark underbelly of the monument. They walked down the ramp and came into the inner sanctuary with two plainly appointed tombs. The false tombs upstairs were more elaborately decorated.

A couple of people knelt and prayed. 

Zoya loved the simple purity of the site. She could feel the heartbeats of millions of happy and lost lovers from all time, zing through her. Instinctively, she sank to the ground near the tombs, closed her eyes and lifted her palms to offer prayer. She thought of her parents and her father's gravesite. She thought of how she'd yearned for a family all her life and how she had found her Ammi in Phuphi. 

She had also found love. So what if it hadn't found her? She was here, at the holiest monuments built to love and its power. She would be all right.

Tears coursed down her face. 

Najma and Ayaan looked at her uncertainly. Dilshad too prayed, eyes closed in repose, palms facing heavenwards. She prayed for love and justice, and most of all, for her son.

Asad stood still, charged and evermore connected to Zoya. Her duas rose from his heart; it throbbed in electrified response. 

In unison, they offered prayers for healing, strength, and each other's happiness. Neither felt worthy of the other; their wishes for one another curled up like the incense by the eternal tombs of the emperor and his beloved wife.

 

 

Song in Title:

Salaam-e-Ishq (2007): "Ya Rabba"


	11. Kahin Toh Dil Mein Yaadon Ki, Ek Suli Gadd Jaati Hai

 

**  
  
**

****The next morning they had planned to visit Fatehpur Sikri. Asad would take a late afternoon flight back home afterwards.

Tanu had had enough of this company and the blasted road trip. Her feet ached, she felt nauseous, and in general, she was just having a bad time all around. She begged off claiming a headache and tiredness yet again. She also hoped to snoop through Zoya's things; they were sharing a room again. 

It was hotter today than yesterday, and Najma asked Zoya how she could even bear to be in full-sleeves. Zoya smiled and said nothing. She held up her water bottle to indicate that she was fine. Though in concession to the heat, she had piled her hair on top in a messy bun.

At Buland Darwaaza everyone gawked at the massive gate festooned with giant honeybee hives, and the steep high steps that led up to it. Ayaan and Najma scampered up to the top to admire the souvenirs being hawked by vendors on the landing. Zoya climbed at a more leisurely pace, and often stopped to take pictures with her iPad. She got some good shots of Najma and Ayaan racing to the top framed against the grand doorway. She turned around to get one of Phuphi climbing up. Dilshad trailed behind everyone, still deep in thought.

Asad climbed the stairs, a little behind Zoya. He just knew that being distracted with her iPad, and given her famous track record, she was a mere step away from tripping and breaking her neck. She couldn't walk straight without bumping into something, or falling over on flat ground; this was a surefire disaster in the making.

And as if it were a self-fulfilling prophecy, he saw, almost in slow motion, her foot catch in a crevice. Her hair flew loose, and her arms went up to balance and self-correct while her hands still clutched that wretched iPad desperately.

     "ZOYAAA!" His heart in his mouth, he raced to catch her and did, before she ended up at the bottom in a broken heap of bones. 

Holding her left hand in his and her waist with his right hand, he gently guided her on to the step next to him, while she fearfully clung to his arm. Once she had secured her footing, she looked at him to thank him.

But time stood still.

Words died on her lips. They could not look away from each other's eyes, nor break apart from each other's embrace. Asad's hand on her waist tightened, his head lowered imperceptibly.

A bee buzzed lazily around them and broke their trance.

As they disengaged self-consciously, he felt his temper fray. 

     "Can't you be more careful and more aware of your surroundings? Have you seen how dangerous these steps are? If I hadn't been there, you could have killed yourself by being so careless."

     Heart still pounding from the near fall, and now his closeness, she lashed out too, "thank you very much for once again coming to rescue this clumsy idiot who keeps annoying you like ... like this bee." Her eyes flashed as she gestured wildly, "and what's it to you if I fell? Aapko kya farak padta hai main jiyoon ya maroon? Just stay away from me!"

She saw his eyes widen and nostrils flare; his temper evaporated to be replaced by pain. Asad grabbed her elbow in a vise-like grip, unaware that his fingers were biting into her flesh and that he was hurting her. 

     He ground out harshly through gritted teeth, "don't ever say that! Mujhe farak padta hai. I pray that nothing bad happens to you. Ever."

And with that he flung her arm away and jogged up ahead of her. 

She rubbed her arm where he had gripped her and looked at his receding back through blurring eyes. She remembered when he had said, "if something happened to you I would have gone crazy." 

She knew this was yet more evidence of his bipolar behavior, express concern, and then bite her head off the next second. 

Do I infuriate you so much, Mr. Khan? 

He had called her by her first name again. He always did when he feared for her safety. But then, just as quickly, he reverted to the icy Ms. Farooqui. He did care for her, she knew that much. But he was fighting his attraction for her because he did not see her as fit or worthy of being his life partner. 

Zoya half-sobbed. 

But then, scrubbing her eyes, she decided that anger would be a better defense mechanism. Otherwise she would just turn into a mushy puddle of self-pity. 

And she was done crying. 

She would get over this even if it killed her.

 

Dilshad saw the entire scene unfold, though she was too far below to hear the words exchanged between them. But she did see how Asad had been following her just a little behind keeping a close eye on Zoya, and how he had leapt to hold her before she fell. She also saw how they gazed at each other and reluctantly parted, much too long after he had safely set her down.

This is it! I was right, she thought. This is what's meant to be. Allah, please help them find their way to each other. Don't give them a lifetime of pain and heartache. I lost my true love, but let my children be blessed with the happiness it brings.

Inside, she noticed the two giving each other a wide berth, but Asad kept glaring at anyone who dared look at her, and periodically glancing over at Zoya who studiously avoided his gaze.

     "Steer clear of Jahanpanah six packs Zoya! You don't want to club him to death and cause Phuphi pain, do you?" She gave herself a pep talk. "What does he think of himself? Sometimes he's so gentle, and then other times he ruins it all by being so mean."

She wished she had used her pepper spray or karate moves on him. So many times she had wanted to clock him for being so ... arrogant and stubborn and ... and just plain Jahanpanah. Sheesh! 

But when, her visions of vengeance and causing him physical pain, turned to those of her wrapped in his arms, she never knew. She was walking sightlessly toward the shrine in the center of the courtyard, and saw nothing except Mr. Khan holding her close to him, lifting his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then brushing his fingers across her cheek. In her fantasy, she felt him stroking her parted lips with his thumb before bending his head to kiss her.

She bumped into someone.

Behind her, Asad raised his eyes to the sky in exasperation, and sighed audibly. 

Zoya dug her nails into her palms painfully.

     "Stop daydreaming of him, khuda ke liye! He belongs to someone else and she's welcome to him. They can live happily ever after as Mr. and Mrs. Tehzeeb and have an army of little tehzeebs and— 

She dragged her dupatta on her head determinedly, and entered the shrine teeming with devotees and tourists. She spotted Najma and Ayaan ahead of her tying sacred threads to the jaali. Ayaan was ogling a group of young college girls and Najma was rolling her eyes. 

     Zoya sighted a woman untie a thread and bend down to her daughter and tell her, "jab dua qubool ho jaaye, tab kissi ek dhage ko khol sakte hain." 

She nearly doubled over in pain. Her eyes, already gritty, smarted. Oh god, would she ever get a chance to untie a thread like that?

May be you don't deserve to undo a thread, Zoya. Allah must be punishing you for saying, "qubool nahin hai." With a pang she thought back to how alone and heartbroken she had felt at the shrine in Ajmer Sharif, and how Mr. Khan had offered her his own red string. 

Enough! She was much stronger today than that day. No more self-pity. 

Thanking Allah, she decided to honor her regained spirit and new-found resolve by tying a thread of hope and new beginnings here. May be some happy soul would come, years later, and untie it because their dua had been accepted. She was Allah's instrument. She was just paving the way for future pilgrims' fulfilled hopes. Zoya rubbed the knotted thread before walking away, head held high. She didn't see Asad touch it a minute later. She didn't know how he'd nearly tied his own thread over hers in some kind of godawful solidarity. But then he decided against it. He had no right to touch or taint her wishes.

Asad walked away, the untied thread smushed deep into his pocket.

 

After paying their respects at the shrine erected in honor of a favorite Sufi saint who had blessed Akbar with the promise of an heir, everyone moved to explore the palace, and the exquisitely carved private rooms of the emperor and his queens. They heard snatches of monologues delivered by guides around them. Everyone marveled at the intricate cabinet room for the Nav Ratnas, the tomb of the favorite elephant in the distance, the emperor's raised bed surrounded by a pool that would be filled with itar, the symmetrical gardens ... 

The abandoned ghost town was a perfectly preserved slice of history and a testament to an emperor's whim, and his heart's deepest desire. Lingering to read several signs placed around the monuments, Zoya felt a deep respect for, and affinity with the original Jahanpanah. All joking aside, this was a pretty cool dude. She would apologize to Jeeju for making fun of his favorite movie. In fact, next time she'd watch "Mughal-E-Azam" with him with new respect. She'd re-watch "Jodha Akbar" with Aapi too … So much of that film showed scenes from Fatehpur Sikri.

Asad's jaw relaxed as he watched Zoya read posted signs and take pictures. Funny how he'd come to admire her simple curiosity about the world around her. Her artlessness floored him now when earlier it had only infuriated him; he'd called it childish irresponsibility ... Tanu, on the other hand, seemed to hate everything. She rolled her eyes or sighed heavily unimpressed by history or beauty. But Zoya ...

Maybe the road trip was a good idea. Even if it pressed them together in close confines and intensified the pain, it also seemed to be therapeutic in some ways. Maybe this was the closure Allah intended. Or maybe this was a necessary last rite for an unborn, no an undead love … because it still hurt like the devil to watch Zoya. To feel her pain as viscerally as if he'd been stabbed.

Hand trailing on one of the carved signs Zoya smiled ruefully at how she had nicknamed Mr. Khan, Jahanpanah, and then appended the title of six packs to that name, a few days later. She blushed remembering him in the bathtub that day. His head was thrown back, naked shoulders visible above the bubbles … he was whistling. Only late she had marveled at that fact—Mr. Khan actually whistling a Hindi film song? The mighty Jahanpanah who only raged?

She smiled slightly now, thinking of how she couldn't resist peeking at his body from under her lashes and fingers after he'd wrapped his towel low on his waist and she had salivated seeing those perfectly sculpted abs. 

Had she walked in on him more recently would she have been bold enough to walk up behind him and soap those wide shoulders and then bend to nip his ear teasingly? And then when she moved away to leave, would he tug her hand making her splash into the tub on top of him to feel every inch of his hard naked body under hers? 

Her breath caught; the color on her cheeks deepened.

But then she remembered his unsuppressed fury that day at her inappropriateness and complete lack of tameez. 

Zoya's smile slipped and blush paled.

Her eyes stung.

She imagined him with Tanu by his side to punish herself for these errant thoughts and daydreams. She would be soaping those shoulders, sharing his bed. 

Zoya forced her nails into her palms.

Oh god, when will it stop hurting?

When you leave ... an inner voice of reason mocked and incited.

Zoya bit her lip to stopper the cry of pain.

No more. Just suck. It. Up.

This time Dilshad caught the play of emotions across Zoya's face and her heart constricted in empathy. She thought of the number of times she had caught a glimpse of Rashid with Shireen over these years. She wouldn't wish that kind of pain on her worst enemy. 

 

After a late lunch, they dropped Asad off at the airport and returned to the hotel. Zoya entered her room and saw Tanu sleeping. She moved about quietly and went in to take a shower. Standing under the cold shower she let her tears flow freely. All her tightly held emotions and resolve to stay strong washed down the drain. 

Fists to her mouth she thought of how hard it was for her to look at Mr. Khan in the face and wish him a safe flight. She'd opted to look at an imaginary point on his right shoulder and prayed that her voice wouldn't tremble and lips quiver as she said goodbye. This would be the first time in about six months that they wouldn't be under the same roof. How was it possible to already miss him? 

She sank to her knees and let the stream of water beat down on her. 

Leave, Zoya, she sobbed. Just go. Get the hell out of Dodge. 

She thought of Tanu in the next room. She felt jealous for wanting what Tanu had, and then ashamed of feeling this way. 

There's nothing here for you. You're a loser, a misfit. That's why your Abbu never came to get you.

     "Tabhi aapki Ammi aap se chhin gayee," Mr. Khan had said. 

Ammi! 

Ammi!

I'm sorry.

 

In the bed Tanu heard the shower turn on in the bathroom, and the plumbing groaned.

She smiled as she thought of her day. 

     "Good idea to stay back and go through Miss New York's stuff."

After returning from a massage in the hotel spa, she decided to try on Zoya's designer perfume and lotion. Then she went looking in her backpack and carry-on bag. She even tried on a few of her shirts, but the jeans wouldn't fit.

In the backpack she struck gold. There was an old jewelry box and Tanu wondered if there was some expensive jewelry in there that she could try on too. But she was disappointed. It just had some old photographs and letters, and a single earring. So dumb.

Bored, she decided to read the letters. They were obviously written by a man very much in love with his wife but lamenting their separation. By the repeated mention of Zoya's name, she was easily able to deduce that these were her father's letters to her mother. And thanks to her conspiracy with Razia bi, Tanu knew exactly who that man was. 

Tanveer sat back on the bad and crowed with malicious glee. 

Miss New York was grieving for a dead father; Tanu knew that he lived. 

Miss New York was pining for a lost love; Tanu had him in the palm of her hand.

She wondered if she should keep the battered jewelry box, but decided it served no real purpose right now. If she ever needed the contents, she could always get them from Zoya's room in the Khan Villa later.

She rummaged around some more, and felt a round bump at the bottom and took out an old music box. She rolled her eyes. It was the one she had seen in Zoya's hands many times when she was moping around in the garden thinking no one knew that she was crying. Tanveeer returned everything to the bag and tidied up. She knew that Zoya would never know if anyone had been through her stuff; everything was too haphazardly thrown together anyways.

  


Song in Title: 

Namaste London (2007): "Main Jahaan Rahoon"


	12. Mere Sapne Sawaar De, Tainu Dil Da Vasta

 

 ****

On the plane Asad brooded over every moment since the day Zoya had told him about her feelings. So what else was new. This was a daily ritual too—waking up with her on his mind … sinking into a bottomless coma with her name on his lips every night. 

He brushed an impatient hand through his hair. She had avoided him most of the trip, but today he had felt her pain turn to anger. 

And for that he was grateful. 

A sad Zoya was just not right. A fighting and resistant Zoya was whom he had fallen in love with. No matter that they couldn't be together; he would cause her pain anyway. He always did. Asad thought about this morning and squeezed his eyes shut in shame. He had even hurt her physically. As they were leaving the compound of Fatehpur Sikri, Zoya's sleeve had caught and ripped on a rusty nail in an ancient doorway. Everyone rushed to see if she had been hurt, but thankfully she was fine. Ammi had gently chided her to be more careful, and Zoya had ducked her head as if scolded. And as she adjusted the torn sleeve to cover her arm, he noticed angry welts around her elbow, and remembered, how just that morning he'd grabbed her arm in a punishing grip. 

He swore softly. 

This incident made Asad think of all the times in the past when he had held her just as roughly by her upper arms to yell at or threaten her. This morning he hadn't hurt her in anger. He'd lashed out in pain unaware that he was marking her. But in the past he would violently back her into a wall with barely repressed anger. He remembered how each time he would almost lift her off her feet and bring his face close to hers to hurl hurtful words at her through gritted teeth. Those spectacles of dominance were meant to hurt.

He must have left bruises then too. 

He'd never been so angry nor been so physically aggressive with a woman before. God, he was an animal! Worse, although she stood up to him toe to toe, nose to nose, always contradicting him and crossing swords with him, she never, not once, said what she could have: Would he have been as cruel if she had family? A brother or a father to stand up for her? An Ammi to wipe her tears and hold her? 

No. Not once did she use blackmail to shame him for his bitter words or actions. 

Just once she had reminded him of her lack of a parent: When he had gone against Ammi in suspecting Rashid Ahmed Khan of the worst. Zoya had pleaded with him to forgive his father and trust his mother's instincts.

     "She's lost her husband, don't make her lose her son too," she had begged. 

     He had turned his back on her in fury then and barked, "Ms. Farooqui, you have no right to interfere in my family matters. Aapko rishton ki ehmiyat nahin hai." 

You have no family, he had implied. 

You're not family, he had declared mercilessly. 

What would you know about fathers or mothers, he had silently taunted. 

He'd heard her gasp and known even then that he'd crossed a line. Just like the time when he had cruelly sneered, "isliye aapki Ammi aap se chhin gayeen!" And that too she'd forgiven him. How could he have ever said so cruel! And why did she continue to forgive his transgressions?  

     "At least you have a father to hate," Zoya'd whispered that night before running out of his room. 

She had only reminded him of her lack of blood relations or legitimate birth then because she had wanted him to reconcile with his father. To prevent him from hurting his mother.

Rishton ki ehmiyat? What a bloody joke! Self-loathing coursed through Asad. Did he really used to think and talk that way? With a straight face? What kind of self-entitled ass had he been! But he knew. He knew even then he was attracted to her and had used the harshest words as a shield for his emotions. And now his barrage of bitterness had quietly managed to erode her once-invincible spirit. 

Asad squeezed his eyes shut. 

Instinctively he had sensed that all her life she had carried the weight of only one fear: why didn't her father come looking for her? "Kya main itni buri hoon?" he'd heard her whisper when she told him about why she had come to India. And like a fire-breathing ogre he had spent all their time together proving just that: "haan, aap buri hain." 

Those terrible words reverberated in his head: "isliye aapki Ammi aap se chhin gayeen." 

Asad nearly groaned aloud and covered his face. Thanks to his relentless rejection of her he had doomed her to permanent self-doubt. And yet her steady generosity and grace shone through. 

He'd left her bruised, she forgave him each time. 

He'd scowled and raged, she smiled or teased him, when, for days after she must have carried marks of his anger on her arms. Is that why she always wore long-sleeved shirts?

Oh god, how could he have ever thought her selfish or inconsiderate? He was the inconsiderate brute.

 

A part of him yearned to imagine the marks he would've liked to leave instead on her body … with his lovemaking. 

But he couldn't allow his mind to go down that road. 

It was wrong. Asad forced himself think of Tanu. He felt resentment boil up inside him like acid reflux.

He thought back to his conversation with Ammi. Like her, he couldn't imagine doing anything repulsive like that. And why couldn't he remember anything from that blasted night? That night when he'd won the world and then squandered it away ...

He had never felt any attraction for Tanu, just fraternal concern, especially after her factory burned down. How could he have had any sexual feelings for her as he tried to console her? Why couldn't he recall anything? Asad ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

     "Aap misfit hain," he'd said to Zoya so confident off his rightness. Of his lofty idealism … 

She had laughed in his face. He'd been smitten even then. He hadn't been able to look away. He'd tried to reach out and touch that magic … that misfitness. She had laughed again and backed away from him.

Zoya!

 

The only woman who could make him think sinful thoughts was Zoya ... and even though he had held her several times either in anger or to break her fall, wanted to crush her lips with his each time, he had always stepped back and never acted on his fantasies. When Zoya had hugged him in despair, even then he had restrained himself before gently offering whatever little comfort he could. If he was so self-controlled with the woman he was attracted to, how could he have done anything with Tanu? Asad kept thinking why he couldn't remember anything. Had he blocked out his own debauchery?

What if it had been Zoya instead? 

His stomach tightened and he felt a flare of desire lick his insides.

     "Zoya," he thought drowsily. "I wish it were you I had made love to. I would have remembered every moment."

 

Asad's mind refused to be reined in now. Visions of what could-have-been darted through his restless thoughts.

He thought of that night when she had nagged him about dancing because he had lost the bet that she wouldn't be able to get any information from the security company about their employees. Those days Zoya had been the expert sleuth uncovering clues to Ammi's assailant. He was already falling in love with her then, wasn't he? He was Watson to her Sherlock, Akbar to her Birbal. She'd been incandescent those days … an avenging angel. Luminous … 

Even her shayari that night … silly … crazy … and simply, Zoya.

     "Jiske chale jaane se dance floor ho jati hai bewa,

      Jiske chale jaane se dance floor ho jati hai bewa,

     Trust me, aap ke andar chi chhupa hua hai,

     Aisa hi ek Prabhu Deva!"

Barely awake now, he remembered how his heart had knocked in his chest as he'd seen her scared face thinking he was about to strike her again. He had just reached out to let her know he wouldn't be dancing, no matter what. But her face had shamed him. Oh god, he'd slapped her and she had forgiven him even that! 

That night he had instinctively snagged her wrist to stop her from walking away and pulled her to slam her against his chest while encircling her waist with one arm. He couldn't bear that frightened look on her face. She wanted him to dance, he'd show her that she'd bitten off more than she could chew. 

He could still feel her heartbeat and ragged breathing as her hair fluttered against his cheek. Some instinct had taken over; he couldn't stop himself from twirling her. Their bodies had moved against each other fluidly, as he dragged her against him once more, this time with her back against him.

Zoya!

Her back to him and face turned so close to his, he could have bent an inch or two and sucked on her earlobe. And instead of holding both her hands in his, he could have wrapped his arms low on her waist pulling her hips against his to let her know how much he wanted her. 

Because he had wanted her. 

He would have let his hands slowly wander up to cup her breasts to trace and stroke her nipples through her shirt. He would have turned her around in the circle of his arms and lifted her up so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. He'd whisper in her ear how grateful he was for her love of jeans and she would squeeze him closer to her. He could almost feel her hair brush his arms as she arched pressing herself harder against him.

He would have carried her to his room to make sweet love to her. She would have called out his name. How much had he wanted to hear his name on her lips! Just once. 

She'd called him by his first name only once, and that too when she'd been half-delirious from being drugged by that bastard Akram!

Or, when he had dipped her, he would have kissed her with enough tongue to make her cling helplessly to his shoulders. And then he would have swept her up in his arms and carried her to his bed, whispering hotly in her ear, "dance isse kehte hain Ms. Farooqui." 

 

He nearly groaned aloud again. Oh lord, why had he kept fighting his growing attraction to her all those months? Ammi and Najma could have been shopping for rings for his engagement with Zoya! 

To fight off the attraction he felt for a woman he loved, and to bed a woman he didn't? How did that even make sense? You stupid jerk!

Asad pounded his fist on the armrest. 

The passenger next to him looked at him in alarm.

     "Sorry," he whispered and excused himself. In the restroom he splashed cold water on his face. 

 

And still he couldn't stop himself from imagining backing Zoya against the wall in his room to kiss and suck her lips till they were swollen. 

Those lips! 

How often had he felt like tracing them with his thumb? He would part her legs with his knee and thigh, and angle to fit himself just right so that he could drag her leg up over his and grind into her. He would continue to kiss her, nip and lick her throat. Tugging her shirt loose he'd slide his hands in to feel her warm skin and let his hands trail over her stomach ... her back ... he'd unhook her bra to catch her bare breasts tumbling into his waiting palms. He would look long and deep into her drooping eyes as he stroked her nipples with his thumbs. Whipping her shirt over her head he would dip his head to take her nipple in his mouth and suck till she went completely crazy— 

 

The flight attendant announced that the plane would land in fifteen minutes. Asad shook his head as if that could knock the raging visions out of his head. He brushed his hair off his forehead impatiently, and waited miserably to retrieve his bag. 

Back home, the silence and emptiness bit at his heels. 

Instead of going directly to his room, Asad wheeled his bag toward Zoya's room and stood at the door looking in. The bed was not made as tidily as he'd have liked. A towel was slung over a chairback. 

He almost smiled, but pain gnawed at his insides. 

He turned to go to his room.

 

 

Song in Title:

Love Aaj Kal (2009) "Aj Din Chadheya"


	13. Na Hai Koi Hal, Dilon Ki Mushkil Ka

 

 

 

On the drive back to Bhopal, even Najma noticed Tanu being moody.

     "Aap bhaijaan ko miss kar rahin hain na?" She asked sweetly. 

Dilshad saw Tanu's fake smile. Instinctively, she turned to look at Zoya's lowered lashes ... the clenched hands and bowed head told the story of who really missed whom; Dilshad's heart ached for her. She wanted to stroke her head and comfort her: everything's going to be OK. I'll take care of it, she wanted to say. 

She forced herself look at Tanu and grimaced. Dilshad thought of how Tanu had refused to eat anything at breakfast opting only for dry toast and weak tea. In fact that had been her diet for some time now. 

     "It couldn't be. Such signs so early? I have to move fast."

The trip home felt long, but was uneventful. Mostly everyone slept due to sheer exhaustion. 

 

Zoya had watched the video of Mr. Khan wanting her to stay back so many times, that her phone and iPad were draining rapidly. 

Stop it! Stop tormenting yourself. Just delete this. Cut the cord, will you? 

Her finger hovered to make a clean surgical cut. 

But she couldn't do it. May be she'd do it tomorrow. One more look. 

She sneaked peeks at the pictures Phuphi had taken in Sikandra. She loved this shot of him with his head thrown back as he laughed at Ayaan's discomfort. But she felt a pang when she saw the photos of Mr. Khan with Najma, Tanu and Ayaan at Chokhidani. 

She was an outsider. These four would be in many other photographs. Weddings ... family portraits ... babies ... 

Zoya nearly gagged with the pain that coursed through her. Her eyes stung. She would never be a part of the family that she'd irrevocably fallen in love with. 

     "I better start thinking of flying back home. When we reach Bhopal I'll call a travel agent to get my tickets booked. I can tell Phuphi and Najma that I have to leave early because my visa is expiring. Thank god, I've already bought gifts for everyone from Chokhidani and Agra." 

She hadn't known what to get Mr. Khan though. She had traced her fingers over a miniature sculpture of the Taj, but then removed them quickly as if burned by the stone. 

Stupid idiot! Don't even think about it! 

Zoya had finally decided on a simple photo frame. She'd have the picture of all four of them printed up in sepia and give him that. No, probably just leave it on his table. She may never be able to look at, or be near him. She'd made a big enough fool of herself already.

They reached home in the late afternoon, and everyone left to freshen up and rest. 

 

In the evening, Dilshad knocked on Tanu's door. After initial pleasantries, she told Tanu what Asad had confessed to her in Jaipur. 

Tanu, shocked and shamed, hid her face in her hands and began to cry.

     "I'm sorry khaala, I know you must be upset. But Jammy is so kind and upright that he immediately proposed to me."

     Dilshad said firmly, "Tanu, I've decided that in light of everything that's happened, we should go to my doctor and have you examined. If you aren't pregnant, then we need not go through with this wedding since neither of you are in love with each other. I just want what's best for my son. We'll go a week from now to fully confirm since it may still be too early."

Tanu was surprised at Khala's openness and smarts. Mentally she knew that this was the perfect opportunity to pass off her pregnancy as Asad's fault, but she didn't like the idea of going to Khala's doctor. And why wait for a week? The sooner they all got the good news, the better! 

     "I understand Khala and I agree. But we can go to a doctor that I've been visiting already for when I sprained my ankle. In fact we can get an appointment tomorrow itself."

Dilshad hated Tanu's eagerness. It made her even more suspicious. 

     "No, I've already fixed an appointment with my doctor. I'll just ask them to reschedule it for tomorrow."

Seeing that she had no way to wiggle out of an appointment with khala's doctor, Tanu agreed graciously. 

      "I'll just have to put on a darned good show tomorrow," she thought to herself.

 

Dinner was a quiet affair. Najma was the only one talking about the trip: the shopping, food and the historic places. 

Asad looked at her indulgently. He'd rushed back home from work today greedy with hope. 

Even Najma stopped mid-way, surprised that her Bhaijaan didn't tell her to eat quietly.

     "Wasn't the Rajasthani food yummy, Zoya?"

Zoya nodded.

Asad sneaked a look at Zoya from under his lashes. She had stopped eating her food with as much relish as she used to. Sometimes, just the way she threw her head back, closed her eyes, and moaned softly when eating kachoris or pizza, or Ammi's phirni, was enough to make him hard. He forced himself to look at Tanu who looked immensely pleased with herself. 

His mood soured. On his way back home Asad had driven well over posted speed limits. He would see her again. But she would leave soon. There was only a little window of promise ...

Najma started chattering about the wedding functions, not noticing the change in Asad's expression. He looked up sharply at Zoya. Once again she was using her hair to hide her face. But he could see her hand gripping the fork by her plate. She was stabbing her thumb pad with its tines. He nearly shot out of his chair. Asad felt trapped. And helpless. 

Zoya, please!

     Clearing his throat, he called out, "umm, Ms. Farooqui?" 

She raised startled eyes to search his face. 

     "Could you please pass me the salt?"

     "Sure," she whispered, almost harshly. 

Biting her lips, she did as he asked. She passed the salt shaker to Najma. He lowered his gaze apologetically, unable to bear the flash of pain and hope in her eyes. But at least she had unwrapped her fingers from the fork. He looked at Najma. She now talked of dieting so that she could fit into the new style lehengas. 

     Tanu intervened, "Najma, I can help design a dress for you that hides some of your flab and makes you look slimmer." 

Najma's face fell. 

Asad frowned and looked away, not wanting to correct Tanu for being so insensitive to his baby sister. How could he have missed this? He wondered how he never had any such qualms about shouting at Zoya publicly, even though she'd never said anything so hurtful. In fact she had always rushed in to defend Najma or Ammi or take the blame on herself. 

He could kick himself for not noticing those things earlier.

     "Zoya, will you help me with some fitness training so that I can lose weight more quickly?" 

Zoya nodded, not wanting to share as yet her plans for leaving. 

     She reassured Najma, "yes, we can start tomorrow, but Tamtatar you don't need to lose weight. You are gorgeous the way you are. Girls would kill for those curves." 

Najma's smile sparkled, and Asad looked up at Zoya gratefully. 

     But she was still talking animatedly to Najma, "we can do some stretches and then go for a walk or a run, but it's too hot outside. Yoga? Have you tried Zumba? It's such fun! You'll love it. Or, you know what? We can just put some music on and dance. That'll be more fun." 

Najma was completely diverted now. 

Dilshad looked at Zoya with new respect and her heart felt full as her resolve hardened. Please Allah, help me find a way to make this girl my bahu. The urgency was real. Just before dinner Zoya had smiled too wide and thanked her for the trip.

     "I'll always cherish these moments with you all, Phuphi," she had said. 

And Dilshad knew. Zoya was bidding farewell.  

 

The next day, right after Mr. Khan left for work, loud music could be heard coming from the Khan Villa. "Badtameez Dil," "Dreamum Wakeupam," and "Balam Pichkari" kept being replayed while Zoya and Najma danced up a storm. Zoya felt light-hearted as she wiped her dripping face with a hand towel. 

     Najma lay, nearly passed out but grinning, on the floor. "Oh Zoya, that was such fun. We have to do this everyday," she panted.

     "You know what we should do next," said Zoya. "A quick shower and then manis and pedis for each other."

     "Yay," squealed Najma. "I love you Zoya," she sighed with contentment. "I wish you could stay with us forever." 

She didn't see Zoya hide her face in her towel.

 

At the clinic, the doctor told Dilshad that the results showed that Tanu was indeed pregnant. Before Dilshad could ask more questions, Tanu complained of a headache and tiredness, and announced that she wanted to go home immediately. She felt a migraine coming on. In her rush to put on a good show, she missed the look that passed between khaala and the doctor. 

Back in the car, while she faked exhaustion and dozed, Tanu congratulated herself in preventing Khala from asking questions about how far along she was. 

     "Now she'll have to agree to the nikaah," she silently celebrated peering at Dilshad's somber face slyly. 

 

 

Song in Title:

Salaam-e-Ishaq (2007): "Ya Rabba"


	14. Raah Pe Kante Bikhre Agar, Uspe Toh Phir Bhi Chalna Hi Hai

 

 

 

After a long bath, Najma felt too sleepy and tired for a mani-pedi session, so she promised to do so after a long nap. It was summer break after all, and it was meant to catch up on one's beauty sleep. This gave Zoya some time to call around for tickets to New York. Unfortunately, the earliest flight was 19 days from today. She finalized the tickets, making sure that they would not be couriered to this address. She would print them out at any copier shop nearby. No way was she printing them at home. Home? 

Yes, this felt like home. A home away from home.

Zoya looked around the room. Her own room in New York was a riot of colors. This was almost all white in décor and furnishings. The only splashes of color were her clothes tossed about. She looked at them guiltily. See this mess? That's also why he hates you …

But he wanted me to stay back! 

She re-watched the video of Mr. Khan saying "mat jao Zoya," and wept silently. Falling back on her bed and hugging her iPad to her chest, she thought of all those moments they had shared when it felt that he would nearly kiss her. 

How many times had she felt his arms around her and looked into his eyes darkening with some untold emotion? What if he had kissed her? 

She thought of how recently he was much gentler with her. More solicitous even. 

I don't want your pity! 

Why couldn't he love her as much as she loved him?

She wanted him so bad, it hurt.

How much had she negotiated with Allah? Every waking thought for months. It began with: please don't make me fall in love with him, during their spats and sparring, to: please make him fall in love with me! And now: please don't make him pity me.

Just please, make it stop hurting. 

She needed to get out of here. Out of sight, out of mind must have some truth to it after all. 

Zoya sighed. 

Just one day she had gone without seeing him and the hollowness ate her up inside out. She'd hungered for a glimpse of him on their return. Zoya dreaded the family meals the most. Tamatar would gush about wedding preparations, and her heart would free-fall to her heels. Even at the dining table, she felt like a hanger-on. They were all family, and deserved to be at the table. Here she was, intruding on their intimacy. 

But she would be eternally grateful to Phuphi and Najma! Not once did they make her feel left out. 

 

Well rested after her nap, Najma filled the tub in Zoya's bathroom with hot water, and they sat at opposite ends soaking their feet. Music was playing on the iPad. Najma had rolled up her salwar but Zoya was wearing a pair of short shorts that Najma kept eyeing with envy. 

     "You look so cute in those," she said for the tenth time. "I wish I could wear shorts but Bhaijaan would kill me." 

Zoya had her nail kit laid out on the edge and held Najma's foot in her towel-covered lap to start exfoliating the skin around the nails. 

     "I know," said Zoya, "If he sees me now, I'll be dead meat. But we'll be done before he gets back." 

     "Unless he decides to come home early from work." Najma had wondered about Bhaijaan coming home early yesterday.

Zoya nearly punctured Najma's toe with the nail file. Thank god Tamatar didn't notice her red face nor hear her thumping heart.

A teensy part of her wished that he could see her in shorts. She'd want to see him groan in desire and be unable to keep his hands and mouth off her. She imagined him trailing his fingers on her bare legs and thighs while she arched and wiggled with pleasure in his lap. 

She continued to dream with her eyes wide open, seeing the shorts discarded on the floor and her ankles over his shoulders as he—      

Najma sighed loudly in pleasure at the foot rub, and Zoya's sex dream popped. 

It was such fun to have Zoya around, Tamatar thought. She would miss her so much when she left. She wished that Bhaijaan was getting married to her instead. She would have been perfect for him, always standing up to him and not scared of him at all. Tanveer was kinda boring. But she seemed to be his type.

 

Scrubbing Zoya's heel, Najma asked her if she remembered their conversation about ishq wala love from several months ago. 

     "Remember Zoya, you said once you fell in love, aap unse ladengi, unse rooth jaya karengi, and you'll wait for him to manao you? Ammi and I love your fights with Bhaijaan, by the way! Do you still feel the same?" 

     Zoya bent her head pretending to choose a nail color and let her hair curtain her face, "I was just being silly then, Tamatar. Nahin, main unse nahin ladungi. But may be he'll fight with me, kyunki main itni paagal hoon. What if he hates my craziness, and finds me irresponsible and childish? Yeh wala laga doon?" she asked holding up a bright pink nail color.

Najma sensed a deep ache in Zoya but couldn't exactly put her finger on it. The last time they'd talked about such things, Zoya had giddily chattered about true love as fun and playful nok-jhonk between soul mates. But now there was a too-serious tone and a streak of cynicism in her voice. Her new view of love seemed despondent and heartbreaking.

     "When you marry, what kind of person would you want your husband to be?" 

     "Main nikaah nahin karungi. I'm just not cut out for it." Zoya said with a dull finality.

     "But Zoya, how can that be? Everyone gets married. Every girl dreams of a prince charming!"

     "I know Tamatar, but to dream of prince charming, you must have some princess-like qualities, right? And that's not me. I don't want to think about getting married. I want to work, and do a lot of things like travel more. And may be no one would want to marry me. I am too independent and say and do stupid things. I am a misfit in America, and in India," she laughed bitterly to hide her pain. "What if I'm just not cut out to be a good bahu or wife!"

     "C'mon Zoya! You're not silly. You're such fun! And please, you'd make the best bahu. Everyone loves you!" 

Not— 

Zoya shook off her self-pity. Enough, already. Get a grip, Zoya. There's a lot more to life than ishq wala love and all that jazz. Aapi and Jeeju love me, so do Najma and Phuphi. That's good enough. She smiled a real smile today for the first time. 

     "Do you want to watch 'Chak De India' after this?" She needed a kickass movie to kick the blues to the curb. 

Najma nodded absently. She couldn't understand why Zoya was talking like this. She cocked her head to one side and looked at Zoya quizzically. Something was wrong. Very wrong. 

And danged if she wouldn't try to find out what it was.

 

Dilshad had just finished talking to her doctor and went to Tanu's room. She knocked and then entered the room without waiting to be invited in. Tanu was on her bed going over some papers and looked up in alarm. 

     "Khala? Ayeye, sab kucch theek toh hai na?"

Dilshad noticed her covering the papers with her dupatta.

     "Tanu the doctor just called. She said that there may be some mis-reading of the tests. They want you to come back in again and do a whole blood panel and probably even an ultrasound. I hope everything is okay with the baby. Please be ready at 4 tomorrow." 

She didn't miss Tanu's expression of alarm as her eyes widened. 

 

That evening before dinner, Dilshad decided to talk to Asad.

     "I want you to sit and listen very carefully." He did as she asked and looked up at her in agitation. 

     "Kya hua Ammi?"

     "I took Tanu to the doctor today, and we found out that she's pregnant."

     "WHAT?" Asad leaped up and started to pace the floor while running his hands through his hair. "I kept hoping that it wouldn't be true. That somehow nothing happened that night," he muttered bleakly under his breath.

     "Asad!" Dilshad commanded, "sit."

His eyes stormy, face twisted in agony, he sat and dropped his face in his hands. But he couldn't sit still for long. He began pacing back and forth again, and eventually walked to his bookcase slamming his fist into its side.

     "Asad! Calm down. I have something important to tell you." 

He couldn't bear to hear anything. All he could see what the end of his miserable life. Grabbing his car keys he banged out of his room and the house, as if chased by an army of demons.

     Dilshad sighed, "Allah! Never listens, that one." She raised her eyes upward and prayed for his safety and happiness. 

I will make it right.

 

Dilshad walked into the living room, and bumped into Najma.

     "Najma, be careful."

     "Sorry Ammi." 

Dilshad noticed that Najma too was preoccupied. What is going on in this house?

     "Kya hua beta?" She asked guiding her daughter to the sofa.

     "Woh, Ammi, I'm worried about Zoya."

     "What happened to Zoya? Is she OK?"

     "I don't know. There seems to be something too sad and quiet about her. Do you think she's missing her Abbu?"

     "Maybe. But did something specific happen?"

     "It's strange. Months ago we were discussing love, true love ... you know what I mean, right?"

Dilshad nodded patiently.

     "When I asked her about it again today, she seemed really hard on herself. She said that she probably isn't worth being loved because she is stupid and a misfit. How ridiculous is that?" She continued to muse out loud, "that's just not like her at all. I wonder what's going on."

Dilshad's heart wrenched. She knew exactly why Zoya would think something like that. Her idiot of a son had no sense at all. Knowing Zoya, she knew that that girl would have already booked her tickets to New York by now. 

She needed to fix this soon or something terrible would happen. Too many hearts would be broken.

Allah! Please guide me.

 

 

Song in Title:

Dor (2006): "Ye Hausla"


	15. Shaam Chhupale Suraj Magar, Raat Ko Ek Din Dhalna Hi Hai

 

 

 

In the car, Asad slammed his already-bruised fist on the steering wheel. All he could see before him was a swirling and disintegrating collage of Zoya's many faces: smiling, angry, sad, happy, naughty, sassy ... angelic.

That last crumb of hope that they could still be together by some quirk of fate was fast crumbling. 

     "You stupid, stupid jerk," he berated himself for the thousandth time. "What have you done?" He knew he didn't deserve her. He had smothered what-could-have-been with his bare hands. Zoya deserved someone far better than him surely. But still— 

Finding himself close to the dargah Asad wrenched the car to a violent stop. He parked and walked the narrow lane toward the shrine, each step burdened by guilt and angry regret. He entered the shrine with his head covered and bowed. Sitting down he glanced at the floor sightlessly. Someone coughed, and he looked up. 

And he couldn't look away.

Her head was covered with a white dupatta this time and she was staring stonily at her clasped hands. Tears were flowing down her face just as they had that first time he'd seen her here. That day he hadn't been able to look away either. Wasn't a qawwali playing in the dargah that day? Or had he imagined it?

     "Meri minnat pe karam tera agar ho jaye ...

     Toh yahin poori meri Eid ki mannat hogi."

Asad didn't realize when his own eyes blurred. Did he have any right to ask Allah for grace? In his arrogance he had kicked paradise away like a pebble ...

Zoya hastily wiped her tears and got up to leave after offering a quick prayer. He nearly got up to follow her, but what would he even say to her? Asad wasn't sure how much longer he stayed after that. It seemed as if every past event and encounter was mocking him for thinking himself so principled and morally superior to her. How often had he railed at her … scorned her? 

He hung his head and hunched his shoulders.

 

As he was leaving the shrine, Asad felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he stiffened. 

     "Jee?" he said with harsh impatience.

His father stepped out of the shadows and moved his hand away.  

     "Ayaan told me that you were getting engaged?" 

Asad nodded assent.

     "You look about as miserable as I feel," muttered Rashid.

Asad picked his head and stared at this man. 

     "Why are you getting married if you don't love the girl?"

Asad reeled.

     "How—?"

     "I saw the way you looked at Zoya right now. A blind man can see you're hopelessly in love with her."

Asad's head swam. How did his father know Zoya? And how—?

     "You know Ms. Farooqui?" The words slipped out before he could think. 

     "You mean Zoya? Yes, in fact I met here for the first time in winter as she moped because someone had shouted at her for being irresponsible and careless." Rashid looked at his son not knowing how close to home the words hit.

Asad ducked his head, remembering the incident well. It was one of the many times that he had humiliated her for not being conventional and conservative enough for a girl from a proper family with upright moral standing. She had ended up in jail for fighting against hooligans who were harassing a girl in Najma's college. Asad squeezed his eyes shut and expelled his breath. His words to her had been brutal. "Your parents must've been too busy to teach you manners or decorum! Main aap jaisi ladki se nafrat—" 

     "We are good friends now," Rashid continued. "But I haven't seen her lately nor talked to her. Obviously something's troubling her too. She looked heartbroken in there." 

Asad felt torn. He wanted to walk away and never look back. This man had taken away so much from them. But he also wanted to linger. He wanted to hear more from his father about Zoya and what he meant about being similarly miserable. But he couldn't find the courage to ask him directly. Wait, did he just call him his father—?

 

For the first time, Rashid felt hopeful about his son. He could see that Asad was not glaring at him hatefully, but was actually crying for help by letting the man he hated even this close to him for this long. 

He felt elated.

     "Don't make the same mistake I made eighteen years ago," he said.

Asad looked at him sharply.

Rashid's heart ached for his son. He knew too well the pangs of love and regret. To have true love and to turn your back on it. Was it a family curse? 

     "Don't let the woman you love get away because of some misplaced sense of loyalty or duty. You will condemn yourself to a life sentence of silent suffering and hopeless yearning." Rashid's voice broke in anguish. "You will resent everyone around you and loathe yourself for the rest of your life. And one day, even your children will hate you for your cowardice." 

He dashed the moisture from his eyes and patting Asad on his back one last time, walked away into the night.

 

Asad stood rooted to the ground. 

He couldn't believe that the words he had just heard were nearly the same as the ones he'd been hurling at himself for the last few days. They were his father's words but his own constant thoughts. In just a few days he had felt his spirit battered and soul bruised. And this man had lived like this for eighteen years?

His vision cleared as if a muddy veil had been lifted. 

All rancor dissipated. Asad felt a burning but fierce kinship with his father in that moment of absolute despair. He had missed his father's hand on his head all these long years.

     His throat wrenched out as if with a mind of its own, "Abbu!"

Rashid halted and stood as if carved in stone.  

His heart soared.

He turned and blindly groped for his estranged son who fell into his embrace and sobbed in his arms like a baby. Rashid raised his hand to cradle his son's head. A lifetime fell away. He didn't even remember the last time he'd held Asad like this. Maybe when he was 9? My son!

Neither knew how long they stood there. The street was emptier when they stood apart and looked into each other's streaming eyes. 

The father touched his son's face. His fingers traced his features like a blind man blessed with sight. Brokenly Rashid tried to tell his son to learn from his example.  

     "Wrest the happiness you deserve from fate's cruel hands. It's your birthright. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise." 

Wiping his son's tears, Rashid smiled gratefully. His teeth gleamed in the night.

     "If I died today, I'd die a happy man because finally I was able to hold my son in my arms and hear him call me 'Abbu.' I'm so sorry for not being a good Abbu to you and your sister. May Allah never forgive me."

     "No, Abbu, don't say that. I too have been blind and rigid."

With a hand on his head, Rashid blessed his son. 

     "Yes, there will be some tough decisions ahead, but you will be stronger for it, Insha'allah. Don't hurt yourself anymore. You deserve to love and be loved. You are a good man. Fight for your love. I didn't, and regret it every day of my life."

 

As Asad drove home that night, he felt the weight he'd carried around most of his life, lift.

     "You deserve to love and be loved."

Did he?  

If only his Abbu's prayers and blessings could undo the fate he'd recklessly signed away.

 

 

Song in Title:

Dor (2006): "Ye Hausla"

  
  



	16. Khaab Mein Dekha Tha Ek Aanchal Maine Apne Haathon Mein

 

 

 

     "I think Tanu may be lying." 

Finally Dilshad had been able to corner her son, after his return, to tell him about her suspicions.

     "What? How can you say that Ammi? Why would she do that? And now you say that the doctor has confirmed the ... the pregnancy too." Asad was close to tearing his hair out. When would he wake from this nightmare? What was Ammi even saying … nothing mattered much anymore.

     "I don't know, it's just a feeling that I have. All through the trip I kept noticing little things. Her diet and gestures ... the way she moved, all of it seemed too familiar. A body doesn't react so quickly after conception. It takes anywhere from 9-12 days for even doctors to be able to say if a woman is pregnant. And if we count from that night, it's been only 9 days."

     "What are you saying Ammi? I don't understand. Even so, it ... it does fall within the 9-10 day range you mentioned." 

For a second, Asad couldn't believe that he was even having this conversation with his mother! What had happened in the last two weeks that his life was completely turned upside down? How could he be so embroiled in a situation so distasteful, when he had prided himself as a man of morals and strict principles? His poor mother … grasping at straws to protect a son who'd squandered it all.

     "Asad, you're so naïve! I suspect she's been pregnant for more than 9 days."

     "What? Amma, do you know what you are saying?" He had begun to pace again. His hands were itching to do some major damage.

     "Calm down! I know, even I couldn't believe it myself. But I have experience and my instincts are rarely wrong. And Dr. Sharma also said that given her body language she may be pregnant for more than 9 days. She can tell us for sure only after more tests."

Asad looked at her, raw hope shining in his eyes. He dared not hope, but could it be that he hadn't erred after all? He didn't even care about Tanveer's betrayal. Could he finally have a chance with Zoya?

     "I've convinced Tanu to go with me to the doctor again for a more extensive check-up tomorrow," Dilshad said, patting his hand.

     "But Ammi, if you are right, then why will she go with you tomorrow? It's the easiest way to be caught lying. And if she doesn't agree, than how do we prove any of this?"

Dilshad frowned at his pessimism in exasperation. He was behaving as if he wanted Tanu to be pregnant with his child. So many questions of his mother who was just trying her best to help him! She was pretty sure he mustn't have asked HER a single one. Men were such duffers, even if this one was the apple of her eye.

     "Yes, you are right," she continued patiently. Sometimes things needed to be spelled out and diagrammed for this son of hers. "But the good news is, she hasn't backed out as yet. So either she'll try to come up with an excuse or... Which is why I wanted to tell you in advance. She probably knows that till the birth we can't determine paternity." Dilshad huffed. She was running on pure fury right now. She would not let the woman get the better of them. No one would smash the grace her son was close to grasping.

Dilshad held up a hand as Asad opened his mouth to protest some more.

     "We have to keep an eye on her and I also want you to hire an investigator who can find out a little about her background and her life in Kanpur. I'm not going to be taken for a fool. I will not let her ruin my children's happiness if she is lying about this." 

     "I wonder why I can't remember anything from that night," he muttered to himself.

     "What?" Dilshad almost shouted. "What did you just say?"

     "I said that I can't recall anything from that night that—"

     "Asad!" This time she did shout. "Tell me everything that happened that night, this instance. Do not hide anything, you understand?"

Embarrassed, he did. He told her about Tanu bringing him some milk, feeling dizzy, and then waking up to find—      

In a flash Dilshad understood it all. That witch! 

She knew it would be futile to talk to Asad right now. She needed to think more about this.

 

Asad was paralyzed with doubt. But could he dare hope—? He didn't want to betray the trust of a close friend whom he may have hurt, but on the other, there were some things about Tanveer that had begun to nag him. It didn't add up. And the biggest red flag now seemed to be his complete amnesia of what'd happened that night. Knowing himself, and thinking more calmly about the incident, he knew he wasn't capable of such an act.

His mind and heart warred.

Finally, he decided to trust his Ammi's instincts and Abbu's blessings; he took a leap of faith. He called Prasad to find the best investigator who could do a quick but extensive background check on someone whose details he was forwarding.

Asad exhaled as he hung up. 

Every muscle in his body was soaked in stress; every nerve sent up a silent prayer: He'd risk his life if it afforded him even the slimmest chance of a future with Zoya.

 

Before leaving his room Dilshad looked at him fondly and put her hand on his head. 

     "Don't worry, we will fix this mess. But what did you say to Zoya?"

     He looked at her in confusion. "I haven't told her any of this." He was disgusted enough with himself. 

     She resisted rolling her eyes and clutching her forehead in dismay. "No, I mean did you ever say anything to her about being unfit as a wife or bahu?"

He reeled.

     "Najma told me that they were chatting about love and marriage, and Zoya said she won't get married because she wouldn't make a good wife or daughter-in-law."

Seeing his shattered expression she knew she was right. He had done the damage, he would have to fix that one on his own. 

 

That night she had another of her nightmares. And try as she might Zoya couldn't repress crying out. She was so mortified when everyone came to check on her. Zoya dared not look at Mr. Khan. But from under her lashes she saw him frowning. Her heart stopped. Please Allah miyan, I hope I didn't call out ...

Asad frowned. She'd had such nightmares before. She looked shaken but always brushed off Ammi's concern. Worry for her made him take a step toward her but fumes of regret rose up … Asad retreated. He wished he could hold her. But no, he was probably a part of her nightmares now.

 

 

Song in Title:

Dil Chahta Hai (2001): "Tanhayee"


	17. Koi Khalish Hai Hawaon Mein Bin Tere

 

 

 

     "WHAT?"

Everyone rushed to the living room where Zoya was arguing loudly on the phone with her Aapi.

     "Aapi, how could you do this to me after all that's happened?" She wailed. After a minute, she disconnected the phone and looked up with squinty eyes. "Ridiculous," she muttered mutinously. 

     "What happened Zoya?" Asked a worried Dilshad. Her next question echoed Asad's biggest fear. "Did Zeenat insist that you return to New York immediately."

     Zoya shook her head with resentment. "No Phuphi, it's much, much worse."

Everyone waited with bated breath. Asad wanted to rage and pace. Please give me a chance to explain. Please don't go! 

     "This is so embarrassing," She said softly. "Aapi has put my name and profile on some matrimonial website, because she's decided that I must get married this year." 

Asad forgot to exhale. Najma guffawed and then squealed with joy. Dilshad looked at Asad with concern; his head was bent.

Tanu liked this bit of news a lot. Things may finally get easier, she thought. 

     "Waise Zoya, by the way, how about you and Ayaan bhaijaan?" Najma was beside herself with delight.

     "WHAT?" bellowed Asad. 

Zoya glared at him angrily. Oh, so I'm not good enough for your brother either! It was a good thing that Phuphi and Tamatar were here, or she'd have bashed his skull in.

     "Think about it Bhaijaan. Both of them are so similar and get along so well. They would make S U C H a perfect jodi. The most fun couple of Bhopal, just imagine! Mona Darling Weds Raabert! And their kids would be born reciting shayari. How cute!" she clapped her hands merrily. 

     "Ayaan is getting engaged to Humaira," Asad declared, a bit too quietly, the veins in his forehead nearly popping. The vision of Zoya's children had him seeing red.

Dilshad saw him walk away to his room and heard the door close softly behind him.

     Rolling her eyes and blinking to keep from crying, Zoya chided Najma. "Its not funny, Tamatar! Aapi's even sent me bios of some promising 'candidates' that I'm supposed to check out." 

     "I want to see, please," begged Najma bouncing on her toes.

Zoya looked at her with a sinking heart and then shrugged. Eh, it could be fun to rip the clowns to shreds. She needed to feed her anger, or she'd burst into tears right here. She brought out her iPad and soon both of them were bent over the prospective matches suggested by Aapi. 

     "Ooh, look this one is a doctor in Delhi."

     "Nah! He's already balding."

     "Businessman in Lucknow?" 

     "But he hasn't even graduated high school!" 

     "Computer guy in Hyderabad?" 

     "Too short."

  

Her email alert pinged. 

It was from Aapi. 

     "Oh no! No! No! No!" Zoya screamed and leapt up on the sofa jumping in agitation. Her iPad and phone slid to the floor. Asad came rushing out of his room, even though he couldn't bear to see and hear more evidence of his world crashing around him. He still couldn't wipe out the image of a pregnant Zoya, or a Zoya holding a baby, from his mind. That baby was going to be his.

     "Ms. Farooqui, are you okay?" Even the sight of her hopping on his precious sofa couldn't override the concern in his voice.

     "What happened Zoya?" asked Najma. This was such fun.

Zoya bent down to retrieve the iPad and fish out her phone which had gotten lost under the sofa. Her ass waved in the air and Asad sucked in his breath. He hadn't seen a cuter butt, and if no one else were here, he's just lift her over his shoulder and carry her to his room to get started on making that baby.

     "I will kill Aapi!" She muttered under her breath.

     "Zoya! Aise nahin kehte hain beta." 

     "But Phuphi you don't know what she's done." She gesticulated wildly, using air quotes, close to tears. "She just emailed me that a good friend's 'son' is in Bhopal and will 'drop by' tomorrow and 'take me out for coffee.' "

Asad's heart stopped. 

Najma's glee knew no bounds. She clapped. Laughing, she taunted Zoya, "how ironic! Just yesterday you said you won't get married! And today? Boom! You challenged the universe. Now within 24 hours, proposals, ladkas and rishtas. Soon shehnai. Ab to Zoya gayee kaam se." She danced around trying to evade Zoya's punches.

     Zoya stomped her foot and then ran to her room. "This is so not happening! I hate this. I'm going to talk to Jeeju."

     Najma chased after her. "But what does he do? Is he based in the US?" 

     They could still hear Zoya ranting. "I'm not going out with some lame guy! I don't care even if he is from the Bay area, and works for Apple!"

     "APPLE!!! Zoya you are sooo lucky. Free iPads and iPhones for life! Ask if he has a brother, OK?" 

Dilshad turned to Asad who was still reeling from all the bad news ... and what's with Tamatar going on about this loser's brother? 

     "I'm not going to send her alone with some man we don't even know," Dilshad spoke gravely. "You and Tanu will join them, and make sure that everything is okay."

Oh god, what fresh hell is this? He was to be her chaperone now? Yes, he deserved to suffer for being a total bastard to her, but like this?

Asad ground his teeth.

 

For the first time in her life, Zoya was not able to talk Aapi out of her decision, nor get Jeeju to support her. 

She first had herself a good cry. 

Then stomping mad, she got ready for the date from hell. She had one mind to apply the smelliest oil in her hair, braid it in sausage rolls, borrow a pair of granny glasses from somewhere, and wear her most faded shirt and ripped jeans. Aapi was crazy if she thought that she'd go get a mani and pedi for this. No way, Jose! But on finding out that Mr. Khan and Tanu were going too, she decided to take better care of her appearance, even applying make-up carefully to cover up the puffiness of her eyes. Her hands had almost reached out to wear the only salwar kameez she'd packed with her, but no. She wouldn't change who she was. 

Not even for him. 

 

That evening everyone waited in the living room. Except Asad. He was in his room, supposedly working on an important project. The doorbell rang. Slamming the laptop shut with unnecessary roughness he decided to make an appearance after all. Before stepping out he took a few deep breaths.

One look, and his heart went out to her. She was gripping her hands tight, and her kohl-lined eyes still betrayed some redness. 

A giggly Najma opened the door and said Hi to someone. 

     "Zoya?" 

     "No, I'm her friend Najma. Please come in and meet everyone." 

     "Asalamu Walekum. I'm Omar. Nice to meet you all." 

Everyone was checking him out. Head to toe. He stood, shoulders back, hands pushed into his pockets, head cocked to the side.

Najma instantly approved of the tall, good looking and well-dressed cutie pie. She made eyes at Zoya behind Omar's back with exaggerated head nods while making the sign of A OK with her hand. 

Asad seethed with jealousy. He could have thrown something. 

Najma stepped forward and introduced Zoya.

Omar shook her hand. "We've met," he said roguishly. 

Zoya tilted her head to one side, her eyes icy. 

     "We went to the same school till eighth grade."

Zoya still couldn't place him.

     "Omi the Zamboni," he rolled his eyes and laughed softly.

     "Omi!" Zoya screamed and launched herself in his arms.

He laughed and swung her around. They hugged for what seemed like an eternity to Asad. His hands were balled by his side, his face set in a murderous grimace. 

     Get. 

     Your. 

     Hands. 

     Off. 

     Her. 

     Now.

     "Is it really you? Wow, look at you, you cleaned up good!" Zoya gushed.

     "And you? Kim Possible? Not so bad either," he teased.

     "But how come, here, after so long?" she asked when they disengaged. Asad had died a few deaths by now. 

     "Cousin's wedding, and then Ammi called your Aapi, and the rest, as they say, is history! True story!" he answered sheepishly and winked at Najma.

Aw! he's so cute, thought Najma.

Zoya pulled him by his hand to seat him on the sofa, eager to find out more about Omar. She had a million questions. 

     Dilshad interrupted. "Beta you'll get late. May be you should leave now. Earlier I had thought of sending Asad and Tanu with you, but since you know each other so well, may be that's not necessary."

     "No Ammi, we don't mind. This way we'll get to know Ms. Farooqui's long-lost friend better." Asad ground out his words, glaring at Zoya; the car keys bit into his hand.

Dilshad was surprised, but then, not really. She smiled to herself. Hmm, may be this is just the kick in his pants he needs.

 

Three hours later when they returned, Dilshad could tell by her son's thunderous expression that he'd had a very bad time. He slammed into his room and she heard a muffled growl as the door banged close. Tanu looked pale, and Zoya, after so many days, looked exhilarated.

In his room, Asad paced and fumed. His jaw and head hurt from clenching his teeth so tight, for so long. If looks could kill, Omar would be dead and interred already. 

They had looked so cozy together laughing and chatting about everything American. Some nonsense about In 'n' Out Burger versus Five Guys. Ribbing each other about the pros and cons of California living and New York attitude. The high-fiving and fist bumps! 

Ya Allah! He could have gladly brained this guy. 

But he had loved hearing stories of how a tomboy Zoya had tackled schoolyard bullies to save dear little chubby Omi, and how she had even dangled from the meanest, baddest bully's hair, to get him to stop tormenting another lost soul. That bully had now grown up to be an NYPD cop, and still nursed a crush on the spitfire who had nearly scalped him in fifth grade. 

He had never seen Zoya laugh so much. How come she never laughed like that with him? No wait, she had laughed like that with him, but just once—   

He was from America. She was from America. May be they would be good for each other?

NO! 

Asad knocked the books off the console table in fury. 

 

In her room, Zoya was on the phone with Omar. She'd loved meeting him, but wanted to be very clear that she was not getting married any time soon. 

     "Because you are in love with that hulking pit bull of yours?" He asked.

     "Whoa! What pit bull, and how do you—?" 

     "Oh, please! Any idiot can tell that the two of you have the hots for each other. Why you aren't together I don't know. And what's the deal with that girl with him?"

     "She's his fiancee and there's nothing between us, so just shut up, OK?" 

     "Nothing between you? Stop kidding yourself, Zo. He looked like he was imagining fifty different ways of killing me slowly with his bare hands," Omar chuckled, highly amused. "But seriously, there's some deep stuff going on, and you better resolve it before you both make the biggest mistake of your lives." 

     "Shut up Omar, and mind your own beeswax! You show up not even for five hours and Bam! You're my relationship counselor?" She barked. 

     "Whatever. His sister though is quite the charmer. Her I could be interested in."

     "Watch it. Her brother will really kill you then. For how long are you in town?"

     "Two more days, and then I have go to Mumbai. Bye Zoey, I'll tell khala that we just didn't click. But dude, don't mess this up. Put him in one of your famous headlocks and don't let him go till he squeaks."

Zoya laughed at that image while she hung up. Imagine her doing that to Jahanpanah! Jahanpanah six packs! He would kill her. But maybe she just needed to hang on for dear life, and he would eventually hug her tight and dip his head to kiss her senseless. She sighed with longing, and kicked the footstool violently.

She heard a muffled crash, and ran out.

Everything looked fine in the kitchen and the living room. Instinctively she knew that Mr. Khan had thrown a fit yet again. Grabbing the first aid box, she knocked softly on his door, and opened it before he could respond. 

It was dèja vu all over again. 

He looked up at her, his eyes pleading. She examined his hands. It was the other one this time. 

     "Allah miyan! Seriously Mr. Khan, why do you even keep breakable things in your room if all you do is smash them to pieces in one of your famous temper tantrums?" 

She went to the restroom to wet the cotton ball and applied it to his cut while gently blowing on it. Asad watched her face as she dressed the cut. Her lips as she blew on his wound, were so kissable. One tug, and he could feast on them and never let her go. His other hand almost moved to tuck her hair behind her ear. Fisting it, he moved it behind his back.

     He cleared his throat. "Thank you, Ms. Farooqui, you shouldn't have bothered. It's just a minor cut," he whispered harshly. "Please, just go back to your room."

     "You're welcome Mr. Khan. Always such a gentleman," she scoffed, and turned to go, but was grabbed roughly from behind.

He turned her to face him.

     "Yes, I am a gentleman! If I hadn't been, I would have punched someone tonight."

Asad shut his eyes in embarrassment. God, how dumb did that sound? 

Her eyes went wide as she stared at him. So Omar was right. She felt a bubble of hope bloom in her chest. Zoya brutally squashed it. 

     "Oh really?" She decided to goad him. "Jealous, Mr Khan?"

     "Ms. Farooqui, don't be ridiculous, please just go to bed." Asad pressed his uninjured hand to his forehead.

     "Why don't you just admit it, Mr. Khan?" She whispered, her voice dangerously close to breaking. "You want me, but think that I'm not good enough for you. Do you like me against your better judgement? You think I'm not good enough for you? If you think I am so irresponsible and insensitive then why do you even care?" 

He turned away from her, his shoulders heaving.

     "Allah Miyan what's wrong with you, Ms. Farooqui," she continued, her voice thick with tears, "of course Mr. Khan doesn't care for you!" Tears spilled from her eyes. "I'm good enough to punch someone for, but not to spend the rest of your life with, isn't that right, Mr. Khan? I'm a misfit and not worthy to be your wife or Phuphi's bahu, or the mother of your kids!"

She hurled the first aid box at his back and ran out sobbing.

     "Zoya! Please don't—!" He called out in a strangled voice to her retreating back. 

Hating himself and his helplessness Asad slammed his bandaged hand on the console. 

 

 

Song in Title:

I Hate Love Storys (2010): "Bin Tere"


	18. Tumko Jo Pyaar Kiya, Maine To Sazaa Main Paayi, Tanhaai

 

 

Tanu was not a happy camper. She was bristling at Khala's suspicions and recent blocking of her maneuvers. She hadn't taken Dilshad's tenacity and hyper-motherly instincts into account. Then there was Asad's rude and aloof behavior during the entire trip. She had hoped that a guilt-ridden Jammy would be more attentive to her. But he just seemed resentful, behaving like a sulky child whose favorite toy had been taken away.

And now? That coffee date yesterday had been a total disaster. 

Here she had thought that Zoya would finally be out of her hair, but then Jammy had to go and act like a pissed off gorilla in heat. Each smile and laugh of Zoya's had made him clench and unclench his fists. He had nearly bitten off the waiter's head and almost crushed the wine glass in his bare hands. He sat, arms crossed stiffly across his chest, scowling at the other two, and didn't even say a word to her.

Not a single word or glance!

She would have to make alternate plans. And soon. Khala may be simple and righteous, but she was no fool.

 

Tanveer decided to play her cards right by announcing the next morning that she would like to better know Jammy's other siblings. Could they all go for dinner so that she could also meet her two other future sisters-in-law? She hoped that by involving more of the family, Asad would lower his guard, and it would become harder for Khala to break off the engagement. The added bonus would be that Tanu would get a break from Khala's current hawk-like scrutiny. The woman was being a bit too observant for her own good.

Before Dilshad or Asad could shoot this idea down, Najma squealed about how much fun it would be for all the siblings to get together. 

     She looked approvingly at Tanu, "such a great idea! Why didn't I think of it? This way even Zoya can meet Nikhat and Nuzzhat and we can all get to know one another better. It was such fun with Ayaan Bhaijaan during the trip, right Zoya? Please can we go to the new Thai restaurant, please, please, Bhaijaan?"

Asad nodded. A part of him felt elated at Najma's affection for Zoya. He noticed that Najma was happier at the prospect of Zoya meeting their sisters instead of Tanu. 

     "It would be a good idea, but I don't know if their parents will let them meet us," he said stiffly. Although he had taken a step toward reconciling with his father, he still hesitated to go the complete distance. But this was all the encouragement that Najma needed. 

     She reassured him, "don't worry Bhaijaan. I'll talk to Ayaan Bhaijaan and we'll come up with something." 

     Asad shrugged and got ready to go to work, avoiding looking at Zoya. "Let me know, then I can make reservations."

He too wished that he were introducing Zoya formally to his sisters, not Tanveer. Asad desperately wanted Ammi's suspicions to be right. But so far, they hadn't been able to do much. They hadn't yet heard from the investigator.

His life was hanging in the balance and Asad knew he was running out of time. Her Aapi's rush to get Zoya married had shaken him to the core. Knowing Zoya, she would run away at the slightest whiff of an arranged nikaah. 

But even more than that, he could no longer bear to look at her red-rimmed eyes or desperately knotted hands. The kohl in her eyes had begun to get darker and thicker. She wasn't fooling him. He knew that she was overdoing the make-up to hide the ravages of daily tears and smudges under her eyes. But it was the bruises he had begun to notice on her knuckles that completely undid him. When he'd first seen the small crescent welts on her hands he'd been puzzled. But then at the breakfast table he'd seen her digging her nails in and realized what they meant. This morning those bruises seemed to be covered by bite marks, and he had nearly grabbed her hands in anguish; he longed to hold her to him. Please don't hurt yourself. I'm not worth it. But he also knew that she wasn't the kind to suffer in quiet. She was fiercely independent, a wave upon the sand that ceaselessly ebbed out of reach. 

A blink, and she'd be gone. It was his biggest fear these days.

Asad brooded as he slipped into his suit jacket.

When they'd returned from Mangalpur Zoya had tried some TLC on him and he'd snarled at her like a wounded bear.

     "I'm sorry," she'd said. "Main aapki zindagi mein musibat ban kar aayee, uske liye bhi sorry." 

God, how many times had he called her a musibat!

I'm sorry. 

     "And Ammi," Najma continued. "When are you going to start making arrangements for the sagaai?" 

She didn't notice the sudden drop in the temperature in the room. Tanu could have hugged the little brat. 

Zoya didn't want to raise her eyes for fear that she would fall apart. She focused on holding her knife and fork over the plate as straight as possible as she blinked to stop the tears. Do NOT make a fool of yourself, she scolded herself.

As soon as the words exited Tamatar's mouth Asad had glanced up at Zoya and seen her eyelids redden and lips turn white. 

     "Tamatar, why don't you call Ayaan right now. It'll be hard to get a hold of him later."

     Before dashing off to contact Ayaan, Najma called out over her shoulder, "Zoya, maybe you can invite Omar?" 

She didn't see the scowl settle on Asad's face. 

Great! Just bloody great.

     "Okay. I'm meeting him for lunch at that new mall. I'll ask him if he can join us," said Zoya, her gaze still lowered. 

She didn't miss Mr. Khan slamming the door a bit more violently than usual on his way out. 

Good, she thought. Serves you right. 

But then she looked up and saw Tanu. 

She dug the fork end into her thumb. 

 

At Tanu's suggestion of a family get-together, Zoya had felt a tremor of hope shudder through her. At least she could lose her despair in a big group and she'd get more time with Omar before he left for Mumbai. And then Raabert would be there too. It would be fun to meet Mr. Khan's other sisters too. She had always wondered what it would be like to have so many siblings. It must be such fun, she mused: secrets and clothes to share, fights and alliances, and lots of talking and giggling late into the night. 

Thinking of sleepovers and late nights, her mind swerved to that fateful sleepover the first night in this house, when she had inadvertently mistaken his room and bed as hers. She had been fast asleep and then found herself flying through the air and landing hard on the floor thanks to his freakishly quick reflexes. 

She'd been sore for days afterwards.

And Mr. Khan hadn't stopped pulling the rug from under her since then, she thought with a pang. How many times had she imagined that scene being a lot different? He would have pinned her on her back with his rock hard body. Her eyes would have snapped open in alarm, and then drooped with desire as they continued to gaze into each other's eyes. He would have slowly and deliberately laced his fingers through hers over her head and kissed her neck, his lips slowly moving up her chin to her lips. He would have kneed her legs apart and settled between her thighs still kissing her senseless. The sounds of their sighs and moans would have filled the room as their bodies moved against each other more urgently. 

She nearly moaned out aloud.

Even dreaming of it right now in the middle of the living room, made her insides clench and tighten; desire nipped her in the gut. 

     "Stop it," she scolded herself, "he can go to hell for all I care. " Zoya fled to the privacy of her room. 

But in her heart she knew that her cursing him out was just a pathetic ruse to block out the real pain: Tanveer would be a member of the family that Zoya had wanted to be a part of so badly. So many sisters, a brother, an Ammi like Dilshad, and an Abbu like Dost. All her life she had yearned for this. And the love of a man like Mr. Khan. 

Shut up, Zoya. Just get over it.

It was time to lock herself in the bathroom and stuff her knuckles in her mouth again.

 

Song in Title:

Dil Chahta Hai (2001): "Tanhayee"


	19. Nange Pairon Pe Angaro Chalti Rahi, Haaye Chalti Rahi

 

 

 

Of course Ayaan had loved the idea just as much as Najma.

By noon he'd concocted a foolproof plan to get clearance from the elders in the family. He first told Dadi about Bhaijaan's upcoming engagement and convinced her to help him arrange a sibling get-together. While saddened by not being able to share in her first grandchild's big moment, Badi Bi was pleased that at least the children kept in touch, and were eager to share in each other's joys. 

The older generation could learn a thing or two from them. 

She was already planning which earrings of hers she would give as a saugat to her oldest grand daughter-in-law.

 

Dadi next talked to Shireen to facilitate the meeting between the siblings.

     "Now that Nikhat and Imran are engaged, it would be a good idea for Imran to get to know his sister- and brother-in-law better. Why not send the children out for dinner so that they can all get to know one another."

Shireen though it was a great idea. 

Dadi delegated her to approach Siddiqui Saheb with this suggestion. After much fuss and coaxing from Raziya, who never passed up an opportunity to push Humaira and Ayaan together, it was decided that Ayaan and Imran would take the three girls out for dinner and that they would all return home by 10 o'clock, sharp. Details of the venue were demanded with repeated reprimands for the children to carry their phones and leave the restaurant's number at home. 

Ayaan mentally rolled his eyes but he was thrilled that he would get to spend more time with Bhai and Najma and especially Mona darling. His sisters and Humaira were already jealous of his Ajmer-Jaipur-Agra trip and had noticed a new spring in his step lately. He strummed his guitar more, and was trying to learn some old songs.

Imran was told the real reason for the outing, and was asked to cross his heart and swear that he would never let anyone know about who they were really meeting at the restaurant. Ayaan had decided that if anyone did find out about this clandestine meeting, he would pass it off as them just happening to run into his brother and family at the restaurant. 

He rubbed his hands in glee. He was awesome. Ayaan raised his collar and brushed the tip of his nose with a definite flair and flourish.

 

He called Asad at work to give him the all-clear.

     "Ho gaga, Bhai! But we have to be back home by 10. Can you believe that? I'll be able to squeeze another half hour or so," he promised smugly. He knew he could charm his way out of anything. "But Bhai, what a genius idea! Zaroor Mona Darling ka hi hoga haina? Just like the road trip was her idea too. It was a lot of fun. We should definitely do something like this again. By the way, Dadi wants us to bring a gift from her to your fiance, so remind me when we get there. I might forget."

He returned with full gusto to the previous subject. 

     "Kya Bhaijaan, kahan chhupa ke rakha tha aapne Mona ko? For so long I'd been asking you to introduce me to your guest. And you kept putting me off by calling her your musibat and what not." 

He nattered on, not paying any attention to the bristling silence at the other end.

     "If I had met her even sooner—" 

     "Ayaan!" Hollered a seething Asad. "Bakwas ki baatein mat karo! I have a lot of work to do before we meet. As it is, because of our dinner plans I'll have to leave work early. I'm hanging up now."

     "But, Bhai—"

 

Asad pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and sighed. It hadn't escaped his notice how both Najma and Ayaan loved Zoya. His stupid misconception that she wouldn't be suitable for his family had become a recurring taunt that played in his head on an endless loop.

To endure another get-together from hell. 

More torture to see her laugh and chat with someone who was just as fun-loving as herself. Najma's words about how she and Ayaan would make a perfect couple were still giving him ulcers. Could Ayaan really be romantically interested in Zoya? Why was she even in love with Akdu Ahmed Khan who had only grief to offer? 

But Ayaan? How could he want to punch his own brother? 

Incredibly foolish! 

 

He called up Prasad and gruffly told him to expedite the investigation.

     "I don't care how much extra he charges. Send someone to Kanpur. Just do it, dammit! I want results." 

Asad called Dilshad next.

     "Ammi, we are meeting everybody for dinner tonight. Humein ghar aate aate 10:30 ya 10:45 ho jayega. Can you do something while we are gone?"

     "Haan Asad, bolo beta." She knew how stressed out he was these days.

     "Ammi, I know this is going to sound terrible, but while we are gone, can you check through Tanu's things for any clue that we may be able to use to discredit her claims?" 

     "Accha hua tumne keh diya. I was thinking of doing the same." 

     Asad breathed a little easier. At least he didn't feel as guilty now. "Take pictures of anything suspicious Ammi. And call Prasad if you need anything. I want to end this soon."

Hanging up Asad buried his face in his hands. This was becoming unbearable. He was this close to marching up to Tanu and calling the whole thing off. But what if the child was his— 

Would he really be able to walk away from his own child? Asad pushed his chair back violently; it slammed against the wall and a framed picture came crashing down.

     "Sir?" Prasad came rushing in. "Are you all right? Is everything OK?"

Asad glared at him.

 

He had made the reservations for 7 o'clock so that they would have enough time to talk and enjoy a leisurely meal. Ammi would have enough time to do a thorough look around. 

He was sick of how often he sighed these days. Powerlessness gnawed at him. The same thoughts circled like buzzards in his head. Omi, the bloody Zamboni would be there.

Check.

Sit through the Mona Darling and Raabert banter.

Check.

And to add insult to injury, Tanu would be introduced as his fiance, and Zoya as their guest, while he stewed in jealous and silent misery.

Check.

Damn!

 

Not that he would ever know, but for Zoya this would be much harder.

Asad could enjoy the luxury of scowling and brooding in silence, and no one would think twice about his behavior. But Zoya was known by Omar, Najma and Raabert to be the life of the party. Her silence would be a dead giveaway. 

After her crying jag, she decided to do some yoga and a lot of deep-breathing meditation to calm and center herself. 

She would need all her strength reserves today, and if it didn't kill her, she'd be even stronger tomorrow—gee thanks, Nietzsche miyan.

 

 

Song in Title:

Aaja Nachle (2007): "O Re Piya"


	20. Ek Din Kabhi Jo, Khud Ko Taraashe, Meri Nazar Se Tu Zara

 

 

By 6:30 everyone had gathered in the living room to leave for the restaurant. Najma was admiring Tanu and complimented her on her exquisitely embroidered anarkali.

     "Ooh what a great bag, Tanveer. Is it new?" 

Tanu was thrilled with all the attention and hoped that Asad would notice too. She was perfumed and coiffed to the nines. Good, that Ms. New York was in her usual jeans. 

No competition tonight. 

When Asad came out of his room, Najma eagerly pointed out how nice Tanveer looked. He complimented her politely. He even managed to force out a stiff greeting to Omar. But how or when it was decided that Zoya would ride with Omar on his bike and Najma and Tanveer would come with Asad he never knew.

The nerve in his forehead arced. 

Zombie had a bike? How—! And Zoya ride with him! What the hell? What was wrong with riding with all of them in the car? And why had Omar even been invited to this shindig? It was just for family.

Hah, what family? Tanveer wasn't family yet was going to be. And Zo— 

Asad seemed shell-shocked at the speed with which Najma had taken over the planning of the whole evening. Dilshad hid her smile. Love and heartache had made her son putty in his baby sister's hands. Bechara, mera Asad. So fierce and yet so vulnerable. Ready to wage war for his Ammi and kid sister but unprepared to protect himself … Dilshad squared her shoulders. Something made her feel good about tonight. Her wells of faith and resolve brimmed—Allah would make things right. She could feel it in her bones. 

Najma yammered on about how much fun it would be and how lucky Zoya was. How she wished she could go on a bike ride too.

Could she, maybe, get a bike ride on the way back?

Tanu spoke up on a still-dazed Asad's behalf and firmly told Najma, no. 

Najma pouted, but was soon diverted by Omar asking her about her plans for the summer. He promised her a bike ride around the neighborhood later if her mom and brother permitted. 

Tanu sought Asad's approval in handling a childish Najma, but he was preoccupied. 

As usual.

But thank god! At least she wouldn't have to sit through any more of his rear-view mirror gazing.

 

Asad meanwhile turned to glower at Zoya and his breath caught. 

She wore her signature jeans which she'd topped with an elegant white kurti with zari work on the collar and cuffs. He had thought that she looked good in red and pink. She was ethereal tonight in white with minimal make-up and accessories. 

Her bitter words and sobs from last night still slashed him. 

He hadn't slept a wink. He'd yearned to go to her room and gather her in his arms. He'd tell her again and again that she was the most perfect thing in this whole world, and that  _he_  was unworthy of her. 

Zoya too stole a glance at Jahanpanah under her lashes. Her heart stopped seeing him in a grey suit with a white shirt and no tie. While he looked good in anything, even a towel (she mentally slapped herself), seeing him in a suit always made her knees go weak and heart race. He looked good enough to eat. She shook her head and finger-combed her hair to hide her blush. God, she better stop fantasizing about him. One of her worst fears was that one night she'd cry out his name in her sleep and everyone would hear her. 

     "Zoya, I love your heels!" Exclaimed Najma, just as they were leaving.

Everyone's eyes traveled to her feet. Impishly, Zoya stuck out her foot and lifted the pant leg, exposing a slender ankle wrapped in the thinnest silver anklet. She wore strappy silver slingbacks studded with crystals that perfectly set off her toenails painted a hot pink.

Asad couldn't take his eyes off those toes. They looked adorable enough to suck. If he ever did manage to get her in his bed, he'd beg her to only wear those heels, nothing else. He would hold her by her ankles, bite and lick them while gazing intently into her eyes, and pound into her till kingdom come.

Swearing under his breath Asad stalked off to his room, trying, but failing miserably, to control his breathing. He took deep breaths to steady himself. If anyone asked, he'd explain his abrupt departure by saying that he'd forgotten his keys.

When he stepped out, the living room was empty. 

Good. Bullet dodged.

 

Striding toward the main door he heard a door open and shut behind him. He turned around to see Zoya rushing out at full speed. She was carelessly stuffing her phone in her bag, and as usual wasn't looking where she was going. 

He grabbed her wrist to break her momentum before she ran into him. Too late, she crashed into his chest. 

     "Ms. Farooqui—!" 

She struggled to break his hold on her wrist. 

Something snapped in him. He couldn't let go. 

     "Mr. Khan," she ground out through gritted teeth. "Please let me go."

     "So that you can go ride with your precious Omi the Bimboni?" He sneered, not realizing that he was slowly stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb. 

Oh god, she bit back a moan. Did he even know what he was doing to her? 

     "It's Omar, and aapko iss se kya? Are you jealous, Mr. Khan?" She lashed out at him trying to free her hand. 

His grip tightened. Again he was unaware of the bruises he'd leave on her. Yes, goddammit, he was jealous!

Damn, he smelled good. C'mon Zoya Farooqui, get angry or you'll melt into a messy puddle right here. 

     "What is it that you want? Why are you doing this? You're engaged remember? Phir mujh par kaisa haq?" she taunted, her voice rising. 

Zoya continued to struggle and he continued to thwart her attempts at digging her nails into his fingers to make him release her. This time she'd leave a mark on him too. Her fury could not be dammed any more. It was real now. She wanted to stomp all over him.

     "What is this, Mr. Khan?" She stopped struggling and moved her face closer to his. Asad's eyes widened and he held his breath. "Some kind of an admission that you have a thing for me? Will you kiss me now?" 

His body leaped in response and desire made him taut.

     "You think you can officially get married to Tanveer, and keep me on the side for booty calls? Will you become your father's son after all?"

     "ZOYAAA!" He thundered and flung her wrist away nearly making her spin and lose her balance. 

     "Chillayiye mat! I am badtameez in your eyes, so different from you and your precious tehzeeb or lihaz, right? That is why you say hurtful things, but then you give me these mixed messages. Make up your damn mind!" She dashed the gathering moisture from her eyes.

Asad almost smiled. He loved this sight of her: chin lifted proudly in battle and fire raging in her eyes. She didn't even realize how sexy she looked. And now that she'd mentioned it, he did want to grab and shut her up by covering those lips with his. His eyes fixed on her lips and his head bent an inch as if drawn by a magnet. One touch, a bite, and he'd thrust his tongue in when she parted her lips and have her brand him forever.

His half-grin infuriated her even more. 

Oh really Jahanpanah? This is funny to you?

     "Why does my friendship with Omar bother you, Mr. Khan? Doesn't it prove your view of me as a jeans-wearing slut?"

     "No! Zoya, please don't—!" His sexual haze dissolved to be replaced with anguish; he tried to hold her by her forearms to stall her self-flagellation. He didn't mind the sting of her words against him but he hated that she was cutting herself to the quick.

Her eyes blazed black. Zoya violently jerked his hands off and held up a hand to shut him up.

     "Meri baat abhi khatm nahin hui hai!"

She was beginning to run out of steam, and given another second, she would start weeping. But dammit, she would have the final word even if it killed her.  

     "You know aapki problem kya hai? You don't think that what we could have had is worth fighting for. You don't have the guts to fight for a love that Allah gives only once in a lifetime. You use your seventeenth-century Jahanpanah-mode ideas as an excuse to hide behind because you're scared of being happy; because you feel that you deserve to be miserable." 

     "Ms. Farooqui," he growled softly. Asad crossed his arms across his chest and looked at her patiently. "Are you done?" 

     "Don't! Just bloody don't, OK? I'm a strong girl and will get over even this, because you," and she stabbed his chest over his folded arms with her finger repeatedly, "are _not_ worth it!" 

Zoya ran out of the front door.

Oh lord help him, she was gorgeous! 

Only she could speak to him like that and diagnose everything that was wrong with him in a second.

     "Tabhi aap itne badtameez hain!" In a flash he remembered their first meeting and the first of many fights. 

     "Disappointed?" 

     "Sorry?"

     "Aapne poori koshish ki mujhe marne ki, lekin main tab bhi bach gayee." 

Asad smiled wryly. 

Oh no, Ms. Zoya Farooqui. Ab aap mujhse nahin bachengi. You can't wear your fuck me heels and walk away from me this time. I won't let you!

 

 

Song in Title:

Ye Jawaani Hai Diwani (2013): "Subhanallah"  


	21. Ab Jo Ghalat Tha, Wo Bhi Sahi Hai, Behosh Bhi Hoon, Pee Bhi Nahin Hai

 

 

 

At the restaurant everyone was introduced to one another. 

     Ayaan hugged Najma and then bent to give Zoya a quick side hug, while loudly greeting her, "Mona Darling! I missed you!" 

She laughed up at him, and tried to disengage herself by playfully elbowing him. 

     "Hi Raabert! I didn't miss you at all!"

Nuzzhat and Nikhat couldn't believe their eyes. Who was this girl in western clothing that Asad Bhaijaan had brought, and who Ayaan Bhaijaan was so friendly with? They sneaked a peek at Asad and saw him frowning. They sensed some undercurrents there, but dismissed it thinking that Bhaijaan didn't approve of girls wearing jeans. 

But who was she?

 

Little did they know why their Asad Bhaijaan was looking so grim. On reaching the hotel entrance he had seen them come in on that wretched bike. 

He felt punched in the gut. Zoya was in the front actually riding the bike! Omar had his arms around her, his hands on the handle bar too. Their bodies touched shoulder to thigh. They both laughed as she shook off the helmet. 

In blind fury, Asad had marched up to rage and rail at them, just barely having recovered from the near-heart attack. 

     "Ms. Farooqui! How can you be so reckless?" He savagely turned on Omar, "How could you let her ride? What if she'd had an accident?" 

     Omar had held up his hands defensively, "hey buddy, you try saying no to her!"

At those words Asad had looked guiltily at Zoya's crestfallen face. 

He knew exactly what she was thinking. 

     "He already did."

His impotent fingers curled around his car keys punishingly.

When he looked back at her a few minutes later he saw her head bent, hair curtaining her face, and shoulders stooped. Omar had his arm protectively around her and was leaning toward her as if trying to comfort her. She had been momentarily happy, and he had stomped all over that too like a rampaging elephant in musth! He should be hanging his head in shame, he chided himself. 

C'mon Zoya, stay mad at me, he silently urged her. Please!

 

Meanwhile, Humaira's heart sank as she laid eyes on the kind of girl she knew Ayaan always liked. She noticed with dismay how his gaze lingered on her, and how he eagerly jumped to sit next to her at the table. 

In all of this, no one noticed the pall that had fallen on Tanu's face at the sight of Imran. He too had paled when being introduced to Asad's fiancée.

 

Soon everyone was seated at the large round table set away from the main dining room providing more privacy for bigger parties. Nuzzhat wanted to know everything about America, and both Zoya and Omar filled her in. Whenever Zoya flagged, Omar picked up the conversation thread. They painted such a fun picture, that Nuzzhat wanted to go right away. A hand ruffling his hair, Ayaan promised her that he would take her there one day. 

     "Promise, Bhaijaan?"

     "Humara dil dariya aur dash samandar hai!" Ayaan replied. He sneaked a smirk at Asad but Bhai was frowning. 

Omar was pissed at Asad and glared at him for the stunt he had just pulled in the parking lot. Zo had only just begun to smile after leaving home. He knew something had happened before they left. Her lips were set in a grim line. Omar had a good mind to rake Asad over hot coals for being a complete jerk to Zoya. 

But when he looked at Asad again, he noticed pain etched across his face. 

He shook his head in disbelief. What was wrong with these two? What was the hold up?  Maybe, he needed to push Zo's Mr. Khan over the edge. Maybe just a tad.

He looked up and noticed Ayaan looking at him funny. Omar chuckled to himself. Whoda thunk it? Zo sure had made many conquests here. He covered Zoya's hand with his, and leaned in intimately. From the corner of his eye he noticed Asad nearly shoot out of his chair. 

Good. Eat your heart out buddy. Or man the hell up.

 

Nuzzhat just had to know how Ayaan knew Zoya so well, so he and Najma (who, by now, was an expert on the topic as well), regaled everyone with the story of their conspiracy against Bhaijaan. They competed with each other on reporting how Bhaijaan would get so annoyed, and call Zoya a musibat and gairzimmedaar because she would always argue with him and challenge his decisions.

Zoya's heart constricted at those words; she ducked her head and tried to bite her lips to keep them from quivering all over again. Shit. C'mon Zoya, don't you dare crack up here.

But she couldn't help replay Mr. Khan's words, his anger today and everyday, his loathing for someone like her.

     "Mujhe uss din ka intezaar hai jab aap meri zindagi se ruksat hongi," he'd said in Mangalpur. 

He was right, wasn't he? She was a musibat. 

She wanted to run out and keep running. Only gripping the table's edge and letting its sharp side dig into her palms was keeping her here. Once again she'd made a royal fool of herself in front of him at home. Why couldn't she just shut her stupid mouth? Each time she opened it, she blurted out her heart.

Asad was sitting directly opposite her. His heart slammed against his chest as he felt helpless seeing the spark in her eyes dim. 

Again.

For a second, her alarmed gaze had skittered to him, and her widening eyes had pooled with anguish. She was biting her lips now. They'd be swollen soon. He groaned. He wanted to rub his thumb over them and cradle her head against his chest. Asad saw Omar's hand tighten on hers and Zoya turn to him gratefully. 

He couldn't take his eyes off their clasped hands. It burned a hole in his hollow chest. He should be holding her hand! He would lift it to his lips and kiss it. He's go down on his knees and slip a ring on her finger promising to do right by her forever. 

Asad squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. 

He could only flex his arm and clench his fist in frustration. She shouldn't have to sit through a recounting of how, for months, he had viewed her so negatively and been so vocally critical of her. It was wrong. If she only knew what he thought and felt about her now. 

But how could she? The only side of his he had ever shown her was that of a prickly and judgmental ass. Asad quickly distracted Ayaan by mentioning Mukka Ahmed Khan, and whether he wanted an action replay of the Operation Pyaasi Atma climax. 

Everyone laughed.  

Ayaan held his ears. Whoa, what was up with Bhai?

 

Omar wanted to know what Pyaasi Atma was all about so Najma filled him in shyly. He looked at Zoya in amazement, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. 

     "Seriously? The more things change the more they remain the same, right Zo?" 

She laughed up at him. Thank god, Omar was here. 

With his other hand he covered hers and squeezed it comfortingly. He let his hand linger on hers.

Across the table, a water goblet tipped over. Omar smirked. 

 

The drinks and appetizers soon arrived, and the dinner order was being placed. Zoya overheard Asad's order and panicked. Mr. Khan probably had no idea about Thai food. 

     She cleared her throat and looked at the server. "Doesn't that have peanuts?" 

Asad caught on, and quickly told the server about his allergy. The waiter assured him that he would tell the chef and that they would take the utmost care with his order.

Asad stewed. He was such a fool. How could he have forgotten something so important? She had remembered even though he had bitten her head off and made her cry the last time when he thought she had deliberately fed him peanuts to keep him from testifying against his father. What was she made of? He'd just yelled at her and here she was already looking out for him. How was he ever going to be able to make up for everything he had done to hurt her? 

Tanu felt like choking Zoya. Why couldn't she have thought of that? She felt like kicking herself. One more reason for him to behave like a lovesick puppy now, she fumed. She needed to salvage the situation quickly. 

     Placing her hand possessively on his arm, she exclaimed, "thank goodness for Zoya! Jammy, you have to be more careful about your health. Zoya won't always be here to remind you each time. She'll be leaving pretty soon. Though she must have remembered how it was her food that led to your last allergy attack. That was the most severe attack you've had, right?" 

He hated Tanu right then, and moved his arm out of her grasping claws. Asad looked at Zoya and saw her hide behind the leather-bound menu card. He felt anger bubble up inside him.

     "No, it wasn't Ms. Farooqui's fault then, because she didn't know about my allergies. In fact, her quick thinking saved my life that day. And apparently today too. I should have remembered, it was really careless of me." 

Omar raised his eyebrows and silently approved. Now that's what I'm talking about, Mr. Khan!

Tanu fumed. This was not going well at all. First, to have to sit at the same table as Imran, and now Jammy becoming Zoya's gushing cheerleader. 

Still, all was not lost. She began to imperially question Nikhat and Nuzzhat about what they were doing in college. 

Nikhat replied in hushed tones.

The men talked stiltedly about sports and politics.  

Zoya couldn't believe her ears. Jahanpanah had actually stood up for her in front of everyone! She wanted to do her happy dance. She looked up to see him watching her anxiously, and beamed her full dimpled smile at him. 

His ears reddened. 

Looking away, she noticed that Humaira seemed lost and heartsick. She asked Ayaan to switch places with her so that she could be next to Humaira. 

After settling down, she asked her how she'd done in the fashion show. 

     "How do you know?" asked Humaira in bewilderment.

     "I was there. Don't you remember how nervous you were?"

     "You were the one in the burqa who gave me the confidence to go up on stage!" exclaimed an excited and grateful Humaira. 

     Zoya blushed. "I didn't do anything. It was all you. You looked beautiful by the way. And the idiot who didn't see that isn't worthy of you," she said making a face at Ayaan who was talking to Omar. 

Omar saw her looking his way and winked at her impishly. She narrowed her eyes at him. She looked across at Mr. Khan and saw that he was openly staring at her. Not with anger or guilt or even jealousy, but something else entirely in his eyes. 

She dragged her eyes away. 

     Humaira went on sadly, "I don't know what I was thinking. That's not me at all. I prefer to dress more simply. But Ayaan seems to like girls who dress smartly like you."

Zoya sensed a kindred spirit and her heart went out to this young girl smarting from being neglected by the one she obviously loved. Here was someone feeling exactly the same as her: inadequate and lacking, and unable to be the kind of girl that the men they had fallen in love with, liked. 

Damn those Khan brothers!

     She held Humaira's hand under the table and when she looked up, said softly, "isn't it funny? The person I ... I like, doesn't really like that I dress this way. Nor does he approve of what I do or think, for that matter. But I've only just begun to stop feeling sorry for myself." 

     She squeezed Humaira's hand, "and you know what helps? Getting mad!"

They both smiled at one another with watery eyes. Zoya picked up her Diet Coke and saluted her sister in arms with it. Humaira laughed and picked up her Orange juice and did the same. They clinked their glasses and took a sip to toast their budding strength. 

 

Zoya began to ask her about Humaira classes. Nuzzhat joined in too, and somehow she and Humaira were talking of the episode in college when Zoya had entangled with some eve teasers who were bothering Najma.

They didn't realize that the conversation around them had come to a stand still. 

     Humaira was on a roll and spoke with admiration, "but you were so brave that day! We heard how you saved Najma from those goons and how the principal mistakenly had you arrested. In fact we organized a rally the next day to protest against it and demand those boys' suspension." 

She didn't realize that everyone was staring at them.

     "That was you?" exclaimed Ayaan gleefully. "Mona Darling that was so awesome! You are such a Jhansi ki Rani."

     "Jail!" croaked Omar in splits. "Too much! Apun ki Buffy the Vampire Slayer! How many did you send to the hospital?" 

     He dodged the napkin she lobbed at him, nearly wheezing with laughter now. "But that was badass! You're awesome, you know that? I love you!"

There, that should light a fire under the jackass' butt. 

Zoya looked up guiltily at Mr. Khan. What the hell was Omar up to? And oh my god, Mr. Khan would go apeshit over this jail story! 

She and Najma had decided not to tell him of Najma's involvement in that incident when he had bailed her out of jail with barely repressed anger. She saw him grip the knife on the table and noticed that his knuckes were white. Her heart plummeted. Was he thinking the same things he'd said to her that day? Because if he said another angry word to her she would probably burst into a million tears right here and make a complete ass of herself. He stared at the plate in front of him, not meeting her glance or looking at Najma. Both she and Najma were terrified that Asad would explode in anger at hearing this recap. 

But he remained silent.

Nuzzhat and Ayaan gushed on about how the whole college had admired the courage of a girl who had dared to stop those hooligans, when they were the ones who should have been jailed. Everyone wanted to know what had happened afterwards. 

Zoya and Najma looked at each other in alarm remembering Mr. Khan's volatile temper and harsh words. 

Najma tried to make light of the whole thing by comically telling them that Bhaijaan was really mad and how she and Ammi were terrified, she rolled her eyes and clutched her heart dramatically, but how even then, Zoya wouldn't back down as she had demanded that he apologize to her for being rude. 

Everyone raised their eyebrows admiringly at Zoya's spunk. One did not go up against Asad Ahmed Khan and live to tell about it.

     Omar did an exaggerated slow clap, "good girl!" He even got up and stood behind her chair to hug her tightly. He looked at Asad, issuing him a direct challenge by kissing the top of her head. 

If this doesn't do it, then that tight-assed moron doesn't deserve her.

Najma went on to tell them, rubbing her hands with glee, how Zoya got her revenge. When Bhaijaan refused to apologize, Zoya tampered with his phone and added a voice password so that each time he took a call, he had to say, "I am sorry Zoya," to unlock his phone.

Everyone roared with laughter. 

     Omar slapped his palm on the table with glee. "That's my girl!"  

Zoya breathed a sigh a of relief and smiled slightly, even laughing when Ayaan turned toward her and bowed waving both his hands in front of him in her honor. 

     "Mona Darling, tussi great ho!"

 

Asad felt his world tilt. She had not just saved Najma from gundas that day, but also silently borne his apoplectic lashing out against her without uttering a single word to implicate his sister? 

It was something he would have done for Ayaan or his sisters. He stole a look at her and nearly wept to see her laughing with Omar, Ayaan and Humaira. That was the day that he had nearly blurted out, "main aap jaisi ladki se nafrat karta hoon." He had been so furious at her, that he had yelled at her about her being a negative influence on Najma. He had raged against her lack of a decent upbringing and how her parents must have been too busy to teach her any manners or, raise her right. She had left home that night because of his tirade— 

He deserved to say "I'm sorry Zoya," a million times, to her face, for the rest of his life. 

 

Asad noticed that she had left the table to go to the restroom. Excusing himself to make an urgent phone call, he decided to follow her. He didn't care how it looked, or whether anyone would wonder at their absence. He had to talk to her. 

He would break Omi's bony touchy-feely ass later. 

Asad missed Omar's grin behind his back. 

Atta boy!

 

 

Song in Title:

Son of Sardar (2012): "Yeh Jo Halki Halki Khumariyaan"


	22. Chalna Aahiste, Ishq Naya Hai

 

The sense of urgency to talk to her, plead with her, was overpowering. For days now he had sweated bullets, worried that he'd wake up one day and find Zoya gone. He slept too lightly, starting at the merest sound. Was that her, sneaking away from him forever? He kept a fearful watch, a daily vigil, because her independence scared him. If he didn't talk to her now, he'd lose her forever. If she still stayed on, it was only because she hadn't yet found a way to leave ... him. But she would leave. 

Of that he was dead sure. 

Even now, a part of him agonized that she had already left. Thanks to him, the multiple blows of this evening had to have reached a tipping point for her. He swore under his breath and his hands fisted.   

 

Asad saw her in the corridor. Thank god! He grabbed her hand and pulled her into a semi-darkened room that seemed to be stocked with restaurant supplies. Zoya was about to scream, but went still when she saw that it was him. Her eyes went wide with anxiety and worry as he backed her against the wall and covered her mouth. Asad quickly removed his hand but still held her.

     "Miss Farooqui, I am really sorry for behaving so rudely that day." He whispered through a choked throat. "I had no idea that you were protecting Najma. I can never thank you enough for being so brave. I was a total jerk for saying those awful things to you." 

Her eyes began to fill up. Zoya raised her hand to cover her trembling mouth as her body was racked with sobs. 

He couldn't bear to see her cry so brokenly. He gathered her in his arms and held her as she cried. She struggled weakly to free herself but he wouldn't let go. Resting his chin on her head he kept murmuring into her hair, "I'm sorry, Zoya, I am so sorry, baby. Please forgive me for every cruel word and act." 

And she cried even harder. 

Someone tried to open the door from outside, but Asad blocked it with his shoulder still holding her tight. He stroked her back while raining kisses on her head. It killed him to hold her shuddering body in his arms knowing that he was responsible for this.

When her sobbing broke, he pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to Zoya. But he couldn't resist wiping her tears with his thumbs even as he brushed her hair from her forehead.

Her tears still wouldn't stop. Zoya continued to hold a knuckle to her mouth to control the tapering sobs. 

So that's how she got those bite marks!

Asad yanked her hand from her mouth to kiss each bruised knuckle. He swooped to suck her tears and kissed her face still whispering, I'm sorry, his own eyes damp. 

How and when her arms crept up his neck she didn't know, or care. She sought the warmth and comfort of his strong embrace and clung to him. As Zoya hugged him he bent to kiss her gently on the mouth. 

But once their lips met there was nothing gentle about the all-consuming kiss that jolted both of them to the core and made them fuse their bodies even closer. Her fingers tugged his hair painfully as she stood on her toes to be devoured by him. 

She wanted to punish him and surrender herself. 

His arms and lips crushed her to him. 

As she gasped for air he slid his tongue into her mouth to stroke hers and she moaned in the back of her throat. They came up for air and Asad nuzzled her neck. Her pulse raced a mile a minute. His hot breath on her neck made her knees turn to water. But when he licked the pulse at her throat she nearly passed out.

     "Mr. Khan—?" Zoya whispered, shrinking away. 

I don't want your pity ... or charity. Please!

     "Shh," Asad hushed her, capturing her lips with his again, this time sucking on her lower lip erotically and molding her hips to his. He deepened the kiss and held her face with both his hands. He would break contact and then swoop in again at another angle before she could even regain her breath. 

Molten heat pooled between her legs as she instantly throbbed and swelled in response. She ground against his hardness unconsciously. Zoya dug her nails in, raking his nape before biting his lip, and heard him suck in his breath.

Asad broke away and trailed kisses to her ear. 

     "Don't. Please, Mr. Khan, don't." She wept, horrified at what had just happened. Zoya pushed herself away from him and pressed her fingers to her swollen lips, nearly doubling over with the pain.

     "I'll go away. You'll never have to see—!" 

     "No!" He roared. 

     He closed the distance she'd forced between them and held her urgently by her forearms, "Don't ever leave me! I—- I love you, Zoya." 

Her heart hammered. What? Did he even know what he was saying?

     He held her face with both hands and gazed into her eyes, his own moist. "I wanted to come tell you that night itself but ... but, something happened. I've been such a fool. You were right. I'm not worthy of you," he said ruefully. 

Asad continued stroking her cheeks and lips with his thumbs, unable to keep his hands off her face. When not touching her face, his hand would re-tuck her hair behind her ear. 

     "Oh God! It killed me to see you in so much pain! I deserve to be flogged for everything I've said and done. Forgive me, Zoya!"

Zoya's hand came up to cover his mouth. He hugged her tight, almost lifting her off her feet. When he set her down again, she smiled through her tears looking up at him, truly and deeply happy. For so long she had been the outsider looking in; now she was home. 

No questions or doubts remained.

     "I promise you, I'll fix this, and no one will ever come between us again," Asad vowed.

     She closed her eyes in prayer and whispered back, "I trust you, Mr. Khan. I love you too." 

At the simplicity of her confession, he lost all remaining control. Groaning, he folded her in his arms while grinding her into the wall, and kissed her till they were both deliriously breathless.

 

     After many more overdue promises sealed with hundreds of kisses, he rested his forehead against hers reluctantly, "now go back there and I'll join you all in a minute. And remember, I love you." 

He watched her rearrange her clothes and hair, smiling, as she used his handkerchief to wipe away the tear streaks and errant lipstick stains on her mouth first, and then his. 

Asad touched her swollen lips with his thumb and almost kissed her again. Zoya kissed it though she wanted to bite his thumb and suck on it. She took out a small mirrored case, and handed it to him to hold it up for her while she touched up her eyes and lips. He looked on, smitten and mesmerized as she pressed and rubbed her lips together for even coverage. 

     "Zoya—!" he groaned, bewitched. 

She smiled, mischievously licking some of the lip gloss off her lips.

  

He let Zoya go ahead of him. But only after punishing her for teasing him so wantonly. 

     As she left, Asad grabbed her in a quick hug, "I'm really sorry for everything," he whispered. It was hard to see her walk away even when everything was all right between them. More than all right!

Zoya pressed her hand to his lips to stop him for berating himself. He kissed her palm and she blushed as she turned to leave.

     He tugged her hand again and twisted it behind her back, "and one more thing. The next time you ride a bike, it'll only be with me. I want you leaning into my back, your arms around me, and your thighs gripping mine."

     "Jealous, Mr. Khan?"

     "Like hell," Asad growled in her ear sending shivers down her spine.

     "But," she pouted and widened her eyes, "what if I want you holding me from the back with your thighs pressing against mine?"

     "Zoya!" he sighed. He knew he was beat.

     "Hmm?" She ran her thumb across his cheek.

     "Okay," Asad mumbled.

     "Okay, what?"

     "You can ride it too, but Just. With. Me." He punctuated each word with a kiss.

     "Yay!"

But he silenced her again.

 

As she stepped out, she saw Tanveer having a muffled but agitated conversation with Nikhat's fiancé, Imran. She had an open file in her hands and was pointing at something. Zoya ducked back into the storeroom and closed the door behind her. 

Asad looked up from stuffing his handkerchief in his pocket, and his eyes hooded with desire. 

     "Mr. Khan," she whispered, tugging his arm. "Tanu seems to be having an argument with Nikhat's fiancé right outside."

     "What? Let me check."

He poked his head out and saw the same thing. They both had their heads together as they whispered furiously. It was clear that these two knew one another from before. 

Asad stepped back in.

     "Why did they behave like strangers when everyone was first introduced?" He wondered aloud, hands on his waist.

     "It looks fishy, right?" Zoya's eyes gleamed. She clasped her hands, "and they seem to be disagreeing about something. Neither seems very happy."

 Their eyes met and both saw hope and determination reflected in the other's eyes. 

  

Asad sat her down on a box of linens, knelt in front of her, and told her every miserable detail of what had happened that fateful night. He also told her of the doctor confirming her pregnancy and Ammi's suspicions. 

Zoya was livid. She jumped up and nearly charged out the door. He had to restrain her by grabbing both her arms. Holding her by her forearms he again rested his forehead against hers as he smiled down at her. 

     "Shan't, meri Jhansi ki rani," he spoke through suppressed laughter. 

He loved that she felt so protective of him. Where was this girl all his life? And why didn't he grab her the first day he saw her?

     "We have to be really careful about what we do next."

     "But Mr. Khan, she obviously spiked your drink that night so that she could seduce you. I will kill her!" Zoya squirmed and hissed. "And how could you even believe that anything happened between the two of you? Do you remember that night in the farmhouse? Nothing happened between us even though we were clearly attracted to each other."

     Hands on the wall on each side of her face Asad effectively trapped her by slowly moving his lower body against hers and arched an eyebrow, "were attracted? The things I wished I could do to you that night! Do you know how often I've kicked myself for not acting on that attraction? And the times I've dreamt of what I would have done?" 

Allha Miyan! Where had this Mr. Khan been hiding? 

     She blushed, but soldiered on trying not to be distracted by his amorousness, or her own body's heated response to his closeness, "you could never do anything as revolting as she alleges." 

He couldn't believe how lucky he was that she loved him.

     He grabbed her roughly by her waist, dragged her against his hardness and running his tongue along the curve of her ear, whispered, "not even with you?"

     "Mr. Khan! Behave!" But her body's full-blown arousal was betraying her. Oh god she was so ready, it would be so easy to give in. She was a hair's breadth away from grabbing his head and begging him to take her right here, right now. Whimpering, she wrapped one leg around him. This was all the invitation he needed. Asad cupped her bottom and lifted her up. She crossed her legs behind his back squeezing him to her as she clenched her thighs. 

Still pinning her against the wall he played with her hair and trailed his knuckle against her lips. Her lips! So long he had waited to touch them, trace their outline with his fingertips, and then his tongue. He had imagined their plump softness under his as he nipped and teased before sucking on them. He would never get enough of those lips. 

 

She held his tormenting hand before he drove her completely insane and reluctantly climbed down. 

     "And now she'll try to pass off her pregnancy on you," 

Zoya tried to regain her temper and an upper hand. She stomped her foot but ended up kicking the box which scattered all the tablecloths and napkins. 

     "How dare she?" She struggled out of his grasp straining to get to the door. 

Asad couldn't resist this vision of outspoken passion and flaming attitude. With a soft laugh he tugged her to him and kissed her. He snaked his tongue in and she moaned. Still incensed at Tanu and frustrated with his tackles, she pushed against his shoulders. They both tumbled onto the heap of gleaming white linens as he dissolved the remainder of her feeble resistance with his mouth and tongue. He slowly let his hand roam from her pert breasts to her butt, pinching it and then grinding into her to let her know how aroused he was. 

     "Oh God Zoya! Do you know how hard it's been keeping my hands off you!"

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan! Everybody must be wondering where we are." But even she knew that her feeble protests were just a token. She wanted to push his shirt aside and run her hands over his chest and tight stomach. 

He raised his head, intoxicated and hungover. 

     Asad looked down on her flushed face and whispered, "You are so beautiful. And hot as hell. Marry me."

     "Oh really? Musibat magnet? Iss misfit se aap nikaah karenge?" 

     He stroked her dimpled cheek tenderly and looked deep into her eyes, "haan, ab har musibat qubool hai. And you aren't a misfit. I was an idiot. You? You are perfect just the way you are."

     "Told you!" She pushed back against his shoulders, straddled him, and poked his chest. "Zoya Farooqui kucch bhi kar sakti hai. Jahanpanah six packs ka sakt dil bhi mom kar sakti hai!"

He grabbed her stabbing finger and bit on it. She hissed and her thighs clenched around him.  

     "Ahem," he grinned devilishly as her hands roamed over and explored his chest and abs. He grabbed her hand in one of his and drew her close while molding her butt intimately to make her rub against his erection. 

     He heard her breath hitch and teased, "dil to mom kar sakti hai, lekin niche, ulta assar?" 

     "Mr. Khan, you are so bad!" 

She leapt up and ran out, cheeks flaming, his soft laughter following her. 

 

 

Song in Title:

Aaja Nachle (2007) "O Re Piya"

 

 

 

 

 


	23. Bahon Mein Tere Masti Ke Ghere

 

 

 

When Tanu saw them return to the table she knew it was all over. Those deep, deep dimples … that glow … Dang! This was not good. The sight of Zoya's swollen lips made her jaw hurt.

Zoya blushed when Omar looked at her with a lop-sided grin and a raised eyebrow. 

On the way back home Asad couldn't resist looking at Zoya in the rear-view mirror. She caught him looking and smiled but looked out of the window for most of the ride. 

 

On leaving the restaurant Najma had begged Asad to allow her to ride back with Omar since for some reason Zoya wasn't going with him. Asad refused. She could come home on Ayaan's bike. It made no sense for Omar to come back to their place. After all there was enough room in the SUV for all of them. 

Zoya tried not to smile but failed. 

But Omar was not to be dismissed so easily.

     He looked at Asad and said, "hey I'll join you all since the party is moving back home. I'm totally free." 

Zoya nearly snorted. Jahanpanah's tehzeeb wouldn't allow him to be openly rude. But Mr. Khan wasn't frowning to Najma's astonishment.

     "Zo?" asked Omar indicating his bike. 

     "Umm, Omar, I'll ride in the car." And she gave him a look.

He grinned and shrugged at her blush when Asad cleared his throat.

     " 'Kay, I'll see you all at the house in a few." 

And that's how the cavalcade with a twin motorcycle escort proceeded to the Khan Villa.

 

In the parking lot Asad had politely opened the passenger door for Tanu, and then the back door for Zoya. As she raised her leg to get inside, he'd pinched her butt. She exhaled and nearly giggled out loud. He thrust something in her hand and then closed the door after her. All the way back home, her fingers had lovingly traced the outline of a velvet box. Zoya didn't want to think of what could be inside. 

Instead she wanted to savor everything that had happened in a little room an hour ago. Zoya closed her eyes and replayed his touch on her body, the feel of his lips against hers and their hot grinding friction that had set her nerves aflame and brought her close to coming. Head thrown back in surrender she had smelled her own arousal in that tiny space.

She was wet again. For that matter, she had been wet all evening. Oh god, if Tanu weren't in the car she would have been in the passenger seat. She would have boldly placed her hand on his thigh to feel his muscles bunch in anticipation. She would have slowly moved her hand up and tried to unzip him. 

He would grip her wrist to stop her and then stroke the inside. Oh god, she remembered what that had felt like ...

     She would lean closer to whisper in his ear, "please." 

     "No!" 

     "Yes!" 

     "Zoya—!"

     Nipping his ear she'd purr, "Jahanpanah, you are all mine now."

Would he groan with desire and press her hand to cup him? 

     "And this kaneez _will_ have her way with you," she would tease huskily. He would definitely leap against her hand, and she would laugh throatily. 

She'd thrust her tongue in his ear and lick and suck his ear lobe. He would groan and his grip on her hand would loosen, passion fast overcoming that Jahanpanah reserve. She would unsheath him and he would suck his breath. Would he take the long way home?

     "So tell me, Mr. Khan," she would breath, tongue snaking out to lick the corner of his parted mouth while stroking his length. Slowly rasping a fingernail up and down his pulsating ridge and running her thumb over his wet tip, she would finally push him over the edge, "uhmm, do you want me to swallow?" 

     "Zoyaa!" He would hiss through gritted teeth, hot, taut with desire, and she would go down on him. 

He better have good control over the car when she did do this for real, Zoya thought through her haze. She stirred restlessly and looked up to see him staring at her in the rear-view mirror. She blushed again. If he could read her mind he would probably run and hide in his room like all those times before. But no, she had seen a much bolder, mouthier, and handsier side of him in that storeroom. And she was going to keep that Mr. Khan around for good.

Zoya leaned back against the lonely seat and nearly sighed. Oh god, that storeroom. It was her favorite and happiest place in the world right now. She would make him bring her back to this restaurant again and again. And he'd better not waste any time in mounting her and making her eyes roll back in her head. The image of him pounding her brains out in that same storeroom made her thighs clench; she throbbed in frustration. 

 

Back home, Ayaan and Omar stayed back for coffee and the cake that Zoya had baked yesterday. Tanu and Dilshad had gone off to their rooms pleading tiredness. While Ayaan horsed around with Najma and Zoya in the kitchen, Omar cornered Asad. 

     "Mr. Khan, I'm glad to see better sense has prevailed after all?" 

Asad tilted his head to the side in confusion.

Omar sighed. What did Zo see in this bugger?

     "Looks like you both have scratched whatever itch it was that needed scratching, and finally worked things out. I'm happy for Zo, but it will still take me some time to forgive you being a total jerk to her. Do that again, and you'll have her Jeeju to answer to first. And Aapi and Jeeju have me on speed dial."

Asad smiled and held his hand out. Omar shook it and then handed him the keys to his bike. 

     "Go on, I know you're dying to. I'll send her out with some excuse. This will give me some time to get to know Najma better," and he looked directly at Asad, daring him to say no.

     "You know, Omar, you're not half as bad as I first thought," Asad said good-humoredly, palming the keys. "And thank you, for everything."

     Omar laughed. "Sure, no problem. And Asad, I'm extending my stay by the way. You'll be be seeing a lot more of me." 

Asad walked away shaking his head. Omar wasn't a threat anymore. Though he'd have to watch him around Najma.

 

Two minutes later Zoya came running out and they zoomed off into the night.

Her hands gripped his chest tightly, the side of her face pressed into his back, thighs cupping his intimately. Asad took one of her hands and laced his fingers through hers. As they stopped at a red light, he flipped the visor open and pressed her hand to his lips. She slid even closer and he could feel raw heat radiating from her on his butt. His blood rushed and he throbbed in sync with the bike. 

As they thundered off again he held her hand over his heart. She couldn't tell whose heart she could hear beating but that, and the bike were making her horny as hell. She wanted to run her hands over those abs and dip even lower. Unconsciously, she started to grind against him. He took one of his hands off the handle bar and stroked the inside of her thigh. 

The bike stopped. Zoya raised her head groggily from his shoulder to peer around her. They were back home. She sighed regretfully. Zoya got off and was suddenly lifted to be placed in front of him. He slid back to make room for her and started to slowly stroke the tops of her thighs. 

     "Your turn," Asad murmured in her ear before putting the helmet on for her and gently securing the strap under her chin. He let his fingers feather on her neck.

     She twisted around and spoke through the raised visor. "Mr. Khan, I won't be able to do it." 

     "Why?" his hands were already on her waist, kneading her hips and he was pressing his erection against her butt. She wiggled her butt making him groan. 

     "That's why. What if we have an accident?" 

     "No we won't." Wrapping his arms around her waist, he bit down on her shoulder and purred in her ear, "c'mon Ms. Farooqui, take me for a ride." 

And this time it was her turn to be in control while losing complete control. He would ocassionally have to steady the handle whenever she swerved too much while in the throes of passion. 

It had begun to drizzle softly and a smoky haze rose from the darkened streets. 

In a nearly deserted alley, she stopped. He helped her park the bike. Zoya twisted around to face him and sit astride his thighs—almost in his lap. She took off the helmet not caring whether it stayed on the handle bar or fell.

     She hugged him and growled fiercely, "Mr. Khan, you've been driving me crazy all day. I need you."

Asad's heart leaped. She was such a tiger!

     "Zoya, we are in the middle of the street!" 

     "I don't care. Just kiss me please, Asaadd!" 

The way she slurred his name undid him. He swooped to kiss her. Asad pressed her back onto the bike, cradling her head on the handle bar. He ravished her mouth with his teeth, tongue and lips. Kissing the dew off her face and neck he let his hands cup her breasts and flicked their erect peaks with his thumbs.

Placing her hands beside her head, she gripped the handle bar for leverage and raised her hips. Her legs gripped his waist as she writhed against him seeking release. 

     "Zoya," he groaned breathlessly, his hips hitching in primal response, "ride me, baby."

Throwing her head back with a guttural cry, she came.

 

 

Sing in Title:

Ghar (1978): "Bahon Main Tere"


	24. Na Hai Yeh Pana, Na Khona Hi Hai

 

 

**  
**

 

Dilshad had already noticed something different about Asad as soon as he'd walked in the door last night from the restaurant—there was a spring in his step, a gleam in his eye. She had breathed easier and given thanks. Glancing at Zoya she had smiled wider, thankful to Allah that finally things were looking up and right between these two; they deserved all the happiness in the world. She just wished that Tanveer's villainy would soon be exposed. Then she'd throw herself into her son's nikaah celebrations.

 

Before going down for breakfast in the morning, she texted Asad to come up to her room. 

She hadn't seen him look so relaxed in ages. He gave her a sanitized version of his reconciliation with Zoya; his body tightened with desire just thinking about last night. Asad ducked his head self-consciously when he saw his mother looking at him smugly. Dilshad glowed to see him blush. Shukranallah!  

He rushed to tell her about how they had caught Tanu and Imran whispering angrily among themselves. 

Dilshad texted Zoya to join them in her room as well. Bring your iPad, she added.

As Zoya closed the door behind her, none of them noticed a shadow slinking along the hallway.

Asad was on the phone again with Prasad. This time he wanted a background check on Imran as well. If what they all suspected was true they needed concrete evidence. It wasn't just Asad now, but also about Nikhat's happiness. 

 

When he got off the phone Asad saw his Ammi hugging Zoya and knew that he was doing the right thing.

     "So what do we do now?" Dilshad asked as they separated. 

He couldn't take his eyes off Zoya. Asad noticed that she was avoiding his gaze; her face flamed red. Was she feeling shy or regretting last night? 

Zoya, look at me, he silently urged her. 

She pretended to fuss with the damn iPad. 

     Asad sighed in frustration but turned to Dilshad. "Ammi, did you find out anything last night?" 

     "I found some things but am not sure if they mean much. First of all I didn't find any reports related to her pregnancy." 

He glanced at Zoya in misery. She had her head bowed but he saw her clasp her hands together and squeeze her eyes shut. 

Look at me!

     "But I did find some suspicious things which could be promising. Zoya did you get your iPad?"

Dilshad showed them a picture she had taken of a foil of tablets. The label was partially torn off with only the word "unitraz" visible. Zoya tapped away on her iPad while Dilshad showed Asad pictures of a nearly empty bottle of pre-natal capsules. She had also taken shots of Tanveer's address book and a partially open box of dry crackers, bottle of pickle and packet of curried tamarind.  

     "The bottle held 60 pre-natal tablets and now there are only about 15 left. The foods packets are not brand new. She's been snacking from these for some time." 

      When Asad looked askance at the food items she said, "for the morning sickness." 

     He still looked confused so she explained, "in the first few months many women get sick and can't keep food down. So they eat bland foods like crackers or dry toast. And many women also crave tart and tangy things to keep the nausea down." 

     Zoya looked up suddenly. "Like when Tanu had run to throw up when we had fish for dinner?" 

     "But that was more than a month ago!" Asad exclaimed. 

     "Exactly! This means that she's been pregnant for over three weeks."

He remembered being annoyed with Zoya when she had seemed overly nosy about Tanu's new aversion to fish. 

He felt guilty again. Zoya's instincts had always been true. He looked at her wanting to re-plead forgiveness. But she still had her head bent over her iPad and was running her finger over the screen. 

He wanted to hold her tight and feel her heart beat against his chest. But her shutting him out like this was a fist slowly squeezing his heart. 

     Zoya squealed. "Found it!" While reading, she gasped indignantly. "That bi—! ... witch! That chemical name stands for Flunitrazepam which is the active ingredient in Rohypnol, a date rape drug!"

     "But such drugs are banned in India," said Asad.  

Aww, Mr. Khan was such a straight shooter. A perfect by-the-book kinda guy. She loved him so much! But she was so embarrassed about last night that she could die. She didn't know what had gotten into her that she had acted like a complete wanton and brazen hussy. He must think I'm such a slut! That I'm from the US and must do this with anybody. Good job, Zoya! Ruined everything even before it started. Moron! Gadhi! 

     "It says here in this Times of India article that this drug is still actively used in India and often ordered over the internet or through tele-marketers. Phuphi, did you look through her trash?" 

     Dilshad slapped her head. "No!" 

     "We need to check her room again. If she was already pregnant before all this happened there have be doctor's reports and prescriptions."

     Zoya avoided looking at Asad and spoke to Dilshad instead, "she was showing Imran some file. Where did that come from? I don't think he had anything with him when he came. It must be hers ... I know, that bag of hers! It was big enough to hold a file that size." 

     "But why would she carry it around with her? How could she have known that she'd meet him there?"

Everyone pondered that question. 

     "She probably feels that she can't trust us here." Dilshad spoke quietly. "Tanveer was being extra cautious because she suspects that I'm on to her little game." That vile tramp!

Asad was getting really alarmed now. Why won't you look at me?  

     "May be she always carries her important documents with her?" continued Dilshad. 

     "But even if we can prove that Tanu has been pregnant for longer than she says, how do we connect her to Imran? I don't want Nikhat marrying that scumbag if he's associated with this sordid mess." Asad asked distractedly. 

They collectively mulled this over in tense silence. Asad kept stealing looks at her but it was as if he didn't exist.

Zoya?!  

     "We need to get a peek inside that bag. That's the key. If only I could get my hands on her phone ..." Their glances entangled and Zoya looked away again. 

     "How?" Dilshad's amused tone broke the spell.

     "I'll check her room this time, but one of you has to call her in your room so that I know I have enough time and won't get caught," Zoya said. Her mind was racing with ideas to entrap Tanveer. How dare she! Could she put some kind of a bug or trace on her phone? A hidden camera in her room? But that felt gross. 

     "Ammi, let me call her to my room." Asad offered. "This way both of you can look in her room together."  

     "Mr. Khan, when she enters your room give me a missed call on my phone. And same for when she leaves."  

He felt hope bloom when she said his name, but when he looked up at her, she had turned her face away again. 

Please?! What happened? Tell me.

     Sighing, he called Tanu on her cell. "Tanu I want to discuss something important with you. Can you please meet me in my room after breakfast?"  

He looked back at Zoya. She still refused to meet his gaze.

 

 

Song in Title:

Jab We Met (2007) "Tum Se Hi"


	25. Teri Rooh Pe, Tere Jism Pe, Bas Haq Hai Ik Mera

 

 

 

Breakfast was a dull affair. But seeing the tension between Asad and Zoya, Tanu felt a prick of malicious satisfaction. She had bristled seeing them from the balcony last night when they'd returned from their bike jaunt. Before entering the house Asad had yanked Zoya to him—they'd been joined at the hip and lip, unable to keep their hands off each other. 

Something's not right in la la land, Tanu thought snidely. Good! May be he's come to his senses and realizes that they can't be together. Or may be Khala's told them about the baby and they realize they can't be together. So sad! Her interest piqued. This should be good. Tanu excused herself.

     "Jammy, can I meet you with you later? I feel a little sick right now." 

Asad nodded moodily and got up to go to his room. He stole a look at Zoya. She was gathering the breakfast dishes, her gaze still skittering away from his. 

He couldn't decide whether he was mad or scared. What had happened? Did he do something to hurt or upset her? Asad decided to linger over coffee, pretending to read the newspaper. Zoya left to go to her room and he sighed in frustration. He had hoped Ammi and Najma would leave the kitchen before her. He needed to talk to her. 

Asad's eyes widened; he had an idea. 

 

Zoya was in her room puttering around listlessly. She kept replaying her role as a besharam, horny cat on a hot tin roof yesterday, and her heart kept sinking. Yes, he had shown a bold side to him yesterday, but she had to go and outdo him with her bolder avatar? She covered her face in misery. You idiot! 

There was a knock on her door and she knew exactly who it would be. 

God, how would she face him? 

He entered. She had her back turned away from him. Asad thrust a steaming mug of coffee under her nose and heard a sob.

     "Zoya? What happened?" He rushed to put the mug on the nightstand, and hugged her from the back. "Did I do or say something to hurt you?" She wrapped her arms around his, and shook her head. Her hair swung in a curtain from side to side. Another sob escaped. 

     He turned her around, and hooked his finger under her chin, "then tell me what it is. It's killing me to see you turn away from me and now crying like this?"

She covered her face and burrowed into his chest unable to meet his gaze. 

     "Zoya, you are scaring me. Did something happen? Is everything OK with Aapi and Jeeju? Did Tanu say something?" 

     She felt horrible for scaring him like this. "No," she sniffed. "Everything is fine." She wiped her tears but still wouldn't look into his eyes. 

     "Then tell me what's wrong and how I can make it right. Please, I can't bear to see you cry like this, or not look at me." 

     "I'm just ashamed of myself," she sniffled, and said in a small voice.

     "But why? What happened?" 

     "I was so shameless yesterday and you must think I am such a disgusting—! I feel so cheap." Zoya covered her face again and started to cry. 

     "Is that it! Are you serious?" Asad laughed and hugged her tight. "How can you even think that? I loved your feistiness yesterday. It was so damn hot. You were such a tigress!" 

     "Look at me," he coaxed her. 

Zoya shook her head; her forehead was still resting on his chest. Asad lifted her face and kissed her hard, thrusting his tongue in aggressively and dipping her over his arm which made her cling to his shoulders. She responded immediately, sucking on his lips and parrying his thrusts as he twined his tongue with hers. 

How, in just a flash, was he able to make her go from 0 to 60, she thought! Vroom!

He pulled away, and she moaned in protest.  

     Asad laughed huskily. "Did you like that?" He still had her bent backward over his arm. 

Her eyes dilated with desire, Zoya nodded yes, still clutching his shirt collar with both hands. 

     "See, that's how erotic it was for me to see you take the lead yesterday. I didn't sleep at all last night, imagining what it would be like when we make love." Zoya gasped aloud. He straightened her and held her close. "I love everything about you, specially that I can drive you crazy enough for you to want to jump my bones. Do you know how hot that is? You are so gorgeous! Don't ever think that!" 

He picked her up and sat back on the bed with her in his lap; Asad kissed the top of her head. He handed her the coffee. "Sweet and milky just the way you like it." 

She smiled up shyly at him and kissed his cheek. But kissing wasn't enough, Zoya cupped his cheek with one hand and then rubbed her knuckles over the slight stubble and inhaled his scent. 

     "Are you okay?" he asked anxiously as he tucked her in the crook of his neck.

     "Umm hmm. Better than OK now." 

     "You'll still be my love goddess right?" He ran his thumb across her lips. 

Her eyes flashed as she giggled and flicked her tongue out to lick his roving thumb. Asad groaned.

     "You won't go all traditional and mousy, boring or repressed on me?" 

     "May be just on Mondays." 

He laughed. Yes, she was back! 

     "No! I want my Zoya to be fiery hot with all claws out, seven days a week and 365 days of the year! I want to see scratches on my body the next day after you've had your wicked way with me."  

     Her back arched and she clung to him. "Oh, I so badly want to have my wicked way with you. That's what I was fantasizing about on our way back home last night." She bit her tongue. Damn! Now why did she have to say that! 

     "Really? Tell me about that fantasy."

     "No! It's too embarrassing." 

He ran his fingers over her leg and she slapped his hand away. 

     "Please," he begged with an exaggerated woeful expression. 

     "No way!" 

     "OK, when will it become reality?" 

     "After we're married." 

     "On our wedding night?"

She punched his shoulder. "May be. If you're good." 

     "I'm being such a good boy right now," he pouted. 

     "Mr. Khan!" 

     "By the way," he played with her fingers. "I loved the way you said my name last night. When will you start calling me by my first name?" 

     "Only when we are by ourselves. I may give away too much if I said it in front of everyone else. I'd feel too exposed." 

     His heart knocked in his chest. "That's the sweetest, most amazing thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you." He loved hearing her call him, Mr. Khan too. He bent to kiss her. She met him half way. 

     Later Asad remembered. "Where's the box I gave you last night?" 

Zoya got up and retrieved a dark blue velvet box from the dresser drawer. 

     "Have you looked?" 

Zoya shook her head no. 

He reached out his arm and she went back to sit in his lap. She loved how she fit perfectly in his protective embrace, and how he wrapped his arms around her, and bent to kiss her on the head, neck and shoulders. When he wasn't doing any of that, he'd stroke the back of her hands with his thumbs or trail his fingers over her arm or leg. Against his warm chest, feeling his heartbeat against her face, it was the safest place in the world she could be in. 

She would never get enough of this. 

Thank you so much, Allah miyan!

Their hands together, they opened the box and Zoya gasped. She had never seen a more beautiful pair of antique jadau earrings. They were exquisitely inlaid with tiny emeralds and dripping with pearls. 

Zoya looked at him in wonder. 

     "This is Dadi's from when she got married. She specially sent these with Ayaan to give to my fiancee." 

She felt her eyes brim, and turned to hide her face in his chest. Asad held her close.  

     Raising her face to his, he gently kissed each eyelid. "Look at me," he commanded.

    When she did, he reassured her softly, "I would have saved them for you. She never had any rights over me. It's only been you. Always!" 

Zoya hugged him.

     "May I?" 

When she nodded, Asad fastened them with some help from her. 

Zoya jumped up to admire herself in the mirror. He came from behind and curled his arms around her. 

     "Beautiful," he said as he brushed a kiss under each dangling earring. 

She shivered. 

     "Zoya?" 

     "Hmm?" 

     "About that fantasy..."

     "Mr. Khan! Stop it. it's just not happening, OK?" 

     "Say my name again." 

     "Asad," she sighed it. 

He loved the sound of his name on her lips. Just two syllables, and she made it sound like a prayer and a siren song. He got goosebumps. 

     Asad nuzzled her neck again, "can't you at least give me a hint?" 

     "No!" 

     "Please. I can't wait," he groaned. "Have mercy on me!"

     "Mmm ... Okay." 

     "Really?" 

She turned in his arms and crooked a finger. He brought his ear closer. Zoya giggled and stroked the curve of his ear with her finger. He shivered and gripped her tightly. 

     "You really want to know?" She breathed seductively.

Those goosebumps returned. Asad nodded and trailed his fingers up her arm while holding her by the waist with the other. She caught the errant hand and laced her fingers with his. 

     "Really?" 

     He hugged her tighter. "Zoya, stop teasing me." 

She licked her lips. Her throat suddenly felt dry. 

     Zoya leaned closer and with the barest whisper said, "in my fantasy," he strained to hear her, "I swallowed." 

And she flew out of his arms and locked herself in the bathroom. 

Huh? 

Wait, what?

And then realization dawned on him. Red hot lust punched him in the gut making him leap and throb. 

Zoyaaa! He moaned soundlessly and his breath escaped in a hiss. Oh god, they better get married soon, or he'd just combust dreaming of her in his arms and under him. How many cold showers could he possibly withstand? He'd already taken two last night after they'd returned from the bike ride.

Asad opened, and then closed the door to her bedroom. 

Zoya heard him leave her room, and sighed in contentment and longing. How was it possible to feel both? She hugged herself.  

When she stepped out, she saw him leaning against the wall, waiting for her. He opened his arms and she ran into them to be held tight. 

     "I love you." 

 

 

Song in Title:

Blood Money (2012) "Chaahat"

 


	26. Thode Anari Hain, Thode Khiladi

 

  


That night both Dilshad and Zoya entered Tanu's room as soon as Zoya saw the missed call from Asad. He could only arrange to meet Tanu after dinner since she was not well and he had left for meetings all afternoon and evening.

Between the two of them they looked in the most obvious places and then started looking more earnestly: under the mattress and inside the pillow and bed covers, curtains, undersides of the drawers, behind the cupboard, in between folded clothes and linens, luggage, behind pictures and frames. But they came up empty. They couldn't find her tote bag either. 

Think like her, Zoya scolded herself over and over again. What would Tanveer do? Zoya grew frustrated with each failure. She even felt around the AC, baseboards … Nothing. Tanveer had been living with them for around two months. Surely if she'd gotten pregnant only recently (Zoya grimaced) there would be sanitary pads somewhere? She found none. That has to mean to something, right?

But this wasn't real evidence. You couldn't take this to court—your honor, the mulzima did not have tampons or pads in her room. Ergo, she's guilty!

Feeling useless, Zoya took out everything from the trash can and spread it on the floor. Tissues and hair balls, yuck! Some crumpled receipts. Not bothering to look she just flattened them and quickly took pictures with her phone. They'd look at details later. In fact, if Tanu had thrown these away, she wouldn't miss them. Zoya pocketed the receipts. 

  


Meanwhile in his room, Asad asked Tanu about how she was feeling. His heart sank to see her clutch her bag. Instinct told him Zoya and Ammi wouldn't find what they we're looking for. He thanked her for suggesting a meeting with his brother and sisters last night.  He got her talking about her work, her home back in Kanpur. They talked about the past. Growing up together. 

     "Would you like me to get you some warm milk?" he offered stalling for time. His jaw steeled at his deception. It also reminded him of that terrible night when she'd tricke—

But as much as he hated stringing her along he hated her lies more. If it hadn't been for Ammi's instincts this woman would have trapped them in her sulfurous web. He would have married her, raised her child as his own, never knowing … He would have lost Zoya.

Asad took his time in broaching the subject of her pregnancy.

     "Ammi told me that she took you to the doctor?"

     "Yes," said Tanu with a bowed head.

     "And?"

He didn't care if this took all day. However much time it bought Ammi and Zoya to search the room was fine by him. Maybe they'd find something. They had to!

     "Umm, the doctor said that I am pregnant." 

Asad waited for her to say more.

Tanu was mad. She knew he wanted out of this deal that she had forced upon him. He was working his way up to something, she knew that. But she didn't know how he would do it. Being a stickler for decorum, principles and tradition, she had felt confident that she could always twist his arm. But with Zoya in the picture she was no longer sure about the Jammy she knew and manipulated so well. 

And Dilshad's stubborn streak was another game changer.

 

Upstairs Dilshad was panicking. They had found nothing so far, and it had already been more than forty minutes since they started searching her room. Casting a glance around the room, Zoya decided to look in the bathroom. She looked behind the water tank of the commode, inside, undersides of the cabinets. Nothing. She even unscrewed a couple of wall sconces but came up empty. This woman was smart, Zoya fumed.

 

When Tanu refused to say anything else, Asad decided to drop the bombshell. 

     "Tanu, I am sorry I cannot go ahead with this." 

Tanu looked up at him startled. She had never heard him be so decisive or direct about a touchy emotional issue. 

     "I know I'm being selfish, but I am in love with Zoya and I can't imagine getting married to anyone else. I hope you'll understand." 

     Livid, she stood up to confront him, "what? But what about this baby? How am I going to raise it on my own? This is your responsibility," she shrieked. 

     Annoyed at her gall to still continue to trick him, he said placatingly, "I know. I know it's my responsibility. I have a proposition. Please have a seat." 

Taking time to settle down himself, he went on. 

     "Zoya and I have decided to get married as soon as possible. Here's what we'll do. We will raise that baby as mine and Zoya's. I will pay for all the pre-natal care and expenses till you deliver. If you want we can even say that you are a surrogate for us because of some fertility issues. I can pay you a lot of money as the surrogate mother. But I cannot get married to you. It would be unfair to everyone involved." 

Tanu was stunned. She had not seen this move coming. Till she could blackmail him for his guilt and filial responsibilty, she was confident that she could get away with anything. 

     "But Jammy, you of all people, know best how a child feels when abandoned by a parent. How can you do this to your own child?" 

He could have strangled her for the practiced lies and emotional blackmail she continued to wield as a weapon. How could he not have seen through her pretense? Zoya had always been right about him: he did judge people by their clothes and that is how he was in this mess today. 

Please, Allah, let me get this right, and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to Zoya.

     Asad replied just as smoothly, "but that's the beauty of this arrangement. This child won't go without a father. And he or she will also be blessed to have the love of the best woman in the world as its mother. Zoya too knows what it is like to have a parent abandon you as a child, and will never let this child feel unwanted or unloved. And as a single woman it'll be harder to raise this child on your own. What better solution than having the child grow up with two loving parents?" 

He stood up to indicate his dismissal. 

     "Please think about it and let me know your decision. I hope you'll see the benefit in the arrangement: you will be handsomely compensated, and the child will have a loving home." 

Each word coming out of his mouth was a death-knell. Tanu seethed with fury. Thank goodness she had already implemented a part of her plan B.

 

This was so annoying, Zoya thought. We need something and soon. Her eyes fell on the clothes hamper. As an act of desperation she emptied it of all laundry and at the bottom she hit paydirt. Several folders could be seen in clear plastic wrapping. She eagerly took them out and indeed they were papers related to Tanu's factory. Both she and Dilshad began taking pictures with their phones. 

Zoya heard her phone ping and panicked. 

     "Stall her," she texted. 

Finally they were able to get pictures of all the documents and return the files and clothing to the hamper. They slunk out of her room and crashed on Dilshad's bed, hearts racing, adrenaline rushing. 

In a minute they heard Tanu climbing the stairs and walking toward her room. 

They looked at each other and breathed a ragged sigh of relief.

 

 

Song in Title:

Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani (2000) "Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani"


	27. Niklenge Maidan Mein Jis Din Hum Jhoom Ke

 

 

 

  


When Zoya left Dilshad's room and came downstairs to go to her room, she found herself hoisted in the air and carried to Asad's room instead.  As he closed the door with his hip she grabbed his face and kissed him hard. 

He put her down and bent his head to drag her lower lip into his mouth again. After ages they separated and he again lifted her up in his arms and settled on the settee with her in his lap. But not before stealing another slow kiss. 

     "So, what happened?" Both asked at the same time and laughed. Zoya burrowed in his chest.

He held her tight and kissed the top of her head. She loved how his cheek fit her temple. And she almost died when she arched her neck and he trailed kisses at her throat. Her toes curled.

Focus, Zoya.

     "We got them. Pictures of documents that prove that her factory is still running and bank statements. But nothing related to her pregnancy." 

He told her about Tanu bringing the bag with her. 

     "We have to find way to look in that bag of hers. But how?"

They fell silent. Zoya remembered the receipts she had found and fished them out of her pocket. They spread them out on the settee. Two were from the same pharmacy. Asad took pictures and sent them to Prasad. A third wasn't a receipt but a crumpled up prescription. At least it had the doctor's name. That too was forwarded to Prasad. 

They began to feel a little hopeful. He hugged her. Thank god this mess would be over soon. 

     "And you?" she asked. "What were you able to find out from her?"

     Asad laughed cynically. "She had the nerve to tell me that I was abandoning my child." 

Zoya's hand fisted on his shirt. She knew that this was the dirtiest trick Tanu could have used against Mr. Khan.

     "You'll have to hold me back because I'm so ready to kill her."     

     Asad laughed and dropped a kiss on her head, "I told her that you and I would raise the baby as our own. I've even suggested she accept lots of money and pretend to be our surrogate." 

     Zoya looked at him approvingly, "Wow! Asad, what a brilliant idea! How did you even come up with this surrogacy thing?"

     He looked embarrassed as well as flattered. Ducking his head he said, "that day, on the road, when you were talking of celebrity gossip on the trip to Jaipur, there was some mention of Aamir Khan or Shah Rukh Khan having a baby through a surrogate mother." 

     "Nice job, jahanpanah six packs! So you were paying attention that day?" 

     He looked down at her and kissed her gently, tracing her face with his fingers, rubbing her lips with his thumb. "I was only paying attention to you. It killed me to see you in so much pain but putting on a brave face for the others. I think I fell in love with you more on the trip. And of course, whose brilliant idea was it? Zoya Farooqui's!" 

She beamed up at him happily, and then quickly sobered. 

     "What next? How long do we wait before exposing her lies? I hate that she's using her unborn child to play dirty games." 

He stroked her back and then smoothed the frown from her brow. Asad loved those little furrows! They accompanied the tiniest pout as she thought deeply about something and plotted plans to make things right. 

     "I've hired an investigator who's checking up on her and Imran. We are assuming that the baby could be his, right? I want it all confirmed before I mess up Nikhat's engagement. Short of a DNA test, how would we prove that he's the father?" 

She sat up. 

     "We know she's been pregnant longer than she claims. She must have some official medical reports. Thank god, we have the name of her doctor at least," Zoya said hopefully.

     "You think the reports may be in that bag she carries everywhere?" He asked kissing her palm.

     Zoya thought a bit, "where else would she hide them? Having them with her always makes the only sense. They are our only concrete evidence against her. Maybe holding that over her head will make her tell us who the father is?" 

     Asad sighed. "But can we trust her answer? After all this, I won't be able to believe anything coming out of her mouth. She could even falsely implicate Imran or try blackmail." 

They both brooded, absently running their hands over each other. Their fingers entangled with one another and began an erotic dance of their own. Their breaths got shallower and eyes locked. Still looking at her, he slowly dragged her hand to his mouth, bit her finger and then sucked on it. Zoya moaned and clung to him. She closed her eyes and sighing contentedly, remembered when in that room in the Thai restaurant, he had said sorry.

     "I'll make it up to you, I promise," he'd vowed. Tucking her hair behind her ear he had said, "I want to spoil you."    

     Now nipping and alternately kissing the column of her neck, Asad breathed, "speaking of babies, will you be the mother of mine?" 

     "Yes! Ouch!" Zoya yelped and boxed his stomach. He grabbed her hand and bent to kiss her palm, running his tongue over it provocatively. Her breath hissed and the air crackled with barely repressed desire. "Yes, all three of them." She hugged him tight flinging her arms around his neck. 

     "Three?" He looked down at her, smitten. "And I suppose you've picked out names and careers already?"

     "Koi shaq, Mr. Khan?" 

     "None whatsoever, future Mrs. Khan." They sealed their promise with a long kiss as their hands trailed over one another hungrily. 

     "And their names?" He asked, in between kissing her shoulder and neck. 

     "Well, the first-born will be a boy and will be Zaid." She counted off on her fingers. 

He again grabbed her finger and nibbled on it.

     "And then a girl, Amna." He nodded approvingly as he went on the trail more kisses down her throat. 

     "You can have the honor of naming the youngest," breath catching, she nuzzled his neck now. He threw his head back and laughed at her generosity and graciousness. 

     "Can she be a girl too? I want many little Zoyas running around my house wreaking havoc."

She smiled serenely. 

     "How about Saira?" Asad offered.

     "Hmmm ..." she took her time thinking about it.

     "Nilofer?" 

     She gasped. "that's beautiful! I love it." 

She pulled his head down for another drugging kiss. 

     "Great! I can't wait to get started," he purred in her ear setting her nerves on fire. 

     "Oh really? Have you noticed how many windows you've built in this room? Even the door has glass. It'll be like living ... and doing, you know ... in a fish bowl. Good luck making a single baby." 

Zoya got off his lap and swung her hair, harrumphing with disdain. He tried to catch her wrist, and giggling, she fled from him. Asad grabbed her from the back and swung her around. 

     Biting her shoulder he asked, "new drapes with privacy panels?" 

     Her breath hitching, she parried, "and the sounds?"

     He backed her against the wall. His hands at her waist and lips next to her mouth he teased, "there will be sounds?" 

     "Kyun Mr. Khan, won't you make me scream your name?" She darted her tongue out to lick his lips.

     "Zoya—!" his body bucked, "you're killing me." 

And he swooped to claim her lips again. 

And again. 

 

Neither noticed Ayaan outside the window first shocked, then grinning to himself ruefully shaking his head at this new romantic and besotted bhaijaan. He hadn't seen his brother laugh like this. And a passionately kissing bhai? 

Never! 

Wow, he thought, so this is what was cooking with these two all these months. All the fighting and drama! Who'd have guessed? 

He wanted to tap on the window and see their guilty faces but decided against it. After all the hard knocks, Bhaijaan deserved the loving and cherishing of a good woman. And that Mona darling sure turned out to be a firecracker having melted the heart of a man who had vowed never to love, or laugh for that matter. 

His eyes felt moist. 

Hoo boy, time to get out of here. For a hyper conservative guy, bhai was sure well-versed in the art of tonsil hockey!

 

  


 

Song in Title:

Jo Jeeta Woh Sikander (1992) "Yahan Ke Hum Sikander"


	28. Kal Tha Fakeer Aaj Dil Shezada Hai

 

 

 

Tanu knew she was cornered. She needed a new playground; her jig here would be up soon. But she still had one ace up her sleeve. And may be Jammy's proposition wasn't such a bad deal after all? But she needed some time to process things and make her next move. There was no hope with an Asad in love. Damn.

Imran? Could she make some headway there?

 

Prasad's reports were promising and Asad had already called to tell Zoya about it by that afternoon. He had even asked the investigator to have Tanu followed each time she left the house.

     "I miss you already," he said softly. "You owe me a kiss."

Her toes curled.

She smiled remembering this morning when he had embraced her from behind while she was cleaning up in the kitchen after breakfast. Najma had left for College and Phuphi was in her room, on the phone.

Tanu had disappeared right after breakfast.

     "Mr. Khan, what are you doing? What if Phuphi comes downstairs? Let me go."

She hadn't been able to look at him without blushing furiously.

He had nibbled playfully on the side of her neck. As he pushed her collar aside he saw an angry love bite. He ran his tongue over it. She shivered.

     "Not till I get a proper good morning kiss." 

     "Please. I'll die of embarrassment if Phuphi sees us like this." 

     "Just one," he had pleaded grinding her into the counter. 

     "Phuphi!" She yelped in pretense and he sprang away in a hurry. Dodging him she had run to her room and locked the door. 

Zoya had giggled as she evaded his hands but wanted so bad to melt in his arms. But through an unspoken pact they had decided: no hanky panky. At least not at home with Dilshad and Najma under the same roof.

 

That evening, the three of them conferred again. Zoya loved this working together as a team! All for one and one for all, the motto of the three musketeers. She sighed contentedly, but quickly sobered; this was not fun and games. Many lives depended on cracking the code and exposing Tanu. 

Asad went first. 

     "Her factory and business are still running. One of her employees told the investigator that she left town in a hurry and with instructions to not call her at all. She would remain in touch every 3-4 hours." He was pacing angrily now. "Imran was in Kanpur frequently from February onwards and his company did business with Tanu's. They placed a large order of company uniforms with her. So now we know that they do know one another well. The fact that they pretended otherwise the other day, proves that they have something to hide." 

     Zoya jumped in excitedly, "And I found his facebook page. I googled him and found out about his company. They have a guest house in Kanpur. At the end of February, there was an official party. See here are some photos on his page." 

Both Asad and Dilshad looked over her shoulder at the pictures. Some clearly showed Tanu and Imran standing close and talking. In at least two of them, he had his hand on her arm. 

As Dilshad sat back he pinched Zoya's waist. Zoya nearly fell off the bed. 

Dilshad told them that Tanu had wanted her to reschedule her doctor's appointment because she was feeling unwell. Asad had also brought hard copies of the photos they had taken of Tanu's documents last night. But they still didn't have enough to prove the date of the pregnancy or the identity of the father. 

     Zoya felt frustrated and impatient. "We have to get a look in that bag. There's no other way. Let me think of something." 

Asad and Dilshad talked about Tanu being in touch with old neighbors. Should they—?

     "So when do we confront her?" Asked Zoya after a pensive silence had fallen in the room. 

     "Not yet," Asad said reluctantly. "We have to prove the Imran connection first."

     Dilshad patted her arm. "Asad and I will talk to her. I don't want you to be there. It could get messy."

     "But, Phuphi!" 

     "Ms. Farooqui, Ammi is right. It could get ugly and I don't want her to turn on you, or insult you." 

 

Next morning, he was getting ready for work and heard Zoya scream. Terrified, Asad lunged for the door and sprinted to her room. She was sitting in front of the wardrobe with a battered jewelry box. 

     "Zoya? Are you okay?" He slid across the floor on his knees and held her tight.

     "Abbu's old photographs are gone, and so are the letters." She wailed in his arms. 

     "Shh," he comforted her. "When was the last time you saw them?" 

     "I - I don't remember. Last week maybe." 

     "Did you see them after the trip?" 

     "I don't know. So much happened right after that I can't remember." 

He felt helpless. Asad knew how much her father's last momentoes meant to her. She had suffered so much already. Why was she being tested like this? 

He rocked her gently and kissed the top of her head. "I'll help you look. May be you put it in the safe or in your bag?" 

     Zoya shook her head. "No, I do have a copy of that one group shot in my bag. Thank god, I had the sense to make copies when I first started looking because the original was so fragile. But now I've lost the original forever!" 

     "You couldn't have lost them. I know how much they meant to you, you wouldn't have been careless. Think, when was the last time you saw them?" 

While she thought, he helped her up and sat her down on the bed. Asad bent down to pick up the jewelry box off the floor. It was one of a kind, exquisitely hand-carved. Inside he saw an earring. It was the partner to the one that he had in his room. 

     "But Mr. Khan I am careless. First I lost Ammi's earring and now this." Fresh tears fell from her eyes. 

     "No baby, don't say that. Come with me." He gave her the box to hold and gently lifted her in his arms to carry her to his room. He made her stand in front of his closet and opened a drawer. 

She looked and couldn't believe her eyes. In that drawer she saw such a collection of things that made her smile through her tears. She saw a few broken phones and one held together by some colorful tape, still with her pink post-it note apology stuck to it. There was a coin. Was it the same one that she had used to decide whether she would stay in India or not? Allah miyan, even the CD! 

Asad took something out and showed it to her. 

It was her mother's earring. She looked up at him happy and tearful at the same time and fell in his arms. 

     "I love you so much. I can't bear to see you cry," he murmured. Asad lifted her face and kissed her tears away. 

     "Asad," she said his name shyly. Softy. She still felt tentative about using it and liked to savor his expression each time he heard her say his name. His eyes would soften as he would gaze into her eyes with a thousand unsaid promises. 

     "How long have you had this?" 

He took the box from her and put it in his drawer. 

     "Since the day I carried you home from Akram's house. It was caught in my cuff. I tried to return it a few times but then just held on to it because it was a part of you." 

He took the earring and slipped it on and kissed her ear. Lifting the other one out of the box, Asad put that on as well. 

     Flicking the earring gently to make it swing and dance, he teased her, "I still remember your silly sher when you first found out you'd lost it."

She looked up at him quizzically. 

     Tucking her hair behind her ear, he whispered, "Haan, pareshan hoon main, lagta nahin kuch sahi."

     Zoya squealed with delight and repeated with him, "Haan, pareshan hoon main, lagta nahin kuch sahi,

     Mere Shahrukh _Kaan_ mein jhumka hai, Salman _Kaan_ mein nahin!" Up on her toes and arms around his neck, she asked, "I didn't know you heard me then."

     "I heard it and actually found that one sher of yours cute. I must have been in love already! Who knew love is also deaf!"

     "Mr. Khan!"

     "Asad," he prompted.

     "Asad," she breathed with a smile.

     Now she noticed that his shirt was undone. Fastening the buttons, she asked shyly, "when did you know that you loved me?" 

He tilted her head up with his finger at her chin, "look at me." She did. "I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you at the dargah. But it took me months to really admit it to myself." 

Her eyes widened. He still hadn't told her completely about that day. 

     "And you?" 

Asad held both her hands in his and placed them on his chest. He began stroking the backs of her hand with his thumbs. Her pulse had already started to jump. 

     "When you said Qubool nahin hai' for me and stopped Akram from forcing me to marry him. And then when you fed me with your hands at that dhaba in Mangalpur," she spoke dreamily. But then her expression became sad again and she bowed her head. 

     He lifted her chin again, "what?" 

     "I think I knew for sure at the farmhouse that night but the next day ... Asad, it killed me to see you hold her." 

He nodded in understanding and kissed her pain and tears away. 

     Asad tucked her hair behind her ear and touched her ear again. "I am so lucky to have you." He retrieved something else from the drawer. "I was going to ask you differently but this is the best time." 

He went down on one knee and took her hand in his. "Zoya Farooqui, will you marry me?" 

She knelt too and gave him a bearhug toppling the both of them to the floor and sprawling over him. 

     "Yes, yes, YES!" 

     Laughing, he rolled over and tucked her under him. Zoya's heart stuttered. Slipping the ring on her finger he nudged her cheek with his nose, "sach mein qubool hai?" 

     "Qubool hai," she whispered, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

 

Song in Title:

Woh Lamhe (2007) "Kya Mujhe Pyaar Hai"


	29. Lagta Khuda Ka Koi Nek Iraada Hai

 

 

  


That night, grippping his hands tight, Zoya had haltingly asked him for one favor. Could she meet Dadi and his Abbu to seek their blessings? Asad had already told her about his tentative reconcliaition with Rashid. She'd sensed that he was still wary and shy of open contact with his father. 

Asad had only texted him once since their last meeting: "Aapki ki dua se Zoya aur main ab saath hain." But there was so much more that he wanted to say. 

With Dadi too. While she had shown her love through secret gifts, Najma and he had missed a grandparent's physical love and pampering. 

     "Where?" Asad asked gruffly.

     "The dargah? I've come to associate that place with strength and healing." He brushed his lips across hers when she said that. The dargah would indeed be the perfect place. It was where he fell in love with her and found the strength to win her back. It was also where he had accepted and sealed the fragile bond with his father.

He held her tight and squeezed his eyes shut in gratitude. 

 

Asad didn't know it was possible to feel this happy. But he still had one painful task to complete.

He called Ayaan the next morning from work. This was going to be hard. 

     "Hi Bhaijaan, I bet you have something big to tell me right?"

Asad removed the phone from his ear and looked at it in puzzlement. What the hell was Ayaan talking about? 

     "What do you mean?" 

     "No? You don't have any big news to share with me, your favorite brother?"

     "Voh, actually ... I do, but how do you ...?" 

     "I'll tell you later. You go first." 

     "Mmm ... voh ... actually ... main ..."

     "Kya Bhai, aise Hakla Ahmed Khan ban ke propose kiya tha Mona darling ko?

     "What? How do you know? Have you already talked to her? I should've known she wouldn't be able to keep this quiet. You two are completely nuts."

     "No, I haven't talked to her as yet. But I do know." Ayaan loved teasing him. For the first time ever, it was Bhai's turn to be at the receiving end to have his leg pulled because of a girl. 

     "Ayaan, what are you talking about?" 

     "Well, I had come to meet you one night and ..." He goaded, nearly keeling over with repressed laughter. 

Asad slapped his palm to his face and squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment. Oh god, maybe Zoya was right about all those blasted windows! Damn, he was really learning the hard way that she was always right and he was mostly wrong. But he was never happier to be so wrong. Thank you Allah miyan! What? Did he just—?

He sighed.

     "Voh ... actually ..."

     "Theek hai Bhai, jaiye maaf kiya for not telling me sooner how you felt about her. You've been in love with her for sometime, right?" 

Silence. 

     Ayaan laughed. "Kyun, bhaijaan? Cat got your tongue? Uss raat toh bahut chal rahi thi!" 

     "AYAAN!"

     "OK, OK" Ayaan spluttered through peals of laughter. 

     "Accha bataiye, Mona darling ka devar aapki kya khidmat kar sakta hai?"

     "Voh, I wanted to ask you if you were OK with all this ... ?"

It was Ayaan's turn to be puzzled now. 

     "What do you mean?" 

     "I mean, I know that you and Zoya are so similar and get along so well.  I just wondered if you were ... if you felt ... had feelings for her." Oh god, this was harder than he imagined. And he felt like kicking himself. Obviously Ayaan would say no now.

     "Bhai, to be honest ..." Asad's heart plummeted. He'd rarely heard Ayaan talk so seriously. "... I don't know. I know during the trip I flirted with her but I did sense a kind of deep reserve in her. Zoya gave me clear signals that she only looked at me as a friend. So I backed off. And looks like I completely missed the sparks between you two. When I saw you two that night, it didn't hit me or anything. So I guess, what I'm trying to say is, the answer is: no. I really like her but don't think there was anything romantic about it." 

     "Ayaan," Asad's voice was gruff. "I never thought we'd ever have such a conversation. There's so much I missed and so many things I wish I'd done differently." 

     "But bhai, why do you say that? You've always been right in my eyes. Sure, you've always been strict but I guess I understand why." 

     Ayaan had to strain to hear Asad's voice. "I was talking about Zoya. I've been such a jackass … and so cruel. I was so wrong about her. I just wish I can make it up to her even if it takes the rest of my life." 

Ayaan sensed a struggle and effort in Bhaijaan's voice. His heart went out to him. 

     "You will. I know it. But what about Tanveer?" 

     "That was all part of the misunderstanding. But thank god, it's over. I'll tell you about it in more detail when we meet. In fact, that is also something we have to talk about. Zoya wants to meet Dadi and Abbu." 

Ayaan gasped with delight. Abbu? Could it be? 

     "Bhai? Sach mein ...? I don't believe it!" 

     "We met one day at the dargah and ... Anyways, I'll tell you later. And we have to meet. I have something important to tell you all." 

     "You sound so serious. Is everything all right?"   

     "It will be, Insha'allah. I'll see you soon." 

     "Kya Bhaijaan, now I can't even come through your bedroom window. Ab toh Mona darling ne tale laga diye do bhaiyon ke pyaar pe," he kidded to lighten Bhai's mood.

     "Ayaan, stop it!" He smiled fondly. 

     "But seriously Bhai, now I'll have to call ahead like shareef people so that I don't walk in on any steamy action!"

The phone disconnected. 

     Ayaan laughed softly, "Bhai, Bhai, Bhai. Aap to gaye kaam se. Akdu Ahmed Khan bana Lattoo Ahmed Khan. Who knew?"

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Woh Lamhe (2007) "Kya Mujhe Pyaar Hai"


	30. Aajkal Paaon Zameen Par Nahin Padte Mere

 

 

The next day a whole army of window dressers, decorators and drapers invaded the Khan house. Zoya had laughed and clapped her hands in glee. Jahanpanah was really getting serious about privacy issues. Nice save Mr. Khan, having the whole house redone, she thought dreamily.

But they had so many loose ends to tie before they could even think about getting married. There was still the issue of Imran. Was he the right man for Nikhat or was he just as culpable as Tanveer in tormenting the Khans? 

And then there was Humaira. Just a single meeting with her had won Zoya over. Now that she had found her love reciprocated she hoped she could play Cupid for her new friend. But how? 

Her phone rang. Omar. 

     "Hey you!"

She hadn't met him since the dinner. Zoya remembered how his over-the-top boyfriend act had tipped Mr. Khan over into her arms. Hmm, could Omar help nudge the other Khan brother over too? 

     "Lunch?" 

     "Bring Najma." 

     "And you don't mind facing the firing squad later?" 

     "My ulterior motive in getting you two together. Your job's to distract him." Her heart skipped a beat. Oh yes, she'd love to do that.

     "Hello? Zoya? 

     She shook her head to dispel the dream of running her hands over Mr.Khan and kissing him. "Only if you help me with something." 

Omar agreed to help Zoya play matchmaker and undercover agent. Hmm, may be he needed to change careers. Who would have thought that his reluctance in even coming to Bhopal for his cousin's wedding would bring such serendipitous rewards with it? 

They had tried to brainstorm various ways to get Ayaan to realize his feelings for Humaira. Omar had insisted that Zoya help him woo Najma in return. He had been charmed by Najma's shy smile the first day. While he had told Ammi that things hadn't worked out with Zoya he was secretly looking forward to suprising her with Najma—that is if all went well and Najma felt the same way about him. 

They decided to meet at the mall for lunch to discuss Operation Love Guru. She didn't know how Najma felt about Omar but having him discuss flirting with Humaira could perhaps show her true feelings. 

Zoya decided to invite Humaira for coffee and they would take it off from there. She called Ayaan.  

     "Hi Raabert!" 

     "Hai, hai, Mona darling. Apne Raabert ko chhod ke, Akdu Ahmed Khan ki baahon mein?" 

She gasped and blushed furiously.

     "Shut up Raabert! How ...?" 

     "Hum bhi Tees Mar Khan hain, Mona darling. Sabki khabar rakhte hain." 

     "Whatever Raabert, I need Humaira's cell number. I forgot to take it from her that day." 

     "Why? Humaira se kya kaam hai?" 

     "Kucch nahin. I just wanted to take her out for coffee. I really liked her and we hit it off. It would be nice to have other friends in Bhopal besides you. Tumhara kya pata, kab kiss ladki ke chakkar mein apni Mona darling ko bhool jao." 

     "Lekin Mona darling to humein bhool gayee." 

     "Stop it!" 

He laughed and gave her the number.

 

Zoya started planning multiple weddings in her head. How fortunate that Aapi had sent Omar as a pyaar ka farishta.   

But weddings brought her mind back to Nikhat. If only that mess could be resolved. Nikhat had seemed quiet and reserved and Zoya felt terrible for how she'd be devastated if Imran turned out to be the father of Tanveer's baby. 

Zoya thought back to the scene of Tanveer whispering with Imran. The bag had to be the only place where she kept incriminating documents. But how to get that? And if only she could get her hands on Tanu's phone. That would be a gold mine of contacts and text messages that they could use to expose her. 

She took a deep breath. Time to look over all the evidence they had already gathered. And she needed to talk to Phuphi to run some ideas by her. 

 

The investigator had located the doctor who had written the prescription for Tanu but the doctor refused to share patient information. Pacing furiously in his office, Asad rubbed his forehead in frustration. He hated how they moved two steps forward and then one sideways. 

He called Tanu.

     "Tanu, I wanted to know what you've decided." 

     "I understand. Please let me know by tonight so that I can start planning for how we will work this out. And, by the way, I am willing to pay you Rs. 1 Crore for the surrogacy." 

He hung up. He knew that this was a big gamble. Asad hoped that the money would act as an effective lure. 

His phone rang. He smiled looking at the called ID. 

     "Mr. Khan?" she spoke softly.

     "Hmmm?" 

     "Omar called."

He sighed loudly. 

     "What does he want and why must you drag his name in to ruin my mood and visions of making love to you?" 

He heard her sharp intake of breath and soft moan. His body tightened in response. 

     "He wants to take Najma out for lunch," she said tentatively. 

     Asad exhaled. "Go with them." 

     Zoya hesitated and he sensed that she wanted to say something. "Can't you come too?" 

     "I wish! There's a ridiculous lunch meeting that I can't get out of. Hands to hold and damned fires to put out." He dragged his hand through his hair. 

     "I wish someone would hold my hand and put out fires closer to home," she said. He could even hear the pout in her voice. 

     "Ahhh!" he groaned. 

     "OK, I understand. Work is important. Bye." 

     "Kiss?"

     "Baad mein." And she hung up.

His phone rang almost immediately. Asad broke away from imagining her in his arms. 

     "Hello?" He spoke distractedly. 

He heard the sound of a kiss and couldn't stop grinning like an idiot for the next half hour. But then, work intruded.

 

Zoya let Omar know that he had Jahanpanah's permission to court his baby sister but there was a price to pay. He would have to be Zoya's little helper in matters of domestic defense and security. Omar was only too willing. After all, this was the most fun he was having after a long, long time. And then there was Najma. 

Omar came over in the late morning and insisted on taking everyone out for a grand lunch buffet at a five star hotel. Najma needed no convincing, Dilshad was game too, and Tanu was finally cajoled into going as a welcome break from being cooped up inside the house. A little change of scenery and she'd feel so much better, they told her.

Once they arrived and settled in, the game was underway. Najma had not been apprised of any nefarious activities. Omar wanted her to know, but he also understood Asad wanting to shield her from the sordidness of Tanveer's conspiracy. 

After they had served and seated themselves, Omar began to extoll the virtues of the poached salmon. 

     "Zo, you have to try this. It's heavenly. Here, take a bite," and he leaned over to feed her a chunk. His fork lingered tantalizingly under Tanu's nose.  

Tanu gagged and fled toward the restroom. 

     "Arre Najma beta, go see if she needs help."

As soon as the coast was clear, they rummaged through Tanu's bag and unearthed a file. Fast as lightining they took pictures with their cell phones. Zoya and Omar also worked their magic on Tanu's phone. Finally she tipped the jug of water on the phone completely drenching it. 

They sat back just as Najma walked in leading a pale Tanu by her elbow. 

     "Oh Tanu, so sad, when you rushed out in such a hurry the water pitcher fell over and now your phone may be ruined." 

     "Come beta, sit," Dilshad said dotingly. "Bechari, let me order some nimbu paani for you and you'll feel much better." She turned to the other three. "I've called the driver and will take Tanu home with me. You all can come when you are done." 

As they were leaving Zoya's phone indicated a new message received. 

     "Parking lot. Ditch them. Left hand side of the entrance." 

Her heart soared. When her eyes met Omar's and he winked at her conspiratorially. Zoya told Najma that she had to go to the bank and would she mind going alone with Omar? 

Giddy with the promise of love, each went to their respective destinations. 

     As she climbed into the SUV Asad grabbed her hand and kissed it. She blushed and tried to reluctantly pull her hand away. "Mr. Khan!"

     "Asad," he prompted. 

     Her blush deepened. "Asad," she said shyly. "Aapki meeting?" 

     "Rushed through it so that I could catch you before you left. Any luck?" 

She pulled out her phone. They hadn't even glanced at the pages of the file while photographing them so intently. Now they both poured over the details like, "New Hope Maternity Clinic," dates, blood work, doctor's instructions etc. 

They looked up at each other, exhilarated. They hugged each other, or at least tried to, given the obstruction of the central console. 

     "What is that saying, camel pahaad ke nichey?"

     He laughed, "ab aaya oonth pahaad ke nichey, you mean." 

     "What does that even mean?" 

     "Something about how the mighty or arrogant have fallen, I think. But who cares? We have the evidence now."

     "Now?"

     "I'll get copies of these made and pass on this information to the investigator. Were you able to switch out her SIM card?" 

     "Yes, I forgot. Here it is." 

     "I hope this gives us what we need."

Looking at one another they laced their fingers together. This time Zoya lifted their hands and planted a kiss on his hand and then held it to her cheek. Asad stroked her bottom lip with his thumb and she closed her eyes. 

     "Ghar chalein?"

God, how she loved those words. Zoya shook her head no and then reluctantly, yes. Damn, this was all so unfair. She wanted to snuggle in his lap and have him kiss her senseless. But there was important work to be done. 

     "Did you save any room for kulfi?" he indulged after giving her a swift peck, and laughed out loud when he saw her nod her head vigorously and say through those dimples, "and paani puri!" 

They stopped by Asad's office to give Prasad the SIM card first. The new pictures had already been sent to him and he brought fresh enlarged printouts as well as reports from the private detective.

They would go over them in detail at home. 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Ghar (1978) "Aajkal Paaon Zameen Par Nahin Padte Mere"


	31. Main Aag Dil Mein Laga Doonga Woh, Ki Pal Mein Pighal Jao Ge

 

 

 

  


Najma was mad as hell. Something was cooking right under her nose but she just couldn't put her finger on it. For a house that should be eagerly planning an engagement and wedding nothing was was being done. Ammi didn't even mention plans, arrangements, deocrations, caterers, menus etc. She just looked preoccupied. 

Fishy, very machhli. 

There was Tanu who always looked thunderous these days. Had the engagement been called off? What was going on? 

And Bhaijaan was a different story altogether. She had never seen him so relaxed and mellow, even cracking a half-smile every two mintues. Fishier. 

Fish reminded her of the brunch buffet Omar had treated them to yesterday. It had been such fun when Ammi had gone ahead with Tanu and she got to ride back home on Omar's bike. He had even taken her to a coffee shop where he had looked on while she slurped on a hot choc fudge sundae ... 

She had shyly asked him questions about his work, family and friends. Didn't he miss them?

     He had looked long at her. "I do, but I'm really loving it here. I didn't think I would have this much fun in Bhopal. Meeting all of you has been great."

     One thing had always intrigued her. "Where did you get the bike?" 

     He had laughed. "It's my cousin's. The one whose wedding I came for. He's away for his honeymoon so I borrowed it."

She had loved that he took the long way home. 

Once home, she'd wanted to invite him in, but didn't know what to say without making a fool of herself. 

A shy bye and thank you was all she could muster.

     Omar had smiled and said, "can I get a glass of cold water before I leave? I'm dying of thirst."

     Najma had blushed and apologized profusely, "I'm sorry! So silly of me, I should have offered." 

     Dismounting from his bike he had lightly touched her arm and said, "that's OK, don't worry about it." 

He left more than two hours later after insisting on making adrak elaichi tea for them all. She had whipped up mirch pakoras to go with the tea. The tea was the best she'd ever had! Through a red nose and smarting eyes he'd said that the pakoras were the best _he_ had ever had.

Bhaijaan and Zoya had walked in later. He carried a sheaf of papers in his hands, and had looked warmly at Omar before shaking his hand.

Bhaijaan, so welcoming of Omar? Even fishier.

 

Najma's thoughts returned to secrets brewing in their house. 

And then there was Zoya. She'd gone from silent to cynical, to glowing in just a matter of weeks. 

What the hell? Why hadn't she paid more attention to this detail? 

Was Zoya in love? 

Was it Omar?

Her heart plummeted. Najma paced her room in agitation. She sat heavily on her bed and threw the cushions angrily on the floor. 

Why did that bother her? 

So what if Zoya and Omar were together? 

NO! 

 

She ran to Zoya's room and slammed in breathing hard.

Zoya looked up in surprise from her iPad. 

     "Hey Tamatar. Kya hua? Are you OK? Is phuphi OK? Why are you looking like that?"

Najma took a deep breath and held up her hand.

     "Everything's fine, but I'm mad at you."

Zoya gasped aloud. 

     "Why? What did I do?" 

     "You are keeping secrets from me." 

Zoya looked away in guilt. Najma's heart stopped. Oh god, please don't let it be true.

     "Explain," she ordered. 

     "What?"

     "Whatever it is that you are hiding from me and looking guilty about." 

     "Tamatar..." 

     "Zoya!" 

She looked at Najma and felt terrible for keeping her out of the loop. But she couldn't tell her about Tanu without consulting Mr. Khan ... Asad, first.

     "Voh ... actually ..." 

    "Accha, Bhaijaan ki bimari aapko kab se lag gayee?" 

     She misread Zoya's blush and asked haltingly, "I knew it. Something is up. You're in love, right?" 

Zoya, tomato-red herself, covered her face with both her hands. Najma felt cold and numb. 

     "Is it Omar?" 

Her stomach clenched painfully. She looked away not wanting to see Zoya's face glow. But she heard a snort and snapped her head back. Zoya was clutching her stomach and laughing like a moronic, stupid idiotic nincompoop. 

     "What? What's so funny?" 

     "Yes, I am in love, but it's not with Omar, pagan, andhi tamatar. I thought it was so obvious ... I was so embarrassed."

Najma knitted her eyebrows in confusion. But she was feeling remarkably better all of a sudden. 

Not Omar, thank god. 

She breathed a sigh of relief and postponed the analysis of her feelings for later.

Zoya was in love. 

Not with Omar. 

Yay!

But then who?

Things slowly began to fall into place and all the ducks lined up in a row in 3, 2, ... 

     "Wha ... BHAIJAAN?" she yelped loudly. 

And she saw Zoya hide her face behind a fluffy white cushion. Najma squealed with delight, lunged at her and hugged her tight. They both rolled together on the bed and nearly fell off. 

     Breathless but ecstatic, she demanded, "tell me EVERYTHING from the start." 

And Zoya did. 

The agony of the trip, Omar's benign intervention, the confession, the proposal. She shyly showed her the ring which she had been wearing turned around these days. 

Najma clasped her hand and admired the ring. 

     "Ooh, no wonder Bhaijaan is so different these days. Nice choice. I had no idea that he could be so romantic." 

She saw Zoya blush and duck her head. 

     "Oh, so it's like that huh? Have you guys, like, uhh ... kissed?" 

     "Tamatar!" a beetroot-red Zoya ran and locked herself in the bathroom. 

     "Aha!" Najma gloated.

     "Hayee, humari sharmeeli tamatari Zoya! That can only mean one thing. That you have! Zoya and Bhaijaan sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," she started chanting loudly outside the bathroom door.  

     "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage! Ooh, there will be babies!" 

     "Shut up!" Zoya peeped out. "Phuphi will hear you," she hissed happily.

Najma dragged her out and hugged her. 

     "This is so awesome. You know I always wanted you guys to get together. You were so cute together. All the fighting and the yelling, and now chhup-chhup ke romance. How exciting!" She clapped her hands merrily. "No wonder Tanu looks like she swallowed a lemon!" 

     She saw Zoya pale and hurried to reassure her, "sorry, sorry, didn't mean to bring her up. But I never liked the idea of Bhaijaan engaged to her. She's nice and all but you are the best! I am so happy. Does Ammi know?"

Zoya nodded. 

     "But why didn't anyone tell me anything?" Najma pouted. 

     It was Zoya's turn to reassure her now. "There are just some loose ends that Mr. Khan wants tied up first. And he probably doesn't want to announce our engagement so soon after the break up with Tanu. And" she looked mischievously at Najma, "may be we should think of your marriage first."

     Najma disengaged herself and turned away. "What rubbish! I can't think of marrying right now. I want to study more." 

     "Hello? Is there a delayed echo in this room? I recall me saying the exact same thing a week or two ago." 

     Najma looked sad. "But Zoya, your case is different. You found true love and your soulmate. Not everyone is so lucky." 

     Zoya hugged her and kissed her forehead. "Allah kare you will be just as lucky. Ummm, is there someone that you like?" 

     She saw her blush and bent her head to gaze into Najma's face. "Kaun hai woh, bolo, bolo kaun hai woh?" she sing-songed and teased.   

     "Stop it! There's no one," snapped Najma. 

     "Liar! Jhooth bole kauwa kaate!" Zoya sang loudly. 

Now it was her turn to plague Tamatar. She was sooo going to get even for that K-I-S-S-I-N-G thing. Though she wouldn't mind any K-I-S-S-I-N-G right now. Mr. Khan, come home soon, please! I want to feel your arms around me. She took a deep breath.

     "Theek hai, don't tell me. As it is I am busy right now trying to think of ways of bringing Omar and Humaira together." 

     "What? Why? Does he like her? He didn't say anything like that when we were together." Najma said, her face pale.

     "No, but I just liked her and I think they would make a great pair. And by the way, when were you together? Oh, when he dropped you home yesterday. Did something happen between you two?" 

     "Voh ... actually ..." 

And they both burst out laughing.

     "But Zoya, you should at least ask him first. What if he likes someone else?" 

     "Do you know if he likes someone else?" Zoya prodded. 

     "No! But you are his friend. He'll be more open with you." 

     "Now that's a great idea! Let me call him right now."

She smirked looking at Najma fidgeting with her dupatta's end and looking half-hopeful and half-dejected. 

     "Omar? I was thinking of setting you up with Humaira. But Najma convinced me to ask you first if you like someone else." 

     "Zoya!" Najma gasped in embarrassment and agony. 

     "Oh, so you do like someone else. Um hmm. I see. OK, I'll talk to you later." She hung up. 

     "You were right Tamatar, I'm glad I took your advice. He does like someone else and would have killed me for setting him up with Humaira. You have great instincts." 

Najma didn't know whether to be flattered or heartbroken.

     "Main bhi naa, kitni andhi hoon ..." Zoya nattered on, tormenting her. 

     "Umm, Zoya who did he say he liked?" 

     "Who liked what?"

     "Omar!"

Zoya loved pulling her leg. Finally, her doubts had been confirmed. Yay! Another love story in the making. She should really start a dating and marriage service, she was that good! 

     "Oh, he said he liked another girl who was shy, sweet and very beautiful." 

Najma paled and turned away. 

     "Is she ... does she ... live in the US?"

Zoya hugged her from the back and said softly, "No, she lives right here. In this house. And her name is Najma." 

     "Zoya, stop teasing me! I don't believe you." 

     "Fine, he and I are meeting Humaira tomorrow then." 

     "NOOO!"

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Satte Pe Satta (1982) "Dilbar Mere"


	32. Sajde Mein Yun Hi Jhukta Hoon, Tum Pe Hi Aa Ke Rukta Hoon

 

Last night they had decided that they would not just meet Dadi and Abbu, but along with Ayaan, present all their evidence regarding Imran's involvement with Tanu.  

Snuggled in his lap with Asad's arms around her in his room, empty coffee mugs on the console, Zoya told him about Najma knowing about them. And, after long-drawn molten kisses, about Najma and Omar. 

     "But I didn't tell her anything about Tanveer though," she reassured him hastily. 

     "Let's hope we can all decide tomorrow how to confront Imran and then Tanu." 

They sighed and breathed in each other's scent. 

     "Is Omar a good guy for Tamatar?" Asad nuzzled her neck. 

     Zoya caressed his face. "The best. If I wasn't already in love with you I would have snagged him for myself, and lived happily ever after in San Francisco." 

     Asad's arms tightened around her painfully and he twisted her face toward him roughly, "don't even joke about it. It killed me when he first came and I saw you hug him. I'd have broken his jaw there and then!" He gripped her forearms hard, "and never talk about leaving me, OK?" 

     Her eyes teared. She sat up to kneel in his lap, and held his face pressed tight against her heart. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." 

Zoya kissed his forehead and then tilted his face up to kiss him full on the lips. Their tongues darted and danced, breaths hitched.

     "Oh god Zoya, I love you so much."

Zoya moaned. He guided her down and pressed her back to the settee while still sucking on her lips. Her knees hugged him to her. Hands gripping his hair, she raised herself to nip his lower lip and then swirled her tongue around to soothe the bite. Breathless, Asad looked down at her; they gazed at each other. Please, their hearts begged. His hands itched to creep up from her waist, but they'd promised each other restraint.  

Only kissing and cuddling. 

They heard a sound from the kitchen and twisted apart. Asad guiltily looked out of the window and dashed his hair off his forehead. Those damn windows needed shades. Pronto! This was becoming untenable. 

He deposited her back in his lap and dragged her earlobe into his mouth. Zoya shuddered and leaned back in his embrace. Lifting his hand to her lips she kissed it and whispered, "I love you, Asad. But we shouldn't do this any more now that Najma knows." 

     "No way." He hugged her tighter. "This is all I have to look forward to after a long day at work away from you." 

     "Me too," she whispered gratefully, and they sealed their yearning with another slow-burn kiss.

  


     Later, with her fingers interlaced with his, Zoya teased him, "remember the first night in your bed?" 

     She felt his lips curl against her cheek. "Umm hmm. Sorry for that. Did it hurt a lot?"

     She giggled soflty and turned in his arms. "For two whole days. Thanks a lot Jahanpanah six packs, but what moves!" 

     "I have other moves planned for you the next time you're in my bed!"

     "Asaadd," she moaned instinctively arching her back in open invitation. 

     "Let me kiss it better and make up for it, with interest OK?"

     "Oh, you will pay more dearly for tha—" she was swiftly silenced and her protests turned to sighs and shallow breaths. Asad crushed her to him kneading her back and waist. 

Long cold showers followed. 

Separately.

 

Now for Operation Love Guru, thought Zoya the next day. 

She didn't tell Najma about this meeting. Zoya didn't want Omar distracted. Later he could tell her, and she would beg Najma's forgiveness. 

Humaira had accepted the invitation for coffee. She was pleased that Zoya had singled her out. While they were waiting for their drinks to arrive, Omar joined them. He was in the same mall, picking out a gift for his mom. 

Soon they were hotly contesting who the best Khan was in Bollywood. 

     "Salman Khan is the hottest and sexiest," drooled Zoya.

     "Ayaan loves Salman Khan too! But Shah Rukh Khan is the most romantic," said an animated Humaira. Zoya look at her in amazement. When it came to talking of romance and love, Humaira was not that shy. She giggled. Perfect!

     "Oh puhleeze! No one like Aamir Khan!" Omar goaded, and both women turned on him.

     "Salman was awesome in Dabang'." 

     "Oh c'mon, woh, bhi koi picture thi. Have you seen Rang de Basanti'?" 

     "And Shah Rukh was so good in Chak de India' no?"

     Omar nodded, "now there I agree with you. I liked him in My name is Khan' and Swadesh' too." 

     "Wouldn't it be awesome if all three were in a movie together?"

Zoya was pleased that Humaira was so comfortable with Omar. She listened intently as both of them fantasized about the Khan triumvirate in a Bollywood film. 

     "Something like Amar, Akbar, Anthony' would be awesome, no?" 

     "No, too obvious. There's an old film Waqt.' That remake would fit them perfectly." 

     "Oh! Dadi keeps talking about that film. It has that famous song right, Ay meri zohra jabeen'?" 

Omar started playing the table as a tabla, and they both sang the first two lines of the song together. 

     Zoya shot a video of them and sent it to Ayaan with the text: "you should join us, we are having such fun. Omar's here too."

Now on to the next stage, she thought. 

     "Humaira, do you mind coming shopping with me? I have to buy a couple of kurtis. And then we can drop you home."

     "Sure!" Humaira was really enjoying herself. She wasn't feeling self-conscious as she would with Ayaan. The relief from unrequited love made her more relaxed. Even with Nikhat and Nuzzhat each time Ayaan's name would creep up, the familiar pain would return. Here there was no pressure to pretend or hide her emotions. Zoya and Omar seemed so open and friendly; they seemed to accept her for who she was. Humaira didn't realize that she had really missed that.  

 

At the store, Zoya tried on a few kurtis and asked for Humaira's approval. She found a turquoise blue kurti and held it up against Humaira. 

     "Ooh, this would look so good on you. You have to try it." 

     "No! I don't wear these."

     "So what! No one's going to see you. Just try it, you don't have to buy them. Wouldn't this look so cute on a long skirt?"  

It didn't take long for Humaira to get into the spirit of things. What's the harm, she thought. As she went to try it on, Zoya fished a long khaki skirt, and pair of jeans for her to pair it with. She even brought heels and a pair of boots from the shoe department. When Humaira stepped out in the skirt and kurti with boots, Zoya clapped her hands with glee. 

     "You look so cute! Omar take a picture of us." 

She convinced a shy Humaira to pose like her—head and shoulders thrown back, one hand on the waist and one leg bent at an angle like a model. They pretend-walked on an imaginary ramp, and Omar clicked away like a rabid paparazzo. Next she had Humaira try on another rust colored kurti with jeans, and they repeated the catwalk and the pictures and videos. Humaira was breathless with laughter and excitement. 

Afterwards, Humaira was looking at suits, and Omar was throwing in his two cents. Zoya answered a call from Ayaan. 

She grinned. Mission accomplished! 

     "Hi Raabert!"

     "Where are you guys? I thought you'd be at the coffee place." 

     "Oh we are right next door in the department store. I wanted to buy kurtis and Humaira and Omar are looking at shirts for him." 

     "What? Why does Humaira need to help him with shirts? Doesn't he know what kind he wears?"

Zoya pumped her fist in the air and ignored his irritation. 

     "A woman's touch just adds a different dimension to it. They are really hitting it off! We had such fun. I think I'll tell Omar's ammi that Humaira may be a good match for him," she squealed. 

Ayaan growled. 

Teer nishane pe algae! Zoya pumped her fist again.

     "What do you think, Raabert? Here, I'll send you some pictures we took." And she sent him the best of Humaira dressed in a skirt and jeans and posing happily. "Nice no? She is so sweet. I think she would be so perfect for Omar. They make such a cute couple," she gushed endlessly. 

     "Did Omar take those pictures?"

     "Who else? I'm so glad we ran into him. He seems to like her too and can't take his eyes off her." 

She could hear him swearing at the other end and suppressed a snort.

     "Are you crazy? She's going to be engaged." He was practically shouting. 

Zoya saw him making his way to the store and waved to him.

     "Come, I'll show you how cute they look together," and she dragged him to where Omar and Humaira were now bent over the jewelry display. She was holding up earrings next to her face, and he was shaking or nodding his head and saying which one suited her oval face or eyes. He even took her by the shoulders and turned her around to look at the mirror behind her. 

Zoya could feel Ayaan hyperventilating next to her. 

     "So adorable na? I think I'll suggest that Omar drop her home on his bike."

     "Humaira! What are you doing here?" Humaira turned around in alarm and nearly misbalanced. Omar grabbed her from the waist and helped her straighten. 

Ayaan was apoplectic.

     "Aren't you late? Isn't it time to go home?" He spoke more quietly but through gritted teeth. 

Humaira looked from him to Zoya nervously. She licked her lips and Zoya heard Ayaan suck in his breath. 

She giggled. 

     "Raabert, chill! Omar can drop her home." 

     "Why will he drop her home when I can do that?" He growled at her. 

     "Oh, I'm sorry. I completely forgot. But I didn't know you were going straight home." 

     "I am now!" He snarled.

Zoya giggled again as she saw Ayaan glare at Omar. 

Omar was taking his time in saying bye to Humaira. 

     "By the way, you looked really cute in those skirt and jeans, Humaira. But I think you look gorgeous in suits. And in a saree you would knock everyone's socks off!" Humaira blushed furiously. 

Ayaan was just furious. 

     "This is too personal. I don't think you should comment on how she looks in what kind of clothes!" He fumed.

     "Just saying, yaar! I think Indian girls in Indian dresses are a knockout. But I hope I haven't offended you, Humaira?" Omar asked her solicitously. 

She shook her head shyly. 

     "No Omar, thank you for saying that. So many Indian boys these days seem to think that girls in suits and sarees are behenjis." 

Ayaan had the grace to look embarrassed. He looked at Humaira in surprise. He'd never expected her to be so forthright in front of a stranger. 

     "So when should we meet again? I know you wanted me to help you buy a new laptop and set it up." He gently held her elbow guiding her out of a crowded aisle. "I would recommend a Macbook Air but then I'm biased. I can even get you some upgrades and free software." 

He looked at Humaira pointedly. She looked up at him in confusion, and he winked at her tilting his head toward Ayaan. Humaira looked at Zoya for confirmation and saw her wink and grin too. Oh, so they were here on a mission to make Ayaan jealous. Was it working? Her heart soared as she saw Ayaan frowning thunderously and clenching his fists on his helmet. 

She decided to throw caution to the winds. It was now or never. 

     Eyes twinkling, Humaira clutched Omar's arm and squeezed it with both her hands, "thank you so much. Omar! That would be super helpful! How about tomorrow, for lunch? And then you can drop me home afterwards. I would love a bike ride." 

     She fluttered her lashes at him, "can you teach me how to ride a bike? I would love to try it. Zoya tells me it's such fun."

Zoya blushed and ducked her head remembering her last bike ride. 

Omar's bike was seeing way too much action these days!

Ayaan's mouth hung open. What was with this bold and ultra-confident Humaira? Was she really finding Omar attractive and actually flirting with him? His Humaira? How come she had never asked him to teach her to ride a bike? 

This was too much. 

     "Ab ghar chalein Humaira? We are getting late." 

     "Just a second, Ayaan. I wanted to show Omar a gift for his Ammi. And if you are in such a hurry, carry on. I'm sure Omar can drop me, right?" He nodded eagerly, and she dragged her smirking accomplice away.    

     "Mona! I hate your friend!" 

     "But why? What happened?" Zoya asked innocently. 

     "I don't like how he's getting so close to Humaira." 

     "But Raabert, that's exactly what I was trying to tell you. Aren't they sooo cute together? I have to tell Aapi. I'm such an awesome matchmaker!" She ran to join Omar and Humaira, singing "match, matchmaker, make me a match, find me a husband, catch me a catch," under her breath. 

Ayaan was aghast. What had just happened? His cell rang. Bhaijaan. 

     "Ayaan, I think we should all meet at the dargah this evening. I have something important to discuss with you and Abbu." 

Ayaan was too distracted. 

     "Bhai, this friend of Zoya's, Omar? He's seriously getting on my nerves. What do you know about him?" 

     "What? Main kya keh raha hoon, aur tum kya baat kar rahe ho? Be serious for once, will you?" 

     "No seriously, bhaijaan. I don't like him." 

     Asad sighed. He knew he'd get nowhere till he had heard Ayaan's sob story. "What happened?" 

     "Get this. Mona darling invited Humaira for coffee this afternoon. And this jackass also turned up, just a bit too conveniently, don't you think? And he's sticking to her like a leech now. They're shopping together. I'd like to bash his head in, though!" 

     "Zoya invited Humaira for coffee?" Asad put two and two together and shook with silent laughter. Last night she had been talking about matchmaking and pyaar ka farishtas, and some such thing. But he'd been too intent on the racing pulse at her neck and preoccupied with her swollen lips. Courtesy him! And he knew that Omar was taken, so what was going on? 

Okay, so Omar must be up to his old tricks again. He was sure Zoya had put him up to it this time. He recalled that night at the restaurant when he had wanted to remove every bone from Omar's body, one agonizing minute at a time. 

Thank you, Omar! Though the guy better be careful. One of these days he'd get his pretty face broken if he carried on with his fake-boyfriend act.

     "So what?" Asad feigned disinterest. "Why does it bother you? It may be a blessing in disguise if she starts liking him. You'll be a free man." 

     "But Bhai ... We know nothing about him."

     "Zoya's family knows him very well. And he's doing great for himself. Great job, nice place to live. What else do we need?" 

He heard Ayaan sigh in frustration. Asad could imagine him raking his hands through his wild hair.

     "I don't know Bhaijaan ... but I don't like this." 

     "Ayaan, focus. I have work to do, but we'll talk tonight. Please let Abbu and Dadi know." 

 

He hung up and called Zoya. 

     "What are you two doing to Ayaan?"

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Bachna Ae Haseeno (2008) "Khuda Jaane"


	33. Sunayi Deti Hai Jiski Dhadkan, Tumhara Dil Ya Humara Dil Hai

 

 

  


In the car they finalized their pitch. Had they covered all the bases?

     "We have a pretty decent case for Imran being the baby's father. I don't know how I'm going to bring it up to Abbu and Ayaan. It's just so sick." Asad rubbed his forehead in agitation. 

As he rested his hand on the gearshift Zoya covered it with hers silently offering support. He needed to sound it out for himself. Test-drive all the scenarios to get the words right. She stroked the back of his hand. 

     "May be we just show them the pictures and reports we've gathered and leave it up to them to take the decision?" She offered tentatively. 

He sighed. 

     "Aapki koi galti nahin hai, Asad." 

     "I know." He lifted her hand to kiss it. "But I feel so rotten. Not only did she try to ruin our happiness but now she's all set to strike at them too. And I don't trust her. If she could stoop so low as to con me into marriage by drugging me, then there's nothing stopping her from blackmailing Imran. I wouldn't be surprised if she's already done that given how many times she calls him in a day." 

The SIM card had been a treasure trove of information. While other contacts of hers were still being investigated the detective had been able to zero in on Imran's cell number as the most frequently called since Tanveer had arrived in town. 

     "If they are in it together to fleece both families with this baby drama, I will actually kill him. I can't even imagine how Nikhat will take all this." 

Bringing his clenched fist to her mouth Zoya kissed it and said softly, "let's leave it to Allah's will. We're doing the right thing. Once at the dargah the words and strength will come, I'm sure of it." 

Spreading his fingers open she placed a kiss on his palm. The stress began to ebb away. He felt her bite the pad of his palm and grinned. But he hissed in a second when she trailed her tongue over the same spot. 

     "Distracting me?" 

     "Is it working?" 

     "Umm hmm. Now I have only one thing on my mind!" 

     Slowly sliding one of his fingers into her mouth and sucking hard on it, she teased, "good." 

     "Zoyaaa," Asad groaned and exhaled while slamming his head against the seat back. 

 

As they walked toward the dargah entrance, he saw Ayaan from a distance and could tell by his sloped shoulders and downturned mouth that he was suffering.

     Bowing his head toward Zoya Asad said, "look what you've done to him. The poor kid looks miserable."

     "Serves him right for hurting Humaira by his indifference for so long. But I'm surprised that Humaira didn't have pity on him. Good girl! Some suffering will do him good." 

     "Like it did me?" 

She looked at him and he couldn't look away or say anything. They stopped midway, unable to take their eyes off each other. 

     "Ahem," they heard, and broke their spell. "You guys should get a room," Ayaan said crossly. 

Zoya looked away, her face blazing and heart thumping. I wish!    

     "AYAAN!" 

     "Sorry, sorry. Just slipped out." He ran his hands through his hair sheepishly. "Mona darling," he greeted her, without managing to snarl too much. 

     "What? Kya hua Raabert, why so grouchy?"

     "Nothing!" He turned away, and then back again, "just tell Omar to stay away, OK?" 

     "Why should I do that? He's a good friend and not here for too long."

     "Then don't invite Humaira along."

     "I will if I want to, I'm happy to make new friends and love introducing new and old friends to each other. And they like each other, toh tum kyun zakhmi sher ki tarah gurra rahe ho?" 

     "Dammit!" he growled and lunged toward her. She assumed her warrior pose and glared back at him. 

Asad chuckled. She looked so incongruous in her ninja pose in a suit and dupatta, and was just as adorable. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and kiss her right there and then. 

     "OK, stop it you two, we're not here for a cat and dog fight as much as I'd love to watch it. Settle down and behave!" 

     "Aapko pata nahin hai Bhaijaan, Zoya ne Humaira ko kya ghutti pila di hai! All of a sudden she's not the same person anymore. She actually had the nerve to yell at me today when I offered to teach her how to ride a bike." 

Asad looked at Zoya in alarm. Did you tell—?

She shook her head and held up her hands in defense.

He relaxed. That bike ride was their thing. And how he wished they could do that again. Asad reluctantly returned his attention to Ayaan's tirade. 

     "Enough, bahut ho gaya tum dono ka. Where are Dadi and Abbu?" 

     "Inside." 

     As they started walking towards the building Zoya took Ayaan's arm playfully. "OK, give me one good reason why I shouldn't set up Humaira with Omar. Kya kharabi hai usme? He's such a nice guy."

     He shrugged out of her grip. "I don't care if he's Santa freaking Claus. Just keep him away from her!" 

     "But why?"

     "Just do it!"  

     "Not till you tell me why." 

     "Because, she's mine!" He yelled and stalked off.

Behind him he heard Mona darling and Bhaijaan laugh out loud. Ayaan turned around and saw her hold out an open palm and him slapping it with a broad grin. 

Wait, what?

     "See Mr. Khan. I told you, Zoya Farooqui kucch bhi kar sakti hai. Apne dewar ke liye dewarani bhi la sakti hai!" 

     "Mujhe kabhi bhi aapki abilities ya super powers par shaq nahin tha." 

Ayaan was furious yet intrigued. What super powers and abilities? 

     "What're you two up to?" 

     "Kusch nahin, Raabert." And Zoya sang as she skipped ahead of him, "samajhne wale samajh gaye, jo na samjhe..." and she looked at Asad coquettishly. 

     " ... Woh anari hain!" he completed in tune.

     "Very funny!" fumed Ayaan and glared at these two lovesick idiots. Wait, did he just say what he just said about Humaira? ... and did Mona darling say ...?

 

Dadi had caressed her face and then held her close with tears in her eyes. Zoya had shown her the earrings she was wearing and she smiled in grace. Rubbing her hands over both their heads she had murmured a prayer of protection and given them taawizes. 

While Zoya and Dadi sat in the dargah listening to the qawwali and later visiting with Dadi's friends, Asad told Rashid and Ayaan about his suspicions regarding Imran. It hadn't been easy to begin but slowly he'd found the courage to go on. This was too important to fidget about decorum and propriety. 

     "I know this is a shock but I had to share this with you so we can ensure Nikhat's best interests." 

They were shocked silent after listening to him and seeing the pictures of Imran and Tanveer at Kanpur, records of her pregnancy, the damning dates of both, and the number of calls made from Tanu's phone to his. 

Ayaan was the first to erupt. 

     "I will kill that bastard. How dare he come to our house with that vile mother of his and act all innocent and charming?"

Asad put his hand on shoulder. 

     "Ayaan, humein thande dimaag se isse handle karna chahiye. Don't you think I wanted to do the same? But then we decided to gather concrete evidence first."

     Rashid spoke brokenly, "who else knows about this?"

     "Ammi and Zoya. They are the ones who gathered most of the evidence by searching her room and getting her phone. We don't have DNA evidence or anything, but I think the next step is to confront him."

     "I can't believe it! How he acted as if he didn't know her that day." Ayaan ranted.

     Rashid looked up in confusion, "You've seen them together?" 

     Ayaan looked at Asad guiltily. "Yes, Abbu, we bumped into each other at a restaurant the other day. Bhaijaan was there with Zoya and Najma and that woman, and Imran and I had taken the girls for dinner that night." 

     Rashid rubbed his hands over his face wearily. "At least Nikhat can be free of that terrible woman now. She will be hurt but ..." He nearly broke down. He couldn't bear his oldest daughter, who was the most gentle creature on this earth, to suffer for being so simple and trusting.

     "Abbu..." Asad placed his hand on his father's shoulder and said through a choked throat, "abhi uske bhai zinda hain uski khushi ka khayal rakhne ke liye. We'll find her the best man who really deserves her. She deserves much better than this worthless ..."

     Ayaan kicked a stone with great force, "that worthless, spineless piece of shit!" 

They saw Dadi and Zoya headed their way. 

     "Will you let Dadi know?" Asad asked. 

     "I don't know. My head is spinning. I still can't believe it. Let me think about it. I'll call you tomorrow. I'm assuming you want to be there when we talk to Imran?" 

     "Of course. The more of us, the better. And if we can show that the two families are united in this then they have no way of turning us against each other. I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news ... Abbu. I know how happy you all must have been for the first wedding in the family."

     Rashid clapped a hand on his oldest's shoulder proudly, "You are the best big brother and doing a father's job much better than me. I wish I had your courage. Your Ammi has raised the finest man I know."

Asad beamed and Zoya's heart lurched to see him get his heart's desire. Thank you, Allah miyan for taking care of Mr. Khan! Always keep him smiling like this, please. 

     Looking fondly at Zoya and putting his hand on her head, Rashid said, "and the first wedding in the family is still on. It is the firstborn's birthright. Kyun, sahi kaha na maine, dost?"

Zoya bowed her head and her lashes grazed her cheeks shyly. 

     "Lekin ab to tum meri dost nahin rahi." 

She looked up in alarm, eyes wide and worried. 

     He smiled and patted her cheek, "Ab to bhai, hum tumhare sasur ban gaye." 

Everyone laughed.

Ayaan, Rashid and Dadi looked at him smiling down at Zoya, and each said a prayer of thanksgiving for returning, with interest, Asad's lost smile and happiness.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Ghulami (1985): "Zihaal-e-Miskeen"


	34. Karvat Lene Lage Hain Armaan Phir Bhi Hai Aankh Num Kyun Na Jaane

 

 

 

In the car ride back home they laughed about two other weddings that would be coming up to keep the families busy for some time. 

     "Wouldn't it be such fun if we all got married on the same day, together?" Zoya asked.

     "I would love that but I don't think Humaira's parents would let that happen. And we still have time for Omar to tell his parents." Asad replied.

     "Kya, Mr. Khan why do you always have to be so practical? Raining on my parade like that! Why can't you let me dream and hope?" 

     "Asad," he prompted.

     "Mr. Khan!" she pouted. 

     "Oh, so when you're mad at me you'll call me, Mr. Khan?"

     "Ji, Mr. Khan," Zoya said haughtily, with her arms folded across her chest.

     Asad pulled the car over and dragged her over in his arms to fiercely kiss her. "And when I'm making love to you?" he looked down her intensely, eyes skimming over her lips. Her breath hissed and eyes widened. One hand had already crept into his hair and the other gripped his collar. 

     "Mr. Kh—!"

He silenced her again. With a lot of tongue. 

     "Asad," she breathed as her head fell back.

     "Good girl," Asad crowed triumphantly.

     "Oh really?" Zoya framed his face with her hands and sucked on his lower lip and then bit it. Hard. But then, taking pity on him, she rubbed her tongue back and forth over the sore spot. He gasped with pleasure and she thrust her tongue in this time to tangle with his. 

Asad cradled her head as they disengaged. His thumb lingered on her lower lip.

     "I want you so bad, I can't wait any longer! I don't want to wait for my brother and sister to figure out their love lives. They can afford to wait. I want us married as soon as possible. That's why no multiple weddings, OK? Is that impractical enough for you?" 

Zoya nodded in wonder and pulled him in for another kiss. 

A passing car honked several times and they could hear drunken hoots and catcalls. They both straightened in a hurry. Asad swore under his breath. But he held her hand and planted a kiss on her open palm which curled around his cheek. 

     "Oh thank god!" Zoya couldn't resist a little hop in her seat. But then her frown returned. "But Asad, we have the Tanveer mess to resolve first! Allah miyan, what's wrong with me, how can we even think of getting married!"

     "I thought that too." He started the car and merged into traffic, then re-gripped her hand interlacing his fingers with hers. "But now, I don't want us to put our lives on hold anymore. We'll be talking to Imran pretty soon. And after that, I'd like to spend more time and energy on what's good and positive rather than the bad and ugly. She's done enough damage and I won't let her do any more." 

Zoya smiled, hopeful again. Then squeezing his hand she decided to tease him again. 

     "Iraade toh bahut nek hain aapke, jahanpanah. But will you be able to say anything besides 'voh … actually ... main' to Phuphi?" 

He bit her knuckles. 

     "Oh really? Then why don't you talk to Ammi? Aakhir koi aisa kaam hai jo Zoya Farooqui nahin kar sakti?" 

     Yanking her hand from his grasp, she slapped his thigh. "Mr. Khan!" 

     He grabbed her hand and held it firmly on his thigh. Zoya felt heat radiating from him through his jeans. His thumb traced delicious circles on her hand.

     "But seriously Asad, when?" Zoya moaned.

     Letting go of her hand he squeezed his temples with his thumb and fingers. "I'll talk to Ammi tonight. I don't know how many cold showers I can take any more. I want you right now and am barely holding on to my self-control." 

Caressing his thigh, she leaned over and gave him a peck on his cheek. 

     "I love you," Zoya breathed. "And the window coverings and privacy panels are just about done, so yes, please talk to Phuphi soon!" she said huskily.

Asad groaned.

     Nipping his ear, she giggled, "we better conserve water and save on the bill, after all!" 

     He nearly swerved into oncoming traffic when Zoya moved her hand up higher and whispered hotly, "Mr. Khan ... we should probably make up for the high water bills by showering together the first month of our marriage!" 

 

Ayaan was reeling. Did she actually slap him? But he had only … Damn, who was this woman? And what happened to the old Humaira?

Talking to Bhaijaan would be useless. He called Zoya. 

     "Mona, what the hell is wrong with Humaira?" 

Zoya knew exactly what had happened. Humaira had just called and tearfully given her all the details. She feigned ignorance. 

     "What's up Raabert? What did you do now?" 

     "Voh … actually ..." 

Zoya rolled her eyes. What was with the Khan men? 

     "Voh actually, kya kiya tumne Ayaan?" She asked more gently. She didn't want them to suffer any more. She wanted for them what she had with her Mr. Khan. Well, not exactly what they had, but ... something close would be nice. 

     "Remember the pictures of Humaira you sent me that day in a skirt and jeans?" 

     "Yeah." 

     "Well, I went back to the store and bought that skirt, kurti and boots for her and surprised her with them as a gift. And she had the nerve to throw them all at me. In my face! And then when I grabbed her wrist to stop her she ... she hit me!" 

Zoya held her head in despair. 

     "Ayaan, do you love Humaira?" 

     "Haan," he said scratching his head. Wasn't it obvious? What was wrong with Mona darling asking such dumb questions? 

     "Which Humaira do you love? Photo wali, ya asli wali?" 

     "Yeh kaisa vahiyaat sawaal hai Zoya? What's the difference between the two?" He bellowed.

     "Fark hai, Ayaan. And that's why she reacted so strongly. The real Humaira isn't the girl who wears skirts and boots. She thinks that you don't like her for who she is ... and that you wish she was more modern." 

He fell silent. 

     "Hello, Ayaan?"

     He dragged his hand through his hair, "but I don't see them as different. She's still the same no matter what she wears. Why would I love her based on what she wears?" 

     "Tell her that!" 

     "But why does it need to be said at all?" 

     She sighed heavily. "Ayaan, you don't know how insecure girls can feel. When I didn't know that your Bhaijaan loved me, I thought that he would never accept me because of who I was, the way I dressed or acted. I always felt that that's why he chose Tanveer," her voice broke. "Because she seemed to be the image of the ideal woman for him." She took a deep breath, "and if he hadn't said that he loved me for being exactly who I was, then we wouldn't be together today."

     She felt a pair of warm hands encircle her and she drank in his scent. Taking the phone from her hand Asad said, "bye Ayaan," switched it off, and threw it on her bed. 

Zoya turned in his arms and cried softly in his arms.  

He held her without a word. Nothing needed to be said any more. 

She lifted her head when she was done, and he sucked her tears away. 

     "Aap? What about lunch?" She managed to ask eventually. 

     Asad framed her face in his hands and rested his forehead against hers. "I talked to Ammi. She's gone to talk to Maulvi Saheb right now. We'll keep it small and simple. Just the family. Let Aapi and Jeeju know." 

     Zoya hugged him tightly, "finally!" 

     Asad swung her around in his arms and looked deep into her eyes, "finally." 

She burst into tears. 

     "Zoya, what is it?" 

She was feeling too raw today for some reason. She had held her father's music box and even visited his gravesite, but the hollowness remained. 

And then the conversation with Ayaan had brought to surface all her feelings of rejection and loss when she had first confessed her feelings to Asad and he'd said nothing in return. 

And the next day he had been engaged. 

Zoya wiped her tears and took a steadying breath.

     "Remember at the dargah in Ajmer, when you offered me the thread, and I refused?" 

He nodded and a shadow of pain crossed his eyes. Zoya reached up and smoothed his forehead. 

     "I refused because ... because I'd just found out about Abbu's death and then when I found out about your enagement ... I told myself that if I asked Allah for anything he'd just take it away from me." 

     Asad held her tight burying her face in the crook of his neck, "I'm sorry, so sorry, baby. If I could turn back time, I would." 

     She rose on her toes and kissed his mouth shut, "I know." 

Although he'd come home wanting to take her out to lunch to celebrate, they fed each other on the sofa in between tears and kisses. 

He sensed that she needed him to just hold her today.

Thank god they had the house to themselves this afternoon.

 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012) "Saiyaan"


	35. Meri Adhoori Kahani, Lo Dastan Ban Gayee

 

 

 

 

That night, Asad was unable to sleep. Zoya's broken sobs kept intruding into whatever snatches of sleep he was able to steal. He felt a heaviness … an unease about her fragile state of mind today. He'd never seen her this vulnerable. Manic, silly, sassy, feisty, yes. But never …

Restless, he got up to get a drink of water and sensed before hearing the muffled sobs. 

She was crying again.

 

A few steps, and Asad was holding her as she let herself be rocked into comfort. Her bed linens were twisted violently as though she had thrashed around in them. 

     "Nightmare?" he whispered. 

She nodded and clung to him. 

     "I dreamt that you were trapped in the fire this time and I couldn't get to you," Zoya hiccupped. "I tried to scream your name but no sound would come ... my throat was raw. Asad!" 

     "Shh, I'm OK, see? I'm fine. Nothing's happened to me."

Zoya ran her hands over him to make sure that he was indeed fine. But her shivering wouldn't stop. Asad stroked her back and dropped kisses on her head. Her cheeks were still damp. He hadn't seen her this distraught.

     "Zoya, is the wedding too soon? If it's too stressful for you, we could postpone it. Just say the word." Her nightmares worried him. Why hadn't he asked her about them?

     "No!" 

     "I'm taking you to a doctor tomorrow. No," he said when he saw her about to protest. "Please, for me?"

     "I can't, Asad. I won't!"

     "Then tell me how can I make it better? Please. It's killing me to see you hurt like this."

     She cupped his face, "make love to me." 

Asad's heart lurched; his arms involuntarily tightened around her. 

     "I don't want to take advantage of you like this. You're so … so vulnerable right now." 

     "You won't be doing that. Asad, I feel like I'm drowning. I don't know what's happening to me. Something cold ... this unknown fear is clawing at my insides. I'm so scared of losing you." 

     Asad kissed her urgently hoping to banish all her fears. "I'd never let that happen," he soothed. 

Laying her back on the bed he murmured soothing words into her ear. He lay down and pulled her head to rest on his chest as he stroked her back some more. Asad could still feel her shuddering. Her hot tears scalded him through his kurta. 

     He got up and she clamped his hand tightly between hers, "don't leave me, please!" 

     Asad held her face in his cupped hands and reassured her after brushing her lips with his, "I'll be right back." He locked the door and took off his kurta before getting into bed with her and covering them with the comforter. Zoya sighed deeply as she snuggled into his warm chest. 

     "Thank you," she mouthed against his skin and his blood leaped. 

     "Zoya, are you sure? What if you regret this tomorrow?" 

     "I could never regret being with you. Just love me, Asad."

And he was undone by the simplicity of those words. He kissed her slowly, one hand stroking her throat while the other cradled her head gently. She let her hands wander over his shoulders and caressed his arms feeling their sinewy strength. His skin warmed her fingertips. Zoya's fears slowly receded, and the ice in her veins thawed as the blood coursed through her body thrumming in response. 

She arched her throat to give him more nibbling room and her breath caught as he dipped his lips lower to the vee of her partially unbuttoned kurta. He snaked his tongue out to taste her and she moaned with pleasure.

     "Asad …"

His hands crept up under her kurta as he explored the warm skin of her stomach and lightly feathered his fingers up her rib cage. She swallowed in anticipation of his hands moving up and cupping her, but he was taking too long. 

Her breath expelled. Zoya grabbed his hand and placed it on her heart over her kurta silently begging him to relieve her of the pressure.

     "Zoya," he moaned in her ear and she felt her pulse throb. "Oh god, you're so beautiful."

He rose to look into her eyes and she traced her fingers over his lips. With her thumb she brushed his parted lips and pressed the pad to his teeth. He licked and sucked at it. Wild desire flared through her. She dragged his mouth over her breast straining and arching against him. Finally, he had mercy on her, and she felt moist heat clamp on her as he suckled her. 

     "Please Asad," she moaned breathlessly holding his head and gripping his hair. "I need you."

His body surged to press into hers. He sat up guiding her up as well. Nuzzling her neck now his hands floated under her kurta to tug it up and off. 

She went deathly still. 

     "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have," Asad said quickly and tried to disengage himself. She held his hand and put her finger on his lips. 

He looked into her eyes seeing fear and guilt and his heart melted. 

     "Zoya, if you're not ready we don't have to," he held and soothed her. 

     "I want to ... but there's something ..." Zoya trailed off uncertainly. 

     "What? Are you worried about protection? That I'll hurt you?" 

     "No," she said quickly. "It's just that ..." 

     "It's OK, we don't have to. It's fine. You know I love you." 

     "I know, and I love you too. But there's something about me that I haven't told you ... I'm embarrassed." 

     "Don't be. Nothing can come between us." 

She covered his mouth with her hand to silence him and reached over to the bedside lamp to turn it on. 

Then she pulled her kurta off.

Asad's breath quickened as he took in the delicate beauty of her exposed skin. She turned slightly toward him and he felt the wind knocked out of his lungs. There was a long and wide patch of darkened, puckered flesh all along her right arm. He reached his hand out to touch her and she flinched. 

He looked up in confusion and saw tears streaming down her face. 

     "Zoya?" 

     "I don't know how I got this," her voice was barely a tortured whisper. She gulped painfully and soldiered on, "but it must have something to do with my nightmares. I'm sorry, I should've told you earlier. You don't deserve to know like this." 

Zoya bent her head in misery and covered her face. She wouldn't be able to bear seeing him flinch or cringe in revulsion.

She felt his breath first, and then his lips on her scarred flesh, and gasped. She looked up to see him hold her arm toward him and kiss his way from her wrist up to her shoulder. 

     "Did you think I would love you any less because of this?" She saw that his eyes were moist. "I should really be mad at you Ms. Farooqui. How could you torture yourself like this? Why didn't you share your pain or worries with me?" 

She flew into his arms; they fell back on the bed with her on top of him. 

     "Are you mad at me?" Zoya asked after she'd stopped sobbing. 

     Stroking her scarred arm, he said, "very much." 

     "Will you call me Ms. Farooqui when you're mad at me?" 

     "No." 

     She sighed and yelped as he pinched her on the waist. 

     "I'll call you Mrs. Khan." 

Zoya giggled, and he rolled them over to rain a thousand kisses on her face and down her chin and neck to her cleavage. 

     He looked up at her, "are you sure about this?" 

     "Yes please, Asad."  

And he made such tender love to her that she was reduced to tears all over again. 

 

Afterwards, he went to the restroom and brought a damp washcloth to gently swab her clean. Again she felt her eyes moisten. Asad came back, switched the lamp off and got back in bed with her. He held her as she snuggled up against him. Their bodies molded and fingers played with each other.

     "I'm sorry for being so weepy today," she whispered. "I've never cried so much."

     He dropped a kiss on her head. "May be the meeting with Dadi and Abbu yesterday made you emotional."

     "I never knew I could be such a basket case. May be I'm just hormonal and PMSing," Zoya joked lamely. 

     He kissed her and trailed his fingers on her arm. "No, you know what I think? You've hidden your pain from everybody for so long that the dam just had to break." He tucked her hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead. "You are so beautiful." Asad pulled her higher so that he could look into her eyes. He nudged her nose with his, "I'm sorry that you felt you had to hide your scar from me. I wish I was there to protect you from getting it in the first place." He trailed his finger from her forehead down her nose to her lips. "You know how I admire your strength, right? You are the fiercest woman I know, and I'm humbled that you love me." 

     "But the thought of losing you makes me crazy ..." 

     "Don't," his lips brushed hers. "Don't you think I'm equally scared of losing you?" He kissed the tips of her fingers. "The number of times in a day that I think about how I nearly lost you because of some diabolical scheme that kept us apart?" 

     She slithered down to kiss his chest and feel his heartbeat against her face. "I didn't know." 

They kissed to reassure each other, pledging hope against their fears. 

     Asad rolled her on her back, and put his hand on her stomach possessively, "do you think we made a baby tonight?" 

     Covering his hand over her stomach, she said softly, "a part of me wishes that we did." 

     "And the other part?" 

     "Wishes that we can keep trying for a long time." She felt his chest rumble over her ear as he laughed. 

He bent to shower little kisses on her stomach and then rose to settle in between her legs. 

     "Zoya and Asad making baby, Take 2," he murmured huskily in her ear. 

     "Already?" She asked with quickened breath and brimming heart. Zoya loved the feel of his skin against hers. The scrape of his stubble … his fist in her hair … She bucked when he bent to lick and suck a nipple, the heat shooting straight down between her legs.

     "All ready," he said and slid in. Her knees came up to hug his hips; they rocked hard and fast ... and came calling out each other's names.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012) "Saiyaan"


	36. Saare Sheher Mein Humi Hain, Humsa Kaun Hai

 

 

They had invited Imran and Haseena bi in a hotel suite under the pretext to discuss the arrangements for the wedding. Both had been surprised just to find Rashid and Ayaan.

And, Asad. 

Rashid asked everyone to have a seat, politely offered drinks and snacks, and then turned to Asad.

     "Beta, you want to do the honors?"

     Haseena bi tried to interject, but before she could utter a single word of disapproval, Rashid glared at her saying, "Asad hamare ghar ka bada beta hai. I would recommend that you listen really carefully to what he is going to say next." 

She looked around in confusion and panic. Ayaan had his back turned toward them and was looking out of the window. His fists were clenched by his side.

Asad slapped down a folder on the table.

     "Imran, take a look at this, and then let's talk."

     Imran looked anxious. "Why? What's going on?" He looked at Rashid in bewilderment. "I don't understand." 

     "Look at the file," Asad said sternly. 

Imran cracked his knuckles nervously and beads of perspiration tricked down his spine. 

     "Please," ordered Asad.

The color from his face drained as he flipped through the 8x10 glossies of the worst mistake of his life. As the pictures and copies of documents slipped through his lifeless fingers, Haseena bi bent to pick them up and look at them. 

     "Kya hai ye sab? What is the meaning of this rude behavior?" 

     "Tum bataoge Imran, ki main bataoon?" Asad said, tone low.

Ayaan meanwhile had been pacing like a caged animal. 

     "I'll kill this bastard, Bhaijaan!"

He lunged toward Imran and Haseena bi screamed. 

     "You can't treat us like this. Stop! Main police ko bulaungi." 

     "Haan, please call the police," piped in Rashid, dead calm. "I also want to file a complaint against you for extortion in the name of dowry."

     "But ... but ... what happened?" she whimpered.

     "I'll tell you what happened!" bellowed Ayaan. "This scumbag son of yours has made a girl pregnant and wants to marry our sister so that you can continue to fleece our family." 

     "What? That's a lie!" She huffed. "My son is the most virtuous son a mother could wish for. Aap sab jhooth bol rahen hain!" 

     "Hum jhooth bol rahen hain? Ask this son of yours for how long he's been lying to everybody! We're officially breaking this engagement." 

     "Ayaan, wait," interjected Asad.

     He gestured toward the discarded folder, "Imran, tell us everything about your relationship with this woman." 

     Imran haltingly gave details which matched what Zoya and he had already speculated. He went on to tell them that Tanveer had been blackmailing him ever since she came to Bhopal.

     "I paid her off with small sums of money but she keeps coming back for more."

     Asad looked at him in anger. "If you were a better man, you would have broken off your engagement to Nikhat, and married Tanveer to take responsibility for your child. That would have been the right thing to do." 

Haseena bi cowered on the sofa and wailed about her misfortune and how she and her son were being framed. Imran twisted his face in shame and tried to incoherently beg for forgiveness, and a second chance to make things right. 

     "You bloody coward," Ayaan lunged to grab his collar. As he was about to smash his fist in Imran's terrified face, Asad held his arm and looked at Imran, "take your mother and get out of here."

     As Imran slouched toward the door Rashid added, "Never show your face around here. We will be filing a case against you for unlawful dowry demands. I want every family in Bhopal to know what kind of greedy monsters you are, so that no one gives their daughter away to the likes of you." 

     As Haseena bi reached the door, Asad spoke quietly, "Haseena bi, two more things: one, those title papers for the house I gave you in Nikhat's name?" She looked at him fearfully. "I expect them in my office by 11 am tomorrow." 

     As she started to slink away, he added, "and two: we are reporting your brother for bribery and false arrest to the Anti-Corruption Branch. I'll be the witness to his assault against Ayaan. Allah Hafiz!" 

  

Tanveer was raging mad. How dare Imran turn her down for money? Didn't he know what she could do? She kept calling and texting but he had probably blocked her calls. She would need to meet him in person to set him right.

She was mortified at the Khans' treatment of her. While Asad had staked his position loud and clear, Khala and Zoya looked at her with a kind of silent distaste that made her want to scream bloody murder. Najma was the only one who treated her with any civility, though now, even she would look at her more with pity than anything else. Tanveer would steer clear of them, not sharing meals, eating in her room and staying out most of the day. But by now, the best option for her was to take Asad's money and just leave to find new feeding grounds. She did have one middle-aged suitor in Kanpur, maybe he could be the ticket to respectability.

That evening she knocked on Asad's door. 

     "Come in." 

His eyes turned steely when he saw her at the door. He put aside his laptop and stood up. She took time in settling down on the settee and adjusted her dupatta and faked a mournful expression. 

     "Jammy, I've decided to take your offer. I hate to abandon my child and appear to be a bad mother, but it may be the best thing for my child." She lowered her gaze decorously and twisted the end of her dupatta. "I think my child will have a perfect home with his father. A father's name and love is more important after all." 

Her words were greeted with silence. She looked up at him and saw his arms rigidly crossed across his chest and cold anger etched across his face. 

     "I'm afraid the offer is no longer on the table, Tanveer." 

She stood up in alarm.

     "What? What do you mean? So you will marry me after all?"

     He laughed grimly and said, voice dead quiet, "no. Listen to me very carefully." 

Her spine stiffened. 

     "I know that you've been lying all along and that this is not my child." She started to speak but he held up his hand. "I also know that this is Imran's child and that you've been blackmailing him." 

She sat down heavily on the settee. 

     "I should have thrown you out of my house a long time ago. But I wanted to make sure that I had all the evidence against you. Now I do. No point denying it," he said as he saw her begin to speak up again. His fists were clenched and teeth gritted. He opened the door for her, "I want you to packed up and out of my house by tomorrow morning."

     Tanu started to cry and beg for forgiveness. "Please Jammy, don't do this. I'm sorry, I did it out of desperation. I didn't know what else to do. I know I shouldn't have lied to you." 

     "You're right. You shouldn't have lied to me. If you had told me the truth at the start I would have pleaded your case to Imran, helped you get married to him or even supported you if he refused." He looked away in disgust. "But what you did was ... Please, just leave. I don't even want to think about it any more." 

He slammed the door after her.

 

Damn him! So that's why Imran had suddenly cut her off. 

She went up the stairs slowly thinking of how to regroup. One last chance still remained, but it was risky. 

She saw Zoya at the top of the stairs with a load of freshly dried laundry.

Her eyes were sparkling and face was glowing. She had her earphones stuffed in and was smiling, humming lightly to some tune on her iPod. She came skipping down and looked up to see Tanu half way up. 

Her smile froze. Zoya's eyes narrowed into slits.

Oh, so she knew too.

Of course, why wouldn't she? Miss Nosey New York must have played lead detective in all of this. And Jammy was her besotted little lapdog making googly eyes at her all the time.

Tanveer saw red.

And, as if in slow motion, her hands stretched out to push her nemesis for wrecking all her well-laid plans.

 

 

 

Song in Title

Rocky (1980) "Aa Dekkhen Zara"


	37. Saaya Bhi Tera Main, Hone Na Doon Juda

 

 

It was a good thing Asad had just stepped out to go to her room. 

He wanted to tell Zoya that he had checked yet another item off their to-do list: talk to Tanu and explain in clear terms that her jig was up. He had already updated her and Ammi about the confrontation with Imran. Rashid had lodged an official complaint against them as well, and Ayaan was in the process of completing the formalities with the Anti-Corruption Branch complaint against Imran's corrupt uncle. The only downer in all of this was how Nikhat would react to, and cope with this news. 

It must have been the setting sun's light glinting off Zoya's ring or watch. Asad turned and saw her a second before Zoya screamed and tumbled headlong down the stairs. 

Tanu stood carved in stone right behind her. 

     "ZOYAAA!"

He leapt up and caught her just as she crashed into the sharp edge of the bannister.

Dilshad and Najma came rushing out of their rooms at the sound of her scream and his tortured cry. 

Dilshad saw Zoya in Asad's arms as he tried to stem the gushing blood from her temple with a bedsheet she still clutched in her hands. It was the same sheet from last night, he noticed, swallowing a sob. 

Zoya moaned in pain. 

     He looked up to flay Tanu with his glare. "Get out, right now," Asad ground out through gritted teeth as he cradled Zoya's head against his shoulder and lifted her in his arms. "I want you gone from here before we come back," he barked in cold fury before striding to the door to take Zoya to the hospital. 

 

Luckily, the clothes had cushioned her fall, and his fast reflexes had prevented major damage. Though Zoya did get three stitches, no bones were broken or fractured. But fearing a concussion, the doctor had only allowed her to go home on strict orders. They would have to wake her up every two hours to test her vitals and alertness. If she showed any signs of disorientation, dizziness, blurred vision, or persisting headaches, then they'd have to bring her in to be admitted. 

Zoya's head hurt with a dull throbbing ache. Her shoulder and ribs were sore from the fall, but other than that she was fine. Asad refused to let her walk on her own and insisted on carrying her back to the car. Embarrassed at first for being carried through the crowded lobby like a broken doll, she protested feebly, but then she realized that he needed to do this more. 

He was still on edge. 

She rested her head on his shoulder in surrender and he looked down at her.

     "I'm fine," Zoya stroked his shoulder and neck and closed her eyes. The bright lights hurt her eyes and she couldn't bear to see the blood on his shirt; it made her queasy. 

Asad settled her in the passenger seat and hugged her slightly, worried about hurting her. He kissed the top of her head and she knew he was in tears. She swiveled in her seat and hugged him. He moved in between her legs and shuddered in her arms. 

  


A worried Omar was there when they arrived home. Dilshad insisted on feeding and mothering her like a baby. She forcefed Zoya hot milk with a hefty dose of haldi. 

     "Sab undar ki chote theek ho jayegi beta. Bas roz yeh haldi wala dudh peena, OK?"

     "But Phuphi, it tastes vile!" 

Omar grinned and shook his head. Same Zo. 

     He held a thumbs up sign to Asad and said, "no worries. Everything's still in place. We may soon even be treated to some terrible shayari."

Even Asad cracked a half-smile at this. Zoya looked at Omar gratefully. 

     Dilshad continued, "drink up, it's good for you, so no arguments." 

Zoya tried to nod but winced in pain.

Asad stood by her bed stiffly with his arms crossed. Ocassionally he would uncross his arms, clench his fists and then stuff his hands in his pockets. 

     She knew he wanted to crush her in his arms but couldn't. She smiled up at him. "I'm fine Mr. Khan, really. Please relax." 

Asad expelled his breath. The veins in his forehead were close to popping. 

Dilshad left to put the dishes away and Najma was despatched to gather magazines and books and generally stay out of the way. Omar followed her to give them privacy and steal some private moments of his own.

Asad sat by her side. 

As the door closed softly after Omar, Zoya put her hand on Asad's. He picked it up and kissed it. 

      "If something had happened to you, I would have killed her." 

     "I'm sore and bruised, but I'm really fine, Asad. Please freshen up and change out of that shirt."

He kissed her fingers and got up to go. Zoya held on to his hand. He looked back at her.

     "I love you," Zoya whispered. 

He smiled after what felt like decades.

 

Dilshad decided to sleep with Zoya that night to keep a close watch and also to wake her up each time to check on her. 

Asad paced outside her room. The second time Zoya had to be woken up, Dilshad let him check her. 

Zoya was grumpy by the third time, and he chuckled at her crankiness.

     "You are such a baby," he cooed softly, kneeling by her side. 

     She harrumphed. "You would be too if someone woke you up and poked you around every other hour!" 

     Asad bent to whisper in her ear, "umm, it didn't seem to bother you last night." 

     "Mr. Khan!" Scandalized, she looked guiltily at her Phuphi. Thank god she was fast asleep! He kissed her ear and Zoya shuddered with longing. 

He looked exhausted. She wanted to hold him and soothe the frown lines on his forehead.

     "Go get some rest, please." 

     "I'm OK. I'll rest on the sofa in the living room," Asad dismissed her concerns. He stroked the back of her hand which his thumb in circular motions, "does it hurt a lot?" 

     "A little. But it hurts a lot more to look in your eyes." Zoya cupped his face, " a lot of sleep, some painkillers and I'll be as good as new, I promise. Please Asad, go rest." 

     "Good. I'll come back in two hours." 

     She groaned. Grabbing his collar, she whispered in his ear, "I'm going to make you pay for this Mr. Khan, just you wait." 

     "I'm counting on it." He kissed her lightly on her lips. 

     "Asad?" 

     He shot up like an arrow, "ji, Ammi?" 

     "Ab jao, thoda rest kar lo beta," Dilshad said sleepily.

Zoya stifled a giggle as she saw him walk away regretfully. 

 

The next day she ran a low-grade fever but mostly slept through it. 

Asad had cancelled his meetings and worked from home. He stirred restlessly and rotated his stiff shoulders. He itched to hold Zoya, but neither Najma nor Ammi left her alone, and he was scared he'd hurt her. 

Her shoulders and back seemed to be causing her the most discomfort. If Tanu's offense hadn't been so serious, Zoya would have laughed at Asad's overprotectiveness and paranoid concern. He had even posted a security guard outside their home. 

In the evening she was well enough to sit up in the living room. Her neck still felt stiff, and her head hurt, but she was getting bored out of her mind in her room. 

Ayaan, Humaira and Omar had come to pay a visit. Humaira didn't know about Tanveer's role in all of this, but Ayaan and Omar knew. 

Zoya was nearly back to her old self and was enjoying listening to the chatter around her. Only a bit weak and achy, she caught and smugly relished the intense looks pass between Raabert and Humaira. Hmm, looks like Humaira had relented and allowed Raabert back into her graces.  

She turned to look at Asad to silently celebrate, and her heart flipped. He had fallen asleep with his head leaning on the sofa back and one arm stretched out. Zoya wanted so badly to snuggle up and hold him. 

Poor baby, so little sleep in nearly forty hours. 

She gestured to everyone to move to her room so that they wouldn't disturb him. Najma brought a shawl and covered him with it. 

 

Over tea and snacks they quietly chatted in Zoya's room. Omar ribbed her about how he was supposed to be marrying her but instead he'd have to attend her marriage to someone else. Ayaan too chimed in about losing his chance with Mona darling. 

What were these guys up to? Zoya looked up in alarm at Humaira and Najma. Would they be glaring at her? 

No, they were glaring at the men instead. 

She giggled. Zoya asked Humaira to dish the details of her reconciliation with Ayaan. Humaira shyly bent her head and pointed to the suit she was wearing. She told her and Najma that Ayaan had presented it to her and told her that he loved her, no matter what she wore. 

Zoya clapped her hands in glee and raised her thumb in congratulations when Ayaan looked her way. He actually ducked his head in embarrassment.

She got up to go to the kitchen. Najma immediately tried to settle her back.

     "What do you need, Zoya? Let me know."

     Omar to the rescue as usual. "Nah! She probably just wants a sneak peak at her sleeping beauty." 

Zoya blushed. Everyone laughed. 

She left as Ayaan told Omar to back off unless he wanted to encounter Mukka Ahmed Khan after he'd had his beauty sleep. 

     "I'm not scared of the Mukka," joked Omar. "I'm the Love Guru, and the Mukka Khans bow before me." 

He and Humaira high-fived.

Najma and Ayaan looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

 

Zoya couldn't resist the picture of him asleep. His chest rose and fell with even breaths. Thank god, the stark planes of his face looked relaxed now. The dark lashes on Asad's cheeks made him look so vulnerable. Kissing him lightly on the cheek, she snuggled in next to him under the shawl, resting her head on his shoulder for just a minute. It had been so long since she'd held him and breathed in his scent. 

He shifted slightly to pillow his cheek on her head. 

 

When it was time for them to leave, they decided to tip-toe out through the living room. But everyone stopped briefly to smile at the charming tableau before them: Zoya and Asad with their heads together, fast asleep.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Blood Money (2012) "Chaahat" 


	38. Aa Neend Ka Sauda Karein, Ek Khwaab De, Ek Khwaab Le

 

  


That night he sneaked into her bed like she knew he would. 

Asad turned on the bedside lamp to look at her. The swelling on her forehead was receding. But the bandage reminded him of the blood that he'd seen spilling out as he frantically tried to stanch it with trembling hands. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, brushed his nose against hers and kissed it. 

     "Miss me?" 

     "So much," Zoya said wrapping her arms gratefully around him. She really had missed holding him and having him hold her. 

She knew he'd still be scared to hold her for fear of bumping her bruised ribs or shoulders. 

Asad's breath caught as he felt her against him more fully. Zoya was wearing his kurta from the night before last. 

And nothing else.

While his body tightened with desire, Asad smiled at the memory and dropped a kiss on her shoulder breathing in her scent. That night, when he had tried to put on his clothes to leave her room before anyone woke up, Zoya had tugged the kurta out of his hands to slip it on, and grinned up at him impishly. 

He had lingered to punish her for it, but then relinquished it for good. 

It looked much better on her anyways. 

Now, Asad gently pulled the kurta off her and gasped. Her skin showed darkening bruises on her entire right side, more around the ribs and neck and shoulders. He was sure her back would tell the same story. 

     "Zoya," he whispered in anguish, "you're hurt so badly. I couldn't stop you from falling! If only I'd come out of the room even a second before!" 

He ran his fingers tentatively over her collarbone and both arms. 

     "Asad, you have to stop blaming yourself. She did this, not you." Zoya cupped his face in her hands. "I know you can't forgive yourself if Phuphi or Tamatar or I get hurt. But you can't be everywhere all the time. You aren't Superman. Besides, this looks more dramatic than it is. I'll be OK. I bruise too easily." 

He shook his head as if disagreeing with her.

     But then Asad's grip on her arms tightened, "I have to know," he choked out. "All those times before, when I grabbed you angrily, did I ..." He shuddered to a stop, unable to continue. "... did I leave bruises on your arms?" 

     "Shh, stop tormenting yourself," Zoya cupped his cheek with her hand. "I'm going to be fine. Just kiss me and make it all better." 

And he did. 

He kissed all her bruises, and she kissed his worries and guilt away. 

They fell into a bone-deep sleep holding on to each other.

In the early hours of the morning, Zoya's eyes flared open as she felt his warm fingers lazily tracing around, and stroking, sliding firmly in and out of her. 

Oh my god, yes! Her healing back lifted in a delicious arc. Allah miyan, she could get so used to waking up to this! 

     "Asad," she sighed.

Asad chuckled and kissed his way down, his mouth soon supplanting his fingers. She arched and spilled over.

He kissed her and she tasted herself on him. 

     "Good morning," Zoya said shyly. 

     "Are you okay?" 

     "Never better," she stretched and winced only slightly.

His arms came around her protectively. 

     "Asad, I won't break."

     "Promise?" 

     "Umm hmm."

     "You're really OK?"

     "YES!" And the returning giggles and mock-anger in her voice warmed his heart. 

     "Then I have some plans for you." Asad gently helped her up to the side of the bed and eased her on her back. "I've had my own fantasies you know," he breathed as he he lightly ran his finger down from her collar bone to her navel. He kissed it.

She blushed.

     "Tell me. Tell me about all your fantasies, Mr. Khan." Zoya rose languidly to kiss and lick the scar on his stomach. She loved to hear him hiss! But he had yet to tell her about how he got it.

     "Or better yet Jahanpanah, show me." 

     "Voh ... actually ..."

Zoya couldn't believe that he was actually blushing, even after standing before her in all his naked, pulsating glory. She loved this "voh actually" mode of his. It was the opposite of his Jahanpanah mode, but just as sexy, and Allah miyan, way cuter! 

     "That day, when I saw you in those heels, I could've ..." 

     She giggled leaning back on her elbows. "Great minds do think alike! Under the bed," Zoya prompted. 

     "Are you sure?"

     "Asad!" she complained impatiently. "Hurry!" 

He dove to fish them out and slipped them on. But only after slowly kissing the soles of her feet, biting her arches, and tantalizingly licking between her toes. 

The crystal-encrusted, spiky, silver slingbacks bounced on his shoulders as he fulfilled their mutual fantasy.

 

Only now Rashid understood why Ayaan had agreed so suddenly to the engagement with Humaira, and why Haseena bi had re-agreed so eagerly to the wedding. He'd been blackmailed by Raziya who'd given him the money to bail out Rashid. While his younger son had signed away his life to bribe his father's passage out of prison, his older son had bribed Nikhat's way into being Haseena's bahu. 

He was humbled by his sons' courage and sacrifice. 

And then there was Nikhat. 

He had thought that the news of Imran's betrayal would shatter her. It was hard telling her about it. He had debated whether to tell her the truth. But he did not want her to think that she had been rejected by those cowards yet again. He wanted her to know that her father and brothers had rejected them for not being good enough for her.

She was sad but not broken; she had held her head higher. 

He was awed by his children's dignity and compassion; it gave him the strength to confront his own demons. 

He would not let Ayaan be forced into any nikaah. 

History would not repeat itself. 

He would make things right with Dilshad, Asad and Najma. 

Rashid put a call through to his assistant to find him the best investigator in town. It was time to marshall his forces to deal with Raziya once and for all, so that she could no longer threaten him or his family. 

But before he did anything else, he needed to speak to and come clean with Asad.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Jhoom Barabar Jhoom (2007) "Bol Na Halke Halke"


	39. Dugna Nasha, Kyun Ho Raha Hai

 

 

 

The wedding date was fixed. Aapi and Jeeju would arrive the next day.

Dilshad wanted the girls of both houses to be present during the mehendi ceremony. This was all the opening Najma needed. Always up for a get-together, she suggested having a sleepover. They could do mani-pedis, facials, sing songs, and basically call it a bachelorette cum bridal shower party for Zoya. Her list and excitement kept growing. 

Asad had not been too enthusiastic about this idea. What about his sleepover? 

But looking at Zoya's obvious excitement, he relented. He instinctively understood what it meant to her to share his siblings. And then Najma had never asked for such an extravagance before. The two families were closer than ever before. The occasion was right; this would be the perfect thing to do.

On cue, Rashid invited the men for dinner, getting them out of the girls' way. 

 

By the evening, not only were all the girls bringing the house down, but due to the professional manicurists and facialists that had descended on the Khan household, the place was a zoo. 

Dilshad offered a silent prayer of thanks. Asad would probably have a heart attack if he were here to see the state of the house. Thank god he wasn't underfoot today. The cheerful sounds of loud music, laughter and chatter, and the smells of nail paint, lotions and face packs, made her a content mother of the groom. She had prayed for this for so many years. Allah had given her all that, and so much more. She would offer a chaadar at the dargah tomorrow and feed the poor.

 

As Asad drove home that night, he fingered the ring his father had given him. It was a simple tarnished silver band. On the inside it was engraved with an inscription in Urdu, "My grace, my love." 

With damp eyes, Rashid had told him that his Ammi had given it to him on their first wedding anniversary. They had recently found out that they were to be parents in the coming year. 

     "Later, I never thought myself worthy of it, but I always kept it close," he spoke through a sigh. 

     "Now it belongs where it should." He had placed a hand on his son's head, and then pulled him in for a tight embrace. 

It didn't make up for all the lost time, but it came close. 

When they broke apart, he had held Asad by his shoulders, eyes shining with pride, and then become serious. 

     "I need to talk to you. Can we meet tomorrow?" 

Asad sensed the urgency of his father's appeal, and nodded. 

     Rashid grinned, "I love how I don't have to spell it out, and you just know."

     He had chuckled heartily at that. "Now that's really funny," Asad said. "Ammi always says that I need things spelled out!" 

He had cherished that moment when he saw his father throw his head back and laugh. 

     Arm around his shoulder, Rashid said, "she always was the smart one."

 

By the time Asad got home, the beauty parlor assistants had thankfully left. But the mirth and giggles had become even louder. 

He smiled fondly as he walked through the door, and stopped dead in his tracks.

The living room was in shambles. 

Everything was an assault on the senses. Cushions were strewn about, and girly clutter was everywhere. The girls were in their nightclothes, skins glowing, hair up in some bizarre twisty things, some eyes were covered with cucumber slices, and braceletted hands were fluttering here and there with flashes and flourishes of glossy color. The perfume was overpowering. And despite that, he could tell, there was a cake in the oven. 

The noise these women could make! 

Was Ammi also in here somewhere? He counted the heads and peered at the faces.

There was a dholak-type thing and someone was whaling away on it. That someone looked up, flashed her dimple, and winked at him. Of course, only Zoya could be making the loudest noise. She reached her hand out to him and made him sit down next to her on the floor. 

Nikhat and Nuzzhat raised their eyebrows at her easy familiarity, but all the others seemed fine with it. They still had some getting used to a mellow and smitten bhaijaan after all. 

     "Mr. Khan, we are having such fun. You have to join us!" Zoya gushed. 

     "I'm sorry Ms. Farooqui, I don't think I can handle whatever it is that you're doing here. I don't mind the cucumber slices, but the nails and hair thing I refuse to do." 

Nikhat and Nuzzhat's eyebrows arched even higher in amazement. Who was this man, and what had he done to their Bhaijaan? 

     "Done!" Zoya pushed him to lean back against the sofa and promptly slapped two cucumber slices on his eyes. He loosely stretched his arms on the sofa. "Doesn't it feel so refreshing?"

He nodded obediently. His sisters and mother giggled at the taming of Asad Ahmed Khan. Dilshad's breath caught as she saw the ring on his extended hand. She smiled through suddenly prickling eyes. Najma surreptitiously took a picture of Bhaijaan and sent it to all of them as well as Rashid, Ayaan and Omar. 

     "The Mukka's beauty routine," she texted, "facial n curlers comin up." 

Several phones pinged and the girls checked their messages. Asad had to remove the slices to see why after a moment of utter silence, there was such a shrill hoot of laughter. But he was happy to see Nikhat having fun. Everyone had worried about her welfare in the wake of Imran's treachery.

Najma then sent the other picture she had taken a few days ago: Bhai and Zoya asleep on the couch with their heads resting against each other. 

     "In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lions sleep tonite," she had added. 

Again Asad removed a slice to see why suddenly five women were going "awww."

He saw Zoya blushing furiously, and raised his eyebrow quizzically. She shook her head.

 

The doorbell rang. Before Asad could get up, Najma had run to open the door. Wow, he'd never seen her move that fast before. 

     "We thought we'd join the party," said Omar with Ayaan right behind him. 

     "How could we let you girls gang up on bechare bhaijaan?"

     "Oh really? Liars!" asked Zoya. "OK fine, the fun was just about to begin. Come join us."

And she beat up a racket on the dholak. 

     "Phuphi, I had gone to a friend's wedding and her family sang these fun gaalis. I think I remember some, so I'll sing them for you." 

Omar snorted and she threw a cushion at him. 

     "Oh god, as though the shayaris weren't enough, now the dulhan is going to sing gaalis against her in-laws sitting in their own house. These people are saints to put up with you."

Everyone else laughed too. 

"Only Zoya," and he shook his head mournfully.

Zoya pouted.

Asad glared at him. He didn't want Zoya to remember that she didn't have immediate family around right now. 

In a flash, Omar understood Asad's concern. 

     He straightened up quickly, and announced, "OK, OK, don't nobody mess with us, we are the ladki walas."

     "Me too," and Humaira plunked herself down by Zoya's other side. 

     Dilshad plucked the dholak from Zoya, "tum gao, I'll play this." 

Ayaan too grabbed a couple of cucumber slices for his own eyes and rested next to Asad. 

     He waved his arm imperially, "gaaliyaan, pesh ki jaayen." 

  


     "Saas bahu ki hui ladai ..." started Zoya. 

She would sing a line, and Omar and Humaira would repeat after her. Humaira beat a spoon in rhythm on the dholak. But the words were so funny and delightfully disrespectful to the groom's side, that Nuzzhat and Najma felt left out of the fun. Soon they had switched sides and were belting away about the bahu's revenge against her saas. 

Only Nikhat remained loyal to her Bhaijaan. He invited her to sit by his other side, and held her by the shoulder. 

     "Ladd le saasu, ladd le, tera beta mere haath mein," Zoya finished with a flourish, making eyes at Jahanpanah who had removed the slices by now. 

He threw his head back and laughed even more at the gusto she sang with. Looking at Dilshad he removed his arms from around Ayaan and Nikhat, and held his ears apologetically for being hen-pecked in the future. She was also laughing, and taking balaayen with her swirling hands, she blessed both of them. 

Zoya started on the next one and Ayaan groaned. 

     But the girls were having too much fun. "Zoya bhabhi, sing more," Nikhat urged. 

     "OK, this one is just for the groom's sisters," she teased. "Jo meri nanad pyaar karegi uska byaah kara doongi ..." they sang along wondering what horrible insult would come next. 

     "... Mayake ko tarsa doongi," Zoya stuck her tongue out and waved her thumb at them in a taunt. Omar had beamed. She laughed as Najma tried to punch her shoulder. 

Asad leaped in to hold her hand. 

     Najma recalled Zoya's recent injuries, and covered her mouth in horror, "I'm sorry, so sorry, Zoya."

     "Wow Zo, you insulted her, and also got her to apologize. Not bad. I think you'll be a great ringmaster in your sasural."

     "Swoosh!" Ayaan mimed the cracking sound and flick of a whip. 

     "Girls," Omar waggled his eyebrows at them, "your Bhaijaan is already JKG." 

Zoya hit him upside the head.

     "What's that?" 

     "Joru ka ghulam!" yelled Zoya and Omar.

Asad was unaffected by their pronouncement. He was back to reclining against the sofa with fresh cucumber slices on his eyes and a half-smile on his face. The tables would soon be turned on Omar. And his joru? He was already imagining how he'd get even later. The cucumber routine gave him the perfect excuse to close his eyes, relive old moments ... and fantasize about creating new ones. 

Like how he had brushed her hair because he's seen her wince when she tried to secure it with a clip. He didn't know combing a woman's hair could be so sensual, and such a tactile experience. She had wanted a low ponytail. He had given it his best. 

     "By the time Amna's old enough, you'll be an expert," she'd said softly.

He had moved the uncentered pony to the side of her head, over her shoulder, and bent to kiss the fading bruises on her back. 

He lifted a slice now to look at her, and smiled. Her hair was up in fat curlers at the crown. He remembered how earlier, it had felt between his fingers. As his finger got caught in a tangle, she had hissed and he had liked that sound. He'd grabbed a handful of her hair to tilt her head back, and bent to kiss her. 

She had made other sounds before he was done with her. He loved those throaty moans and purrs.

Asad grabbed a cushion to place in his lap.

 

     Omar leaned in to whisper to Zoya, "you'll sing these songs for Najma's wedding too, right?" 

     "Koi shak? By then, I'll have learned even more," she announced smugly. "Lekin koi accha ladka to miley meri Tamatar ke liye." He glared at her and she giggled. 

She looked meaningfully at Nikhat and Nuzzhat, and elbowed Omar. 

     "Omar, what about your cousins? What are they doing?"

Omar immediately got her drift. As love gurus par excellence, they were joined at the hip after all. 

     "Feroze just became an Assistant Professor at SUNY and Faiz is interning somewhere in DC." 

     "Phuphi, I think the Ansari brothers will be perfect for my nanads." 

     "Dekhiye, bhaijaan," spoke a quiet Nikhat, "how far away your begum plans to send us. Aise Mayake ko tarasaengi hum behennon ko." 

     "Exactly Ms. Farooqui, it's not necessary that half of Bhopal ends up in America. I want my sisters in the same pin code as us."

     Zoya flashed her eyes at him. "Oh really Mr. Khan? I didn't know you wanted to settle in the US!" And she winked at Najma. "And now Raabert, your turn." 

     "What? I'm going to the US now? Omar has a sister?" 

Humaira smacked his knee with the spoon. He howled in pain.

     "Jo mera devar pyaar karega ..." she sassed. 

He listened inspite of himself.

     "... agar ladega ... Moongfali bikva doongi." 

Everyone roared, especially Humaira. 

     Asad put him in a headlock and messed up his hair. "That's OK, you'll meet so many girls that way!" 

     "Specially outside a girls' college!" added Omar. 

     "In New York!" chortled Zoya.

     "Bhai, aapka dil dariya and dash samundar hai, par meri dash mein bamboo kyun kar rahen hain?" he said, lazily ogling a glowing Humaira. 

 

Ayaan stood up. 

     "OK, enough with your girly nonsense!" 

He wheezed suddenly, as his sisters whaled on him. Bringing out Asad's guitar he started strumming on it. The girls loved the change and begged Asad to play something for them.Asad felt flattered and shy, but finally complied. He sang the song that they all knew and loved. As the siblings, and even Dilshad and Humaira sang, "Zindagi ki yahi reet hai," Zoya's eyes misted. She had probably already fallen in love with him when he had played that song the first time. She'd been shocked then that Akdu Ahmed Khan had a gentler non-Jahanpanah side. 

And the second time around? She blinked. The second time, Tanveer had brought him his guitar and gathered the family in a circle of warmth and togetherness. And Zoya had felt so forlorn. The perpetual outsider. The hanger-on. 

Omar put his arm around her, and hugged her lightly. 

     "I'm so happy for you, you know that right?" he asked softly. 

She nodded, her brimming eyes colliding with and locking with Asad's. He tilted his head ever so slightly to invite her to join him as he handed the guitar to Ayaan. She slid over next to him and they reveled in the slightest brush against each other's shoulders, arms and thighs. This would have to do for tonight.

Ayaan was singing something now. 

     Asad's eyes were drawn to her pink toenails. He bowed his head and whispered, "why have you left the little ones unpainted?" 

     "I was saving them for you," came her cheeky reply.

     "Really?" he whipped his head around in surprise and delight. 

     "Umm, hmm."

     "You'd trust me to do a good job?" 

     "The best. And you need all the practice for when the girls want their Abbu to paint their nails." 

He fell in love all over again.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Yeh Jawani Hai Diwani (2013) "Balam Pichkari"


	40. Tayyab Ali Pyaar Ka Dushman, Haye, Haye, Haye

 

 

 

 

Past midnight, the girls still whispered and giggled furiously. The boys hadn't wanted to leave, so Dilshad had invited them to set up camp in Asad's room. 

Asad was not a happy camper. This just messed up his plans to text Zoya and get her to come to his room on some excuse.

Damn, it was going to be a long night.

 

But Ayaan and Omar had plans too. 

     "Let's go scare the girls." 

Asad didn't even know whose genius idea it was. At least earlier, it used to only be Ayaan, but now with Omar thrown into the mix, he was seriously outnumbered. And Omar gave back better than Ayaan who still had some lihaaz for his Bhaijaan.

These invading Americans had done some major dash mein bumboo. 

Damn. Asad clutched his forehead in despair—his brother's favorite phrase taking up room in his head? Allah miyan, what was wrong with him!

Arrgh!

Omar and Ayaan grabbed the sheets off Asad's bed. He groaned and clenched his fists, but said nothing. 

Maybe this would be interesting. Maybe it would get him some stolen moments with Zoya. All for a good cause.

 

Asad was instructed to find a flashlight while the other two planned their caper. They snuck out of the window stepping over his settee. May be that settee needs to go, Asad thought, hands on his waist. 

Put a French door in? More glass. Zoya would never let him hear the end of how he had a fetish for plate glass. What had she called his room? A fish bowl. 

He shook his head to go supervise Omar and Ayaan. 

As he stepped outside, he saw what they were up to. Oh god.

Sitting on Omar's shoulders and maneuvering awkwardly under the draped sheet, Ayaan peered out with the torch lit eerily under his chin. It was the freakiest thing he'd seen and he prepared to hear piercing screams and shrieks.

But no amount of mental preparation could really do it. Asad was knocked backwards by the uproar. 

The girls came spilling into the hall from her room. 

Except for Zoya. 

Asad grabbed her kicking and screaming, as she was about to blind Ayaan with her pepper spray. Ayaan jumped and Omar fell on his butt. 

The lights went on, and the girls moved in for the kill. 

Asad meanwhile carried Zoya behind the door and kissed her hungrily. They could hear the ruckus as they came up for air. She gave him a quick peck and ran towards the all the fun everyone were having without her.

Asad sighed in frustration and ran his hand through his hair. Cold shower, here I come. 

He grinned at the pun.

Zoya Farooqui was making him seriously mental. 

 

He walked back into the living room.

And saw the elaborate mating dances.

Omar had Najma's phone in his hand and was holding it out of reach and she was all over him trying unsuccessfully to grab it back. Ayaan was doing the same with Humaira. Only it was her hair clip. 

Asad scrubbed his brow. Damn, are men hard-wired to be so obvious?

The cold shower would have to wait. He had to first babysit Gropey and Humpy here. Asad knew exactly what had brought them over this evening. They were now mooching for tea and cake, just to keep the girls longer in the living room. Once again he'd have to be the bad cop. He grabbed the two by their collars and dragged them to his room saying a firm, "goodnight girls" over his shoulder. 

     "Go to bed, it's a long day tomorrow." 

     "Oh, just so Zoya begum can have her beauty sleep?" sassed Omar.

     "So that I can have my beauty sleep!" He glared at Omar who had the grace to look embarrassed. 

Damn that Zo, telling her Mr. Khan everything! 

Asad tossed them t-shirts and sweats and decided to sleep on the settee while he let them have the bed.  

 

He woke up with a start.

Some noise had disturbed him. He looked over to the bed.  

     "Uhhh!" he groaned and went to investigate. Idiot! Why hadn't he thought of taking their phones away?

He hated playing the headmaster to their horny teenager act. Especially when he was itching to do the same. 

Damn.

The living room was dark but he could hear whispers. He turned on the light and Ayaan popped up from behind the kitchen island. 

     "Bhai!"

     "Ayaan, kamre mein chalo."

Ayaan ran his hand through his hair and complied. But very reluctantly. Asad too went with him not wanting to embarrass Humaira. But then he remembered Omar, and smacked his head.

     "Where's Omar?" 

     "Backyard," said a dejected Ayaan as he stretched out on the bed. 

Asad pinched the bridge of his nose. Oh god, this was embarrassing. He better not find them in a compromising position. He made thumping noises as he marched over. They were on the bench with Omar holding Najma by his side. 

Asad cleared his throat and folded his arms across his chest. Najma gasped and hid behind Omar. Asad really wasn't mad, just annoyed, that in playing the love police, he wasn't getting as lucky.

     "Omar, 2 minutes."

And he walked inside.

     "Mr. Khan," he heard her whisper as Zoya slipped her hand in his in the semi-darkened room. He took her in his arms and breathed in her fragrance. 

     "Why are you being such a a sarru Tayyab Ali?" 

     "What? Who?" He was nuzzling her neck. 

     "Apne gaana nahin suna, Tayyab Ali pyaar ka dushman haye! haye! haye!'?"

     "Oh really? I am being a pyaar ka dushman? What about when I wanted a hug and a kiss, and Mrs. Tayyab Ali skipped away because she didn't want to miss any fun with the seven dwarves." 

     "Six. Mixing Bollywood and fairytales?"

     "Whatever," he scoffed and trailed kisses down her throat.

     "That would make me Snow White and you my Prince Charming," she went up on her toes to lick his lips, and he spasmed. "Think about it. With them out of the way?" She arched her eyebrow and tilted her head to the side, "just saying ..." And she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Asad's eyes gleamed. Disengaging, but still holding her hand, he stepped outside and bumped into Omar. 

     "Take 15 minutes. But keep it PG 13." 

     "Thirty?" 

     "Ten!" 

     "Zo!" 

     "Five!"

     Zoya dragged Asad away from the door, "twenty," she told Omar.

Asad went to his room to rouse Ayaan out of bed with the same instructions. As Ayaan dashed away to re-liaise and find a private spot, Asad saw Zoya getting herself a glass of water. Grabbing the glass out of her hand he carried her to his room and shut the door after him. 

There he showed her that he was more Jahanpanah Charming than Tayyab Ali. 

 

They all slept till late in the morning and Dilshad had to finally chide them for wasting half the day. She huffed and puffed at them to get ready for the functions later in the day. 

But Zoya had been up for hours, freshly showered and radiant; all toes painted.

 

They had stolen precious time in the early morning. In the guest room, where all the wedding supplies were being stored. 

Asad had been extremely careful to not leave marks any place where her skin would be exposed from her lehenga and choli tonight. But everywhere else, he told her through velvety kisses and flashing teeth, was fair game. His territory to mark and taste and suck and bite. 

She had surrendered eagerly but hadn't been as careful. There was no way he was going to be able to wear a collarless kurta tonight. He had once asked to be marked by her after all.

     "Just following directions," she'd told him archly before pushing him on his freshly-scratched back.

 

At the raucous breakfast table where Dilshad was being regaled about the adventures of the night (PG version only), Zoya was serenely quiet, only looking up to see Asad look at her. 

He was wearing a full-sleeved shirt and trying to hold the collar close together while sipping that dark coffee. It would be ridiculous to wear a tie. He wasn't going to work.

She smiled, too smug for her own good. 

 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Amar Akbar Anthony (1977) "Tayyab Ali"


	41. Zarra Thay Lekin Teri Lau Mein Jalkar, Hum Ban Gaye Aaftaab

 

 

 

Raziya felt at peace. 

Finally things felt settled. Humaira was happy and that was what really mattered. She has seen the changes in the relationship between her and Ayaan and was pleased enough to even let her daughter spend the night in  _that_  house. It was a good thing that Siddiqui Saheb was out of town or he would never allow such a thing. 

Settling down with the accounts, she looked up in annoyance when the servant came to tell her that someone wished to meet her. Raziya rose in barely masked displeasure and walked into the hall. 

Tanveer! That skank. 

     "Tumhari yahan aane ki himmat kaise hui?" she rasped.

Tanveer smirked.

     "I'll keep it simple and short. You can get rid of me for just Rs. 1 Crore." 

     Raziya scoffed. "Really? Get lost and never show your face around here." She turned to go.

     "Raziya bi, I wouldn't be so smug," murmured Tanveer as she arranged herself on the sofa comfortably.

     "And why not?" She sighed irritably. 

     "I have something that could make life very difficult for you."

     Raziya huffed and took a seat. "Really?"

Tanner arched an eyebrow.

     "OK, let's hear it."

     "Can I get some tea at least?"

     Raziya fumed. "Get to the point, Tanveer," she gnashed her teeth. 

     "I have something that could unite your husband with his long-lost daughter and really upset your apple cart." 

     "And I can just as easily prove that it is fake. Don't try to fool me, Tanveer. Your games won't work with me." 

     "Don't be so sure, Bi. Not only do I have concrete proof, but I'm willing to use it. I am a desperate woman and don't make me flatten your house of cards." 

     "What is it?" 

     Tanu preened. "The evidence is so fool-proof that if I wanted to, I could pose as that long-lost daughter myself. Imagine that! Me, in this house, under your nose as your step daughter." She laughed. 

     "Are you crazy?" Shouted an enraged Raziya. "There are things like DNA tests!" 

     "And there are doctors and nurses who can be paid to alter reports," Tanveer countered, admiring her fingernails. "I guess you don't watch Hindi soaps."

     Rage made Raziya breathless. "I don't believe you!" 

     Tanu rose. "Believe it. You have till tomorrow, 5PM, to give me that money. If not, then you'll be welcoming me at your dinner table as your newly-minted step daughter. And as a favor, here is a preview of my plans." She stood up and left a sheet of paper on the table. "I'm sure your husband will recognize his own handwriting and sappy sentiments from years ago." Tanveer pouted. "Kya bi, you weren't good enough for him?" 

Raziya growled and lunged at her, but Tanu dodged her and walked away.

     At the door, she turned with a parting salvo, "and Bi, don't bother to have me killed. I have a safety trigger. If my source doesn't hear from me every 4 hours, then not only will a package be sent to your husband, but also to all the leading news sources in the city. Khuda Hafiz!"

 

His father was running late and Asad kept glancing at his watch. He wanted to be home where all the action was. He'd left very reluctantly. 

The boys were still camped out at Khan Villa. He never knew that he would actually enjoy so much noise and laughter. It was a treat to watch Ammi laugh and Najma glow. Nikhat too seemed to be coming out of her shell and smiling a lot more. 

And Zoya ...

He took a deep cleansing breath, recalling the sensual haze of the moment when she branded yet another kurta of his. This time with pale pink nail polish. 

Feet in his lap she had guided him how to glide the brush along the grain of the nail. It had taken him about five to six tries to not make his hand shake and apply deft, firm strokes. She had even demonstrated it for him on his fingernail. She had then quickly brushed the wet paint off his nail with her thumb and then sucked his finger, eyes hotly locking with his. 

That had distracted them from the nail painting for some time. But in the end, he found that the best way to do it was to sit on the floor with her foot propped on his knee. He had kissed her instep and then blown on her toe to dry the polish. 

And heard her quick intake of breath. 

Capping the bottle shut he had kissed his way up to make her toes curl.

 

     "Sir, a Mr. Rashid to see you." 

As Asad invited his father to have a seat at the sofa he noticed that he was tense. 

     "Abbu ... everything OK?"

Rashid nodded and took a seat. But he slid to the edge of the seat and placed his pensive elbows on his knees. 

     "Asad, what I have to say is hard to say and hear. But we both have to do this. Please hear me out." 

Asad too sat down, now really worried.

     "This is about what happened all those years ago." 

Asad flinched. Rashid saw it and got up to stand next to him. He placed his hand on his shoulder and continued. 

     "Just listen." He brushed his face and folded his arms tensely. 

Rashid took a deep steadying breath as he prepared to unburden himself to his son, a son whose angry condemnation all these years that had seared his soul.

 

     "It was Najma's birthday and my boss' wife called me to run an important errand. I couldn't say no." Rashid went on to tell him everything that followed that fateful day which changed everyone's lives forever. 

How he had been trapped in an endless cycle of blackmail and threats ever since, because his bosses wanted him to do their dirty work, but didn't trust anyone else enough to do it for them. 

Asad still didn't understand why his father would do it. He tried to keep an open mind but couldn't get past that one thing. 

Rashid looked at his son. He knew exactly what was swirling in his head.

     In anguish he said, "they said they'd kill Najma. She had fallen asleep in the car and that woman held her folded dupatta over her face." 

He wept. 

Asad's face blanched. He should have known only something so drastic would force a father to do something this terrible. He wasn't even a father yet, and had already fallen in love with the image of the kids Zoya had created in his heart. He rose to put his hand on Rashid's shoulder and Rashid buried his face in his hands.

     "I kept thinking of Dilshad, and what would happen if she saw her baby's lifeless corpse in my arms. And on her birthday." He pulled his hands away in disgust. "I did it. I did what they wanted me to do. I set fire to the factory and have lived in hell ever since," he said in a dead whisper. 

     "That fire died, but it lives to this day in my nightmares. That fire destroyed everything... Everything innocent, pure … ended that day. All that remained ... was——" Rashid choked bitterly.

     "Abbu——?"     

     "They took pictures, Asad. Pictures of me setting the fire … And since then, they've used it to shut me up."

Rashid looked at Asad who was still trying to comprehend the enormity of it all. 

     This would be the hardest part. "I later found out that there was a woman's dead body in the remains." He added bitterly, "my god! How they gloated that they had me under their thumb because now I was also a murderer!" He wiped his brow and paced the floor. "I threatened to go to the police and surrender myself. But then they played the dirtiest trick of all." Rashid walked to the plate glass window and looked out bleakly. "They threatened to kill my family." 

     "But Abbu, it was just a threat. Why didn't you go to the police?" 

     "I did."

Asad's breath caught. 

     "As I entered the police station, a peon from our office came running to tell me that there had been an accident and Dilshad ..."

 

Asad suddenly remembered as if it was yesterday. He'd heard talk about having to leave the city and going away somewhere far. He had been very upset because that meant he would never see Ayaan again. He kept begging to see him once, to not go, to be told where they were going ... but his mother had been too busy to pacify him. They had packed their stuff in a taxi and were going to the train ... or the bus station, he couldn't remember that part. 

And their car had been hit on the side Ammi was sitting. 

     "... luckily she wasn't hurt too badly and you both sustained only minor injuries. Shukar hai khuda ha. When I went to pay the hospital bills, the nurse told me it had been paid up. And she handed me a note from my benefactor." Through a raw throat, he croaked, "Asad, I still remember what it said: Abhi to sirf hospital mein hain biwi bacche. Agli mulakat murdaghar mein hogi'."

 

Later Rashid told him how he had been slowly gathering evidence of his own against them for many years. How even now he had been late because he knew that Raziya kept him under watch so he had changed a number of taxis and autorickshaws to make it here undetected. Miserably, he told his son how he had posted surveillance on their house to keep them safe all these years, "but I stayed away! Apna saya bhi tum logon pe nahin padne de sakta tha."  

     "Abbu, I'll help in whatever way I can. Stay here and use my office and staff to do whatever needs to be done. You can come here as often and whenever. But right now I have to leave for the airport. Zoya's Aapi and Jeeju are coming."

     Rashid understood. But he cautioned him, "put extra security on the house and the family. This is going to get very ugly before it gets better." 

 

Asad recognized them since he had talked with them over Skype a couple of times since the formal announcement of their wedding. The engagement and mehendi would be tonight. The Sangeet part Zoya had already taken care of with her gaalis session. Asad smiled to himself. 

In the car, after catching up, he asked aapi the one question he was dying to know the answer to. How did Zoya get her scar? 

Aapi's face fell. 

     "Asad, how do you ... ?"

     "Zoya told me. But she didn't tell me how she got it. Please Aapi, I need to know."

Zeenat's eyes filled and she gazed out of the window; after a long silence she spoke in a monotone. 

     "Usse khud pata nahin hai. We never told her." Her breath heaved, "she was still a baby. There was a fire which killed her mother and she was the only witness …" Zeenat was wracked with dry sobs, "my poor baby, it hurt her so much. So many nights we stayed up with her because of her nightmares and the screams. Oh god, the screams!"

Asad's eyes blurred. He couldn't imagine the raw pain that Zoya must have felt. Whenever he got hurt in the slighest Ammi had always been there to kiss it away. But Zoya's Ammi ...

Zoya! 

     His throat choked and he pulled over. Anwar was holding Zeenat's hand and crying too. "She was just a baby," he kept saying. "A mere child. Who would do something like that?"

Asad got out of the car to give them privacy and catch his breath. So much grief and loss. How could she still laugh and be the kind of person she was?

     He remembered her words from a few days ago, "I had just found out about Abbu and then your engagement ... I thought that if I asked Allah for anything He would take it away from me like always."

His own words to her about her Ammi's death, said in blazing white hot anger, rose up to haunt him … to choke him. 

And, yet another memory creeped up, unbidden. 

That time when she kept bugging him to reconcile with his father and he had yelled at her the same tired and bitter words: aapko rishton ki ehmiyat nahin hai. Head bowed, she had whispered roughly, "you are so lucky to at least have a father to hate." 

Asad hid his face in his hands. Grief … gratitude, and shame mingled in his tears.

 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Gambler (1971) "Dil Aaj Shayar Hai" 


	42. Kya Hua Tera Vaada, Woh Kasam, Woh Iraada

 

 

 

 

Something was off. Ever since Asad had returned from the airport, there was a somberness about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on. He'd been on the phone most of the time, holed up in his room. Zoya pouted. Her spidey senses were tingling. Jahanpanah was up to something. And he was definitely hiding something from her. Allah miyan, what's wrong with Mr. Khan!

The house was a zoo. Aapi and Jeeju had been settled in Najma's room. Najma would be sleeping with her tonight. And in her room, the girls were tripping over each trying to get to the mirror and make up and jewelry.

Zoya stood still in the center of the hurricane to take stock. 

     She texted Omar. "I need a moment with Mr. Khan." 

     Seven minutes later, he texted back, "all clear." 

She stepped out of her window and went around the house to the window in his room and looked in. Asad was sitting on the bed miles away in thought. Ayaan and Omar's clothes were still strewn on the bed. 

This was just wrong. Jahanpanah not clearing the mess? 

She crept in, and before he could look up, climbed up in his lap and hugged him. After a second, she felt his arms go around her tightly as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. 

     "Asad?" 

     "Shh, just let me hold you." 

She held him. She had to get to the bottom of this. Something was bothering him. Zoya must have asked him a hundred questions but he her gave no answers. 

  

The mehendi function was a colorful blur. 

The girls, gorgeously dressed, were excitedly fluttering about, laughing, teasing and chattering. They oohed and aahed at the mehendi designs, chose and unchose different ones a thousand times, and peeked over Zoya's shoulder to monitor the progress of her application, suggesting where to hide Bhaijaan's name on her palm.

Zoya huddled in a heavily embroidered pale pink and green lehenga choli. She kept looking out for Asad to come by her side, rub shoulders with her, look at her with promises of love, and be teased away by his sisters. But he remained distant never looking at her even once. Even with Omar and Ayaan he remained silent and preoccupied. He looked more and more shell-shocked as the night wore on. 

Fear clutched Zoya's heart. Something was very wrong. 

Asad! 

 

She sat with her arms out, hands splayed, crucified by the heavy dress and jewelry. The perfumed air, the frothy silks, brocades and chiffons, the clammy grittiness of the henna weighed her down.

What was really the point of all this? Why won't you even look at me?

  


Ayaan announced to the guests that the couple's family had prepared a dance for the occasion. Everyone gasped and clapped with delight. The center of the room was cleared and the dancers took their places.

Any other time Zoya would have loved this, and may even have jumped in to join them. But right now her eyes were still seeking Asad's. 

Ayaan, Omar and the girls danced to "Mehendi Laga Ke Rakhna." She didn't even know when they had decided to do this or had time to practice for it. 

A roaring success, everyone demanded an encore.

Asad watched the performance sightlessly, face wooden, arms crossed at his chest.

 

After the dance, Zoya caught Omar's eye and signaled him over. He came and knelt by her side.

     "Hey Zo, change your mind? Wanna run away again?" He teased. She elbowed him and looked at him seriously. 

He alerted to her pensiveness. 

     "What?" 

     She bent to whisper softly, "Check on Mr. Khan."

Omar looked at him and back at her. He saw the genuine worry in her face. Patting her arm, he walked over to Asad. 

     "Asad, Zoya is wondering about you." 

Asad ducked his head and looked away.

     "What is it, man? You aren't having doubts about this, are you?" Omar knew that wasn't the case at all. He'd seen the way the man looked at Zoya. 

He put his hand on his shoulder, but Asad shrugged it off and went to his room. 

Now even Omar was worried. He looked at Zoya, who was nearly in tears. He went and sat by her side.

     "Don't worry, I'll talk to him, I promise," he soothed. 

She bent her head to hide her tears from everyone.

     Aapi lifted her chin, in tears herself. "My baby, getting married" she cooed with love. 

Zoya smiled bravely. She couldn't take her eyes off his name glistening wetly on her hand. 

She looked at her feet being adorned with the fragrant and cool henna and saw her toenails. Her heart twisted. 

 

Raziya paced in fury. Her sources had told her about Rashid's escapade today. Where had he gone and why all this run around? So he knew that he was under surveillance, but what was so important that he needed to duck away like this? 

She better tighten the leash. 

She massaged her chest. Tanveer's threats were giving her heartburn on top of that. That witch! She must have stolen the letters from that girl. Damn her for staying on longer and ruining her plans! And she couldn't even have her taken care of now. Her hands were tied. Raziya reluctantly opened her cupboard and removed some old jewelry from the safe. She'd have to use some of these to not arouse suspicion about the high rupee amount withdrawn from the bank tomorrow. Ridiculous nonsense to be so trapped by that whore.

 

Ayaan came to get Asad from his room joking that his hone wali bhabhi was waiting for him to find his name on her hand. 

     "Bhaijaan, aap fikar mat kariye. Aap jald hi dhoond lenge. If not, then I'll try to trick Humaira into telling me." "Chaliye." He clapped his hand on Asad's shoulder and half-dragged him to the living room. "Here's the shy groom everyone," he announced.

Najma skipped up and latched her arm through Asad's and pushed him down to sit by Zoya. 

Zoya had her eyes lowered. She was terrified of seeing rejection in his eyes. Her heart hammered hard.

Aapi made her hold out her palms for Asad. 

He looked up at her from under his lashes. Zoya's eyelids were reddening and he could see her biting her lip on the inside to prevent it from quivering. His heart wrenched. Asad held her hands in his, willing her to look up at him. 

She pinned her gaze at the crusted henna whorls. Zoya was painfully aware that he wasn't caressing the back of her hands like he usually did, and nearly sobbed aloud. 

The girls were eagerly discussing how if he couldn't find his name he'd have to give her a gift of her choice. 

     "Zoya, make sure that you ask for something like the moon and stars. It has to be the most outrageous or difficult thing." 

     Ayaan was pumping up Asad, "c'mon Bhaijaan, you can't lose. Hamari izzat ka sawal hai. Look carefully." 

Omar was quiet. He was really worried. A part of him felt like punching Asad. But the other part knew that there was something deeper at play.

Everyone gathered around them enveloping them in chatter of love and hope. 

Asad couldn't concentrate. He didn't want to. Emotions were churning through him and he felt her withdraw slightly. Her fingertips curled on themselves as if mortified. He couldn't bear to hurt her, but he couldn't bring himself to not hurt her either. He dropped her hands. 

     "I can't find it."

The girls cheered. Ayaan groaned and clutched his head. 

     "Bhaijaan, aap bhi na! You didn;t even try! You just wanted her to win. Not fair."

     Najma nudged Zoya. "Great job, Zoya. Now ask for something that will make Bhaijaan really scramble." 

Zoya shook her bent head. She couldn't speak.

     "Aw, she's shy," said Aapi. "Baad mein maang lena, theek hai?" And she kissed her forehead. 

     "Haan, baad mein, akele mein," Najma joked and the girls giggled and Ayaan guffawed. Najma bent close to her ear, "hai na, Zoya?" She hummed, "... sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage."

Zoya huddled and caved into herself wanting to clench her fists to her mouth but unable to do so.

 

The festivities continued to swirl around them. But they were locked in their twin worlds of misery and despair. 

     As the celebrations wound down, Dilshad came over, "chalo Zoya tumhari mehendi utaar ke uska rang dekhte hain." 

Everyone began to tease them about how dark or light the color would be, and how Dilshad wanted to be the first one to find out. 

Zoya rose obediently. Najma and Aapi helped her to the bathroom sink in her room. She listlessly removed the henna while they chatted over her head talking about the dance, clothes, food, music and the wedding tomorrow. Aapi was teasing Najma about Omar. She brought a towel to wipe her hands and both put their heads together to check for the darkness. 

     "Wow! It's so dark, Zoya. Looks like Ammi loves you more than me."

Zoya excused herself to use the restroom and they left. 

Five minutes later she sank to the floor in front of the sink and sobbed with her fists to her mouth unaware of the coppery aftertaste. 

She had started her period.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Hum Kissi Se Kum Nahin (1977) "Kya Hua Tera Vaada"

 


	43. Ab Toote Sapnon Ke Shishe Chubhte Hain Inn Aankhon Mein

 

  


He paced in his room. 

Asad couldn't get Zoya's downcast eyes out of his mind. She'd bitten most of her lipstick off and sat huddled like that all through the mehendi function.

She knew.

How many times would he keep hurting her? But wasn't it better to hurt her a little now, than a lot more later? Asad flashbacked to the first time he had seen at the dargah and sat down heavily on the bed. His chest felt tight. 

The tortured words of his father and her Aapi played in his mind on an endless loop. 

     "... I set the fire ..."

     "her mother died in a fire ... screaming ..." 

The words and scenes overlapped … melded … creating a fiery crescendo of torment. On their own, each incident was grim enough. But put them together, and they painted a grisly picture ...

  


Sometime between the drive home and turning into the driveway, Asad's mind had made a terrifying but uncanny connection. 

Were the two incidents from both his and her past—? Even thinking about it turned his blood to ice. Were their lives inexorably linked by blood, lies and fire? 

He paced again, unable to sit still. 

Could his father be responsible for that scar on her arm? Finally, Asad had put words to his worst fears.

How could one do that to a baby? His mind flashed to an image of a baby Najma. What if someone had done something like that to their Tamatar?

His mind kept reliving the screams he heard when Zoya had her nightmares. She must have felt so much pain. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

 

Before entering the house, he had quietly asked Anwar, "when did this happen?"

     "1994." 

     "Do you remember which month or the date?" 

     "Why?" 

     "I want to look into it to see if we can find out more about what happened." 

     "I think it was October. But I'll check with Zeenat."

 

Once home, he had called the investigator and given him whatever details he could about the location and time, and told him to rush the results. Money was no bar, this was to be done at a war footing. 

     "Drop everything else. I'll pay for your time. I need results, fast." 

He had a definite date now from Jeeju. Asad'd also called Rashid to confirm the month and year. Next Asad called the Police Commissioner to urge him to expedite the forensic investigation of the remains found in the factory. If the lab was still backlogged, he would pay to get it done privately. He would even fly in the best forensic anthropologist if needed. 

The reports had started trickling in within the next few hours. Most of it added up; his instincts had been right.

How could they get married now?

What if Zoya found out later that his father may have allegedly murdered her mother and scarred her for life? She would hate him and they would be trapped in a marriage of endless pain and mistrust. In his heart, Asad knew that his father was no killer. But what if he was framed and made to accidentally kill someone by his bosses? So far the only ray of hope was that the remains hadn't been identified as male or female. May be there was no link. 

But what if there was? 

Somehow, in his gut, Asad was sure that there was. 

He looked out of the arched window into the heart of darkness. He shouldn't have trusted that happiness; it wasn't his due. He was to be forever robbed of it—his lot was to not just stand at the edge of light and peer in. No, his destiny was to turn his back on the light and live in his own shadow.  

But what of Zoya?

 

The walls were closing in on him. Asad needed to get away from his room.

It was dark in the house. Everyone was exhausted and had turned in soon after the guests left. 

He walked outside to sit on the bench or pace some more. 

And saw her there. 

Of course. No wonder his lovesick feet had led him here. 

She still hadn't changed out of her dress. Her shoulders were hunched, and he could tell she was crying softly. He wanted to hug her to him, crushing her in his arms. Asad swore under his breath and turned to walk away. 

     "Mr. Khan?" 

His heart splintered at those alien words. Arms rigidly folded across his chest, he pressed his fist to his mouth. A cloud of fragrant henna wafted up behind him. She tugged his hand, turned it over, and put something in it. The warm curved metal burned him. His fist closed around it, the stone biting into his flesh. 

     "Zoya," he choked.

Her simple acceptance of his silent decision destroyed him.

     "Umm ... Mr. Khan?" She pressed her fingers to her trembling lips. 

She still wanted to say something to him? He saw her grip her hands painfully. 

Zoya didn't know if she should tell him, or even if she would have the courage to say the words without crumbling. She didn't want his pity, but nor did she want him to feel guilt or shame. She twisted her bare fingers, already missing the snug warmth of the ring ... and his love. 

     "I ... I started ... umm ..." she gulped, took a huge shuddering breath and blurted in a rush, "Don't worry please, I'm not pregnant." 

She ran to get to the door leading to the house.

  


A few swift steps and he was by her side. 

     Asad shook her by the shoulders. "Why don't you hate me for hurting you every time? Why are you still thinking about me when I've given you more tears than smiles?" 

She slid to the ground on her knees, trying to swallow her sobs by pressing her fists to her mouth. 

He couldn't. No, he wouldn't do it. They would go through it together if she let him. Asad gathered her in his arms and rocked her to him.

     "I'm so sorry that I keep hurting you." 

She clung to him but rained soft, ineffectual punches on his chest. Asad tried to laugh at that, and her punches grew stronger. 

     "Zoya," he grabbed her fist in his. The ring bit into her knuckles.

Still sobbing, she hid her face in the crook of her arm.

     "Did I do something?" She asked through sobs. 

     "I'm sorry."

     Zoya cried harder. "You don't want to marry me?" 

He hugged her hard, hating himself more.

     "I do! I want to marry you. Only you. I love you so much. But there's something that we have to talk about first."

She stilled. 

While a part of her was glad to hear that things were okay between them and that he was finally about to tell her what it was that was bothering him, another part of her dreaded the words to come. It could only be something momentous for him to be so affected by it.

     "What?" She whispered fearfully.

     "Your truth. My truth. Our truth!"

Zoya wiped her tears, got up, and moved away waiting for him to continue. What was he going to say? What truth? Fear coursed down her spine. Zoya let him lead her back to the bench. Asad didn't sit by her side as she had hoped he would.

He paced before her instead. 

     "Abbu came to the office today." 

She knew about this part. He'd already told her last night that Abbu wanted to speak with him. 

     "He told me about the factory and what happened all those years ago. Do you remember, they found skeletal remains there?" 

She nodded. 

     "And then when I went to pick up Aapi and Jeeju, I asked them how you got your scar."

Zoya flinched but remained silent. She'd herself asked them this but they said they didn't know. She was sure that's what they told Asad. 

     "She told me that you were in a fire that killed your mother," He choked out, wanting to hold her but not daring to look at her. 

Zoya was confused. 

     "But I thought they didn't know about Ammi or how I got my scar." 

She couldn't accept that they had lied to her all these years. But this information was distracting her from the bigger shock that she had just received. Ammi had died in a fire? Those dreams? And she got the scar in the same fire?

Asad stole a look at her. It hadn't hit her as yet. Zoya was still processing the information in some kind of a delayed reaction. And he hadn't even told her the worst of it as yet. 

     "Zoya, you know that Abbu set fire to the doll factory, right?" They all knew that. That's what had caused Asad to lash out against his father months ago. He'd even filed a police complaint against Rashid and had him arrested. His father had gone in silence. He wouldn't tell anyone what had happened all those years ago. Dilshad had been furious with Asad. So had Ayaan … 

     "They made him do it." Asad swiped his hand across his mouth in agitation, "but, what we didn't know then, was that they were threatening to kill Najma. That's why he did it." 

Zoya scrunched up her face in confusion. Why was he talking about Abbu and Najma in the middle of this? 

     Still distracted, she said, "I told you, it had to be something big like that. It must've been horrible for him." 

Only she could have this much faith. Even he hadn't believed his father earlier. Asad held her shoulders and then knelt before her, holding her hands. Asad saw the mehendi on her palms and bit off a moan. The lace of her scars was denser … His name embedded in the paisleys on her hand would fade but his father's handiwork was a brand on her arm.

     "I had it checked out," he choked. "The fire in the factory … it … it was around the same time your mother died in a fire." 

She looked at him blankly.  

     "Zoya ... Abbu may have burned the factory that ... your mother died in." He started to weep in her hands, "and my father may have given you that scar. How can you want to marry me after this? I may be the son of your mother's murderer!"

She jerked and went numb, staring sightlessly into the night. 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Dil Chahta Hai (2001): "Tanhayee"


	44. Kyun Main Toofaan Se Darun, Mera Saahil Aap Hain

 

  


The glinting shards and snatches of broken dreams strafed her.

Zoya remembered that exact moment when, just a few months ago, they had walked in on his Abbu in the ruined factory. His back was to them, digging. He was trying to re-bury ... 

That was Ammi? ...

Ammi! 

A silent scream ripped through her leaving her gasping for breath. 

... all my life ... yearning for you ... not knowing where you were buried … ? You were there? Right in front of me like some discarded ... limp doll ... paved over like common trash ... 

I was there? … in that searing heat ... left like trash ... no one to hold me ...

Ammi! 

The numbing cold ... he was there ... unburying her ... his bloodied fingertips ... crying out her name, reviving her, holding her ... brushing the dirt from her face ... carrying her ... tears running down his face … wiping her tears ...

 

Zoya saw his head in her lap. She felt his hot tears on her hands and snatched them away. 

His heart cracked. 

Asad reeled from her withdrawal. He knew it. She hated him. He had gambled; and lost. He raised his leaden head. That night, all those years ago, may have forged their bond in tears and terror; it would be deliberately hacked on the eve of what would have been the happiest day of their lives.

 

She wiped her hands by her side, then ran them through his hair. Zoya bent to kiss the top of his head. 

     He looked up in shock, "Zoya?" 

She was crying too. 

     She wiped his tears. "Asad, just hold me, please." 

He surged up to sit next to her and wrapped her in his arms gratefully. Healing in each other's arms they sat huddled together, silently, for a long time. 

     He pulled her into his lap, raining kisses on her head, "what are you made of? How can you get past this?"

     She looked up at him, and held his face in her hands. "Did you kill my mother?" 

He knew what she meant and opened his mouth to argue with her. She hushed him with a finger on his lips. 

     "But your scar!" His hand stroked her arm to remind himself of the uneven bumps under her sleeve. "It must have hurt so much!"

Asad began to weep for her.

     "Shh, it's a part of me and I don't even think about it anymore. I don't remember the pain." She held his face, "but the pain this evening was more real. I thought it was over between us." 

He squeezed his eyes shut and she sucked his tears. 

     "I never knew her. She died so long ago. All I have of her are the nightmares and the scar. I have her earrings, an old saree, a music box and some letters which are gone now." She stroked his cheek and kissed his chest. "You make those nightmares go away and make me feel beautiful despite my scar." Zoya kissed the side of his neck, "who held on to my lost earring? You." She kissed him on the other side, "I wore that saree when I tried to seduce you, but failed miserably." 

Asad smiled at the memory and lifted her face to brush her lips with his. 

     "You didn't fail, I was already smitten, just not ready to admit it," he whispered. 

     "How many times did you save me? Who took care of me when we found out about my Abbu?" She pulled his face down and kissed his eyes and cheeks. "And if all you say is true, can't you see, we're even!" 

She held up his palm to show him his scar before kissing it. 

     "Zoya, you are so incredibly crazy," he moaned through his tears, and kissed her tenderly. "How can you make such beautiful and magical sense of this horror?" 

He continued to kiss her hands, head, stopping to peck the tip of her nose. 

     "Because you are here, in my arms, crying for me and loving me. I've already lost her. Why would I turn away from the best thing that happened to me?" 

Setting her down on the bench, Asad slid down on his knees again and took her hand in his. 

     "Will you marry me even if this is true?"

She nodded eagerly, and he slipped the ring on and kissed her finger. Zoya urged him up and kissed him greedily wanting to make up for so many lost hours and a lifetime's worth of heartache. 

  


They sat there immersed in one another for heaven knows how long, kissing away each other's tears.

     She sighed, "Asad?"

     "Hmm," he brushed his lips on her temple and noticed that her eyes were moist again. "It was killing me to think that you would hate me for being my father's son."

     She placed her hand on his mouth. "I could never hate you. You are my rock, my dua." 

He kissed her desperately, a man past drowning. 

     "And I don't hate your Abbu either. I've wanted my Abbu for so long, will you share yours with me?" 

Asad nodded in awe. What was this woman made of? How could she not hate him, he wondered. 

     "If it was between his child and my mother," she was wracked with sobs again, "… thank god, Najma is safe. Who does something like that? Oh god, I hope I don't ever resent her. Could I resent her? I love her so much." She rambled, but really was just begging to be reassured. 

His heart caved in. 

     Asad held her, his own throat tight with tears, "never! If you don't hate my father who was an adult, then how could you resent a baby? But if I was in your place I may not have felt the same. You're something else." 

She burrowed in his chest and continued to sob. He soothed her by stroking her back and arms.

 

Finally, she sat up and wiped her tears and his. Zoya played with the collar of his kurta. Her hands fluttered restlessly. 

     "What is it, baby?"

     "I started my period today." And she burst into tears all over again. 

He felt her pain of loss, more so because she had faced it alone, without him by her side. They had become attached to the idea of babies. Asad held her tighter, tucking her head in the crook of his neck, cradling her. 

     "So what? We'll keep trying. It's a good thing you're not pregnant, we can have more fun trying."

     "But tomorrow's our wedding night!" 

He chuckled. 

     "Well, it's a good thing that we didn't wait then right? Imagine if we hadn't already made love, how miserable we'd be!" 

     She smiled at that too. "We can still try ..., " she whispered hopefully.

     "Won't it hurt?" 

     "I don't think so ..."

Asad laughed grabbing her to his heart again, but quickly sobered. 

     "When did you find out?"

     "After ... I removed the mehendi." Her throat tightened again. His own eyes moistened.

     "I wish I was there to hold you and tell you how much I love you." Asad cupped her face in his hands and kissed her eyes and cheeks. "I'm sorry to ruin the ceremony and hurt you so much. I was slowly dying inside thinking I had already lost you," he kissed her palms and fingertips, and breathed in the fragrance of her mehendi nuzzling her palm. "How can I make it up to you?"

     "Kiss me, love me forever." 

     "I will. All night. All my life."

Asad lifted her in his arms. It was getting late. 

     "Why are you so heavy all of a sudden?" 

     Zoya punched his shoulder and kissed his cheek, "it's this ridiculous lehenga that probably weighs twenty-twenty five pounds." 

     He walked toward the door. "How many Kgs is that?" 

He waited while she bolted it from the inside. 

     "Umm, I don't know, about ten I guess?" 

They talked in hushed tones. He carried her to his room. 

     "So when you're pregnant with Zaid, is this how much you'll weigh?"

     "Maybe. Maybe more." 

Asad laughed softly and bent his head to nudge her nose with his.

     "What if we have twins? I want twins!" Zoya whispered happily. 

He gulped audibly and she laughed, giving him a fierce hug after securing his bedroom door from the inside. 

     "Why are you so worried? You won't have to carry them!" 

He set her down and kissed her. 

     "I would." Asad's hand curved over her flat stomach, "in a heartbeat." 

     "I know," she held his face in her hands, "but," and she slid one hand down to stroke his taut stomach, "that'd be hell on those Jahanpanah six packs that I've drooled over forever." 

He threw his head back to roar with laughter. But she covered his mouth with her hand, "Mr. Khan! Shh!" and his chest rumbled from suppressing it.

     "I feel grubby. I want a shower," she said a little later.

     "Unnhh!" he protested now kissing her ear and neck.

Zoya pulled him by his hand.

     "C'mon Jahanpanah, take your mallika to the hamam and shower her with some ishq and aashiqui." 

     "You've been watching that show on TV, right?" 

He tugged at her dupatta and she helped him unpin it letting it slide to the floor. 

     "Umm hmm," she started to unbutton his kurta. "Basic research to understand the life and times of the original Jahanpanah!"

Asad's laughter rumbled through her hand on his chest. 

     "But," and she placed her hands on her hips huffily, "I better be the only mallika in the harem, or the Jahanpanah won't have a seventh pack left." 

He doubled over with silent laughter. 

     "And besides, you owe me."

     Asad straightened up and sobered in a flash, "I know, I'm so sorry for earlier." 

     "No! You couldn't find your name in my mehendi, remember?" 

     "Your permanent initial on my palm doesn't count?" 

     "Mr. Khan!" 

     "OK, OK, mallika sahiba, lead the way."

     She raised both her arms like a child. "No, Jahanpanah, carry me," Zoya ordered.

Asad chuckled and scooped her in his arms to gently set her down on the edge of the tub. 

He turned on the faucets in the shower cubicle and adjusted the temperature. By the time he was satisfied, she had undressed. He helped her in and undressed to join her. Soaping each other erotically was soon abandoned. With the jets spraying against them, he backed her against the wall, hitched her up and mounted her as she wrapped her legs around him. 

     "Look at me," he ordered. 

They gazed into each other's eyes until they couldn't anymore, surrendering and crashing into a powerful keening climax. 

     "Zoyaa!" 

He buried his face in her neck as she arched it against the wall, trapped between the slick tile and his thundering heart. 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Unpadh (1962) "Aapki Nazaron Ne Samjha"


	45. Aa Sajda Karoon Main Tere Haathon Mein

 

 

 

Tanu was a content woman. Her gamble had paid off. But she couldn't resist one more pay out. It was too tempting not to attempt it. 

Yesterday she had waited outside his office in a burqa. When he got out of the car, she saw that he was accompanied by some minion deferentially holding his phone and papers while updating him on today's meetings. 

She walked up to them. 

     "Maaf kijiyega?" She lifted her veil which still partially covered her face from the nose down. 

He halted. 

     "Mujhe aapse zaroori baat karni hai." 

     "I'm sorry," he pointed to the person with him. "Please take an appointment." And he started to walk away.   

     "It's very private."

He pivoted on his heel. 

     "How dare you? I do not entertain women like you!" He stalked off. 

     "Not even when it is about your daughter?" He halted and asked his assistant to go on ahead without him.

     "What do you mean?" Siddiqui barked through clenched teeth. "Has something happened to Humaira?" He clutched his heart.

     "I mean your long-lost daughter. I have some information that might interest you." 

Gaffoor Siddiqui felt the ground shift under him. His face softened for a second. 

     "What do you know about it?" He wasn't going to pretend that he didn't know what she was talking about. A guilty part of him always yearned to know what had happened to the daughter he had abandoned and neglected years ago for fear of upsetting the gilded apple cart. 

     "Can we speak more privately?"

 

An hour later they were seated in the deserted coffee shop of a 3 star hotel. Here he would be anonymous and the meeting still private. 

     "So please tell me what you know," he inquired right after their drinks were served. 

Tanveer removed a bundle of letters and photographs from her bag and passed them on to him. He unsnapped the frayed rubberband and looked at them. Siddiqui's hands stilled and he pressed a hand on his mouth.

     "Where did you get these?" Tears fell down his face. "I wrote these so long ago ..."

     "They were my mother's. She died a long time ago and this is all I have left of her. Her relatives brought me up. I've been searching for my father for years."

     "Oh my god, you are my daughter?" 

Tanveer lowered her gaze and nodded. She brushed a finger under an eye.

     He looked at her in amazement. "For so long I wondered what happened to you. You must hate me for what I did." He couldn't believe the rush of guilt that washed over him. He never knew that this would affect him so. How could something from the past—? Siddiqui groped for her hand. "Beta please forgive me even though I am not worthy of it. I've wronged you." He was moved to tears. 

She remained silent. 

     "Let me make it up to you."

She shook her head.

    "Come home with me and live as my daughter so that I can make up for my sins." 

     Tanu feigned more tears and sniffled miserably. "I'm sorry Abbu, that's not possible. You see, those relatives I talked about were not the best people. He was abusive and I finally had to run away from home to protect my honor." She cried bitterly. "It was terrible. But sadly I couldn't save myself from this cruel world which thinks of single, young and family-less girls as meat to claw." She sobbed harder. "Main apke pyar ke layak nahin hun, Abbu." 

     He swallowed. "No, beta, don't say that!" 

     "No, it's true, you see ... I am pregnant. They ... raped me." 

He reeled in horror. 

     "I don't want to bring any dishonor to you, Abbu. I'm just glad to be able to call you Abbu and have you call me beta." She cried some more. 

He felt terrible and yet oddly relieved. He wouldn't have to confront his wife who'd be furious. That made him feel even more guilty. 

     "I would have never come to you, Abbu. But I need your help, now that my pregnancy is progressing."

     "Don't worry about it beta. I will take care of everything." He fumbled with his phone and punched in some numbers. "I will have papers drawn up so that you can move into one of our flats in a project that was just completed. It's all yours. I will also create an expense account for you." 

     "Thank you, Abbu. At least I'll be able to live with dignity. But I don't think the expense account is such a good idea." She wiped her tears and spoke softly. "People at your office may begin to suspect something and I don't want your honor and reputation to be called into question because of me. It would kill me." 

She sniffed again waiting for him to take the bait. 

     "OK, I see what you mean. You're such a good person. Your mother was a good woman … she'd be so proud." He thought a bit. "Here's what we'll do. I will give you a lump sum of Rs. 1 Crore and that will keep everyone quiet." 

     "Ji Abbu. Jaisi aapki marzi." 

     "Theek hai, beta. Come to my office tomorrow at around 4 PM and I'll have the house papers and keys, as well as the money ready for you."

     He looked at her with regret. "I wish I could have done more."

     "No Abbu, this is more than enough." She bowed her hear and lowered her gaze demurely.

     "Can I keep these?" He asked about the packet of letters and photographs.

Tanveer thought about it. They'd already served her purpose, she didn't need them any more. 

     "Waise to yeh Ammi ki aakhri nishani theh ..." She let the sentence trail, hoping to milk him for some more. 

     He took off his heavily embossed emerald ring, and placed it in her hand. "This is for my grandchild who I will never know. Allah Hafiz, beta. Apna khayal rakhna." And he left with the bundle clutched tightly in his hands. 

Tanu gripped her hands in delight and exulted over her easy victory. Now she was all set; she already had her ransom from Razia. She hugged herself.

Maybe she could try one more gamble, but she'd give it some more thought.

 

Leaning against the door frame, Asad had watched her hurry to her room in his borrowed t-shirt and sweats with the bundle of her clothes tucked under her arm. With one backward glance and a flash of her smile, Zoya ducked into her room. He had suggested that she leave them here; after all she would be moving in tomorrow anyways. 

But she had said no. What if someone saw them in his room?

He had sighed and turned around to get ready to sleep for a couple of hours before everyone woke up.

Languidly he had stretched out on the bed and turned to his left. He had put his hand out to stroke the empty side; from tomorrow he would always turn to see her by his side. 

Smiling, he got up to offer a prayer of gratitude. 

 

At the breakfast table Asad waited restlessly for her to appear. Everyone was bustling about. Jeeju and he were the only ones seated. The women were rushing about in the kitchen, or from the kitchen to the table. They were chattering about what still needed to be done.

But no Zoya. Where was she? He was embarrassed to ask anyone. His fingers itched to text her, but before he could, Aapi put a hand on his shoulder.

     "Aur intezar nahin hota?" she teased.

He blushed. 

     "Zoya won't come."

His heart plummeted. 

     "Is everything OK?" he half rose in panic.

     She laughed and patted his back. "Haan dulhe miyan, sab theek hai." She poured some juice for him and handed the glass to him, "you can't see her till before the wedding." She pinched his cheek playfully. 

He felt deflated. Relief and disappointment warred in him. 

Jeeju looked at him in amusement. "Last few hours of bachelorhood, my friend. Enjoy, relax, and then forever hold your tongue." 

Aapi swatted his shoulder and everyone laughed. 

     But Anwar was just getting warmed up. "I see a lot of Dhoni worship, empty pizza boxes, half-burned cakes, loud action movies and ... pyaari si shayari in your future." 

He choked up. 

Aapi rested her hand on his shoulder and wiped her own tears. 

    "Anwar, don't you dare make me cry today. I'm saving that for tomorrow." 

Asad raised his coffee cup in silent salute to his future brother-in-law already looking forward to a lot more besides that. He felt emotional himself. Thank god she had Aapi and Jeeju's fiercely protective love growing up. No wonder she had grown to be so strong and beautiful. He felt tears prickle his eyes as they locked with Jeeju's. Anwar nodded, knowing that he wouldn't have to tell Asad to take care of their baby. He already was doing such a fine job of it. 

 

They heard the rumble of motorcycle engines and Asad's heart lifted. The twins were here! Najma ran to get the door, and he smiled. 

The door to Zoya's room opened partially. He could see her shadowy outline behind the frosted glass. She was jumping up and down in agitation. 

     "Aapi, not fair! I am hungry and bored and everyone else is having fun!"

Aah, if only he could march into her room, slam the door shut, scoop her into his arms and breathe in her scent. Just a few hours more, he consoled himself. 

Omar and Ayaan spilled into the room dumping their helmets wherever they landed. Zeenat squealed and Dilshad laughed. 

Zoya harrumphed in frustration and slammed her door. 

     "Tum dono aate ho, to lagta hai ki zindagi aa gayee," gushed Dilshad. 

Omar was hugging Jeeju and Aapi kissed him on his forehead. 

     Dilshad brought Ayaan forward. She was straightening his shirt and fixing his hair and he was resisting the clean-up. "Zeenat, Anwar, kal acche se nahin mila payee thi, yeh mera chhota beta, Ayaan. Looks like he slept in these clothes but we still love him."

     "Raabert?" Anwar asked and Ayaan's eyes twinkled. 

     "Ji, aur aap Mona Darling ke Hitler bhai hain, shayad?"

Anwar roared with laughter.

     "Bhai, humnein to suna tha ki Hitler aapke bhai hain!" 

     Ayaan loved him already. "Theh, par ab nahin hain. Ab inke par kaat diye gaye hain and he's cuddlier than Winnie the Pooh." 

Asad turned beet-red and lunged to grab Ayaan who easily dodged him, having played this game a hundred times before. He went in search of food. Najma was already heaping their plates. He parked himself at the table. 

     "Wash you hands at least," she scolded him.

     He wiped them on the side of his clothes and held them up to her for inspection. "Pass?"

     She blew her breath out and rolled her eyes, "fail, but here you go." 

     Zoya's door opened again, "AAAPIII!"

     "Ya allah, yeh ladki," lamented Aapi. 

     She looked apologetically at Dilshad. "Mujhe maaf kariyega Aapa, par yeh toofan ab aapke hawale karti hoon." 

Both Dilshad and Asad smiled at the truth of the statement craving to be the permanent recipients of Typhoon Zoya.

     Anwar interceded, "Zeenat, khabardaar jo mere cheetah ko toofan kaha toh. She is much bigger than a toofan, she is a firestorm." He bit his tongue in anguish, just realizing what he'd said. Aapi's eyes filled and Asad's blood ran cold. 

Anwar covered his face in shame. 

     Dilshad looked at them fearfully. "Zeenat...?" 

Asad was the first to recover. He put his arm around their shoulders and herded them away from the others.

     "Don't worry, Jeeju. Main apke toofani cheete ka poora dhyaan rakhunga! Zyada garajne ya barasne nahin doonga," he soothed. 

     Anwar breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed Asad by his waist gratefully. "Koshish aachi rahegi beta, but I can guarantee 100% failure. Been there, done that."

They laughed.

 

But typhoon Zoya was still bubbling and boiling, frothing and fuming. She hated the solitary confinement. Everyone was outside having fun without her. They were all laughing and yucking it up, and here she was under room arrest. 

    She opened the door again and yelled, "OMAR!!!"

Omar chuckled, grabbed his plate out of Najma's hand, winked at her and went to entertain the queen bee.

     "Coming, Mallika-e-Hind," he groused. 

Asad blushed remembering her words from last night. He ducked his head when he saw Jeeju look at him quizzically. 

Anwar had never seen a grown man blush this much. Aah, to be young and in love. 

Shukranallah!

Ayaan loaded on more food, tucked napkins and soda cans under his arm, and followed Omar. Dilshad shook her head as she saw him drop napkins and spoons in his wake. Najma grabbed her own plate and ran in after them.

The door closed behind them. 

 

It was Asad's turn to feel left out now. They were all seated in the living room having coffee and tea. 

     Aapi patted his knee in commiseration. "Mere saath bhi aisa hota tha. These two would live in a bubble in which I was never invited. There were jokes that I never got, and they talked in some kind of coded language where I was sure that they were making fun of me." 

     Dilshad rushed to reassure him, "don't worry, the girls will be here soon, and Zoya can have them and then the boys can join you." 

He didn't have the heart to tell her that the boys would rather be with the girls, himself included. 

     Anwar smiled smugly. "Yeah, there was a code language and I will make sure to pass it on to your kids, because summers they will be spending in New York." 

No way! said Asad to himself, not without their parents, they won't.

     Anwar looked at him knowingly. "I know," he said softly. "It was really hard for us to say yes to her coming and living here on her own. Thank god, she found wonderful people like you." 

I wasn't wonderful to her initially, Asad thought with a pang. You don't know how badly I treated her, he wanted to say and beg for forgiveness. 

I put her in harm's way ... 

I hit her for shielding my mother ...

I may have gladly left her in jail for protecting my sister ...

If anyone treated my daughter that way … I'd kill him!

Asad ducked his head, heavy with remorse. Thank you, Ammi and Tamatar for looking after her, because I kept driving her away. 

 

Today was such an emotional roller coaster ride, thought Asad. His blood ran cold again as he thought of seeing Zoya for the first time at the Dargah, dressed as someone else's bride. 

He had very nearly let her get away from him. 

Asad excused himself and went to his room. He wanted to offer prayers once again. 

As he kneeled with the handkerchief tied on his head, the words from the sufi Qawwali at the Dargah from that day echoed in his ears. Those words from when he'd looked up and first seen her. When he had fallen irrevocably in love and asked for something even without knowing it ... 

     "Meri minnat pe karam tera agar ho jaaye,

     Toh yahin poori meri Eid ki mannat hogi"

This words foretold today.

Ammi had asked him about the wedding preparations and if he wanted something special added to the ceremony. Asad had only asked for the troupe from the Dargah to sing that Qawwali tonight. 

He was blessed; the gloom had parted to make way for love and hope. He did have his heart's desire; he couldn't have asked for more.

And she would be his bride tonight. 

 

 

Song in Title:

Fiza (2000), "Aaja Mahiya"


	46. Aaj Kitne Haseen Hain Sitam, Shukriya Meherbaani Karam

 

 

After lunch, the girls shooed the men out of Asad's room to supervise the decoration of the room for the wedding night. 

Zoya was at the parlor with Aapi. She'd gone very reluctantly. She didn't want to miss any fun that everyone seemed to be having without her. It was all so unfair that she couldn't enjoy the fun at her own wedding. Then, she also missed her Jahanpanah. But somehow, by tacit understanding, they had refrained from texting or talking to each other today. 

More to savor each other after the ceremony. 

 

The girls were giggling, blushing, and cracking jokes in whispers, so the workers wouldn't hear them. Ayaan and Omar trooped in through the window to sit on the sill.

     "So girls, what's up?" quizzed Ayaan impishly. 

     "Ayaan!" squealed Humaira happily, "what are you guys doing here? You should be keeping Asad Bhaijaan company." 

     "Asad doesn't want our company. He sent us to supervise y'all so that you don't over do the girly stuff," lorded Omar. 

Asad had said nothing of the sort, but Ayaan nodded his head in agreement. He walked over to grab the guitar from its stand. 

     "We'll go, if you want?" Omar asked sweetly, his head tilted to the side.

Ayaan was not happy with this. He frowned and was about to thump Omar's back for even bringing it up, but was saved the hassle.

     "No!" Najma shouted, and then blushed, "it's OK, you can stay and help."

     "Ohhh really?" teased Nuzzhat. "Fat lot they'll help! They'll only get in the way."

     "That's OK, Nuzzhat," Humaira butted in, "we'll be fine. May be the guys can ..." she looked around the room. Bhaijaan's room was too neat and tidy. Not a smudge or speck of dirt anywhere. What work could she assign these two?

     "I know," chimed in Ayaan, "I'll play music while you girls finish up."

     "Great!" smiled Humaira. 

     "And Omar can help Najma make the bed with these sheets that Badi Ammi gave us," came Nikhat to the rescue. 

     Omar looked at Nikhat gratefully. He would have suggested the same if she hadn't mentioned it. "Just for that, Nikhat," he whispered in her ear, "I'll leave you in peace and won't bug you about my awesome cousin." 

     She laughed and said an exaggerated, "thank you, Allah miyan!"

Everyone laughed at how easily Zoya's pet phrase had become a staple at the Khan house. 

     "And remember, Omar," said Nikhat playfully, "this is a test. You better pass with flying colors!"

     "I'll ace it with flying, soaring, squirting colors!"

     "Haaaw," went Humaira and Nuzzhat.

Najma blushed. 

 

Asad kept looking at his watch. Damn, still so much time left. He was also worried for Zoya. He wouldn't be completely at ease till she was back home, safe. Tanveer was still out there and he didn't trust her vindictiveness. He'd had extra security placed around the house at his father's behest and also sent a bodyguard with Zoya and Aapi. Some gut instinct had told him to continue having her followed. Till Tanveer left the city, he would not relax his guard.

As if on cue, his phone rang. 

The PI.

     "Yes, Rakesh?"

     "Mr. Khan, I already emailed you a detailed report, but just wanted to touch base. I know this is an important day for you, you must be busy."

     "Thanks, I appreciate it." And he did. Thank god for Rakesh. The man was a lifesaver. "So what do you have for me?" Asad stole another look at his watch.

     "Miss Tanveer has been quite active since she left your house. You can check the photographs I sent. And the factory that you asked me to look into? Owned by an S. Siddiqui. It was hard to pull out the name because it was buried behind layers of dummy corporations. I'll be sending you more details as I get them. I also wanted to congratulate you on your wedding today." 

Asad thanked him and went to retrieve his laptop. He needed to see what Rakesh meant about Tanveer's activities. And it would distract him from looking out for Zoya every other second. 

 

Asad's room was a beehive of song, dance and laughter.

Omar was teaching Najma some dance step, his arm around her waist, looking into her starry eyes. Ayaan was playing the guitar, his foot propped on the settee and Humaira was looking up at him adoringly. 

The workers were nearly done with the strings and garlands of white flowers around the bed. Asad blushed just looking at it. He turned his face away in embarrassment. Damn, his sisters were here. 

Ayaan pounced on him.

     "Bhaijaan," he hollered. 

Omar and Najma jumped apart. 

     "See how much work we've done for you. Aap toh aaj ke baad humein bhool jayenge, but you have to treat us to a lavish party afterwards."

     Nuzzhat rolled her eyes. "Ayaan Bhaijaan, the Waleema will be the party." 

     "No! That'll be all boring, grown ups, Indian clothes, Indian food. We want to go to a club and go dancing all night long." 

     The girls squealed and shouted with delight. "Yes, yes, please Bhaijaan," pleaded Najma the loudest. 

     But Nikhat was the first one to sober them up, "Taya Abbu and Mumani would never let us do that."

Humaira nodded glumly.

     "Besides," Omar piped up with a devilish gleam in his eye, "Asad and Zo may not want to stay the night up  _with us_." 

     Asad's face flamed. He grabbed his laptop and fled from the room after mumbling, "shut the hell up, Omar." 

Raucous laughter followed. 

The siblings were in complete awe of Omar. After Zoya, he was the only one who could stand up toe to toe to the Mukka. And if they wanted to go to a club, Omar would be the guy to wrangle a way in for them. They crowded around him begging him to think up a plan. He stretched out on the settee like a maharaja.

     "Hmm, I will need some adrak chai and mirchi pakoras to jumpstart my brain."

Najma smiled. She moved to go to the kitchen but Omar held her wrist.

     "Ooh," cooed Nuzzhat and Humaira.

     Ayaan kicked Omar's foot with his own. "What the hell, man?" 

     "What?" Omar asked, too innocently, "can't I be romantic with the girl I'm going to marry?"

The room erupted in claps, cheers and squeals. 

 

Asad heard the noise outside and smiled.

     He looked at Anwar, "it's time to talk to Omar's parents." 

Anwar nodded eagerly. He'd caught the sparks between the two. Zeenat had been ecstatic that her trickery had nudged not one, but two kids into matrimony. She already had plans for Nikhat. 

     "Main Zeenat ko bolun Hana se baat karne ko?" Anwar offered. "She will be very happy."

     "Who?" asked Asad in jest, "Aapi or Omar's mom?" 

     Anwar laughed, pleased to see Asad lighten up with him, "Zeenat even more than Hana, I'm sure."

     Dilshad pressed a hand to her chest, "please Anwar, one child at a time." 

 

Asad had opened the report by now and was frowning. 

Why had Tanveer gone to the Siddiqui house a few days ago? He also saw an address to a prestigious office complex listed as one of her later visits. If he wasn't mistaken, the Siddiquis had their head office in that building. He remembered that the name on the factory was also a Siddiqui. He couldn't understand how Tanveer was connected to all this. 

This was not good.

The report included a photograph of a woman in a burqa talking to Gafoor Siddiqui. It also indicated that the two had then met later at a coffee shop. Another couple of photographs and a recording were attached with the document. Rakesh's email explained that the woman in the burqa was Tanveer—his guys had followed her from her hotel.

The skin on the back of Asad's neck prickled. What was her new con? He called the bodyguard to ask about where they were.

     "We're on our way," the man answered, "and, so far so good."

He breathed easier. Next, he called the investigator.

     "Those photos in the restaurant? Get me enlargements of the papers they're looking at." 

He paused to listen as Rakesh told him that Tanu had just left the same office complex with a rolling bag. Asad disconnected the phone and went back to watching the brief video. Although the conversation couldn't be heard, he could see the clear sequence of events. It had to be blackmail. She had done it before. 

He began to pace, his brain processing details a mile a minute.

     "Kyun bhai, itni bekaraari? She'll be back soon." Anwar teased.    

     Dilshad's phone buzzed. She looked at the screen, "Asad, Zoya aa rahi hai. Go to your room now." 

Thank god! He sighed in frustration and longing, but got up to obey Ammi. 

 

In his room the teasing and chatter was still afoot. He still avoided looking at the bed but watched them all from the door. They didn't know that he was there. Only Nikhat knew and she smiled as Asad put a finger to his lips.

The girls were trying to convince the boys that they had just eaten lunch. How could they want pakoras right now? 

     "Because we feel like it. We are manly men with big appetites, who can eat whatever, whenever," explained Ayaan.  

Ayaan was also trying his best to rattle Omar about Najma, but the latter was unshakeable.

     "Bhai ko yeh love story ke barey main pata chalega, toh Omar ka kachoomar bana denge." 

     "Asad already knows." Omar countered, admiring his fingernails. "Or at least he guesses."

Najma had gone pale with anxiety.

     "And he's going to be too distracted anyways," Omar assured Najma.

     "Then it's OK," Ayaan kidded, "the wedding cards will say Tamatar weds Jhoomar'." 

The girls laughed and Najma threw a cushion at Ayaan. Asad had one ear trained to the main door. He heard Zoya come in and everyone exclaim in the living room. He breathed a sigh of relief and gently closed the door. 

     "Nahin, bhaijaan," gushed Nuzzhat, " it'll be like they do with celebrity couples, like Brangelina, they will be Tamatomi'!"

     "Sounds like an Italian dish," scoffed Ayaan.

     "So that's fine," spoke up a serious Nikhat with a deadpan face. Everyone looked at her. "Italian food uses a lot of Tamatar!" 

Asad smiled. 

Everyone loved it, mostly Omar.

     "And Omi likes tamatar, specially in Italian food," he said, sealing the deal.

Nuzzhat nudged and elbowed a tomato-red Najma.

     "And besides, you guys are trying too hard," grinned Omar. He'd seen Asad in the doorway and couldn't resist. "I've heard much worse. Your nicknames for me are too tame. My friends in school used to say Omar with a bon-"

     "OMAR!" bellowed Asad. He was squeezing his temples in despair. Omar shot up from the settee and chuckled unashamedly. 

Asad looked at him, trying his best to threaten him into silence with his narrowed eyes. But Omar was Omar. He shrugged and settled back down.

     "Girls go to Zoya's room, she's back."

     "Bhaijaan, I hope you didn't sneak a peek." Nikhat teased. 

     "No," he said shyly.

     "Aw, you should have," said Nuzzhat.

     "Dekh lenge, dekh lenge," Ayaan bantered boldly. "Why else have we worked so hard to decorate this room for the newlyweds? Ek doosre ko dekhne ke liye hi!" 

The girls giggled, took a last look around the room and began to leave. The workers had already left, having completed their work unsupervised with the six of them underfoot. 

The only thing these kids had done was heap a pile of rose petals in the middle of the bed in the shaper of a giant heart. 

And this was after the longest argument of whether a heart was too cheesy. 

Why not just petals randomly strewn on the whole surface? Not as obvious. 

But this was the bridal bed and everything about it was meant to be obvious, right? 

     "So should we make a giant square in the middle of the bed? Ayaan had mocked. 

     "Perfect image for Asad," announced Omar.

     "Hah, good luck getting all the sides perfect," kidded Najma. "And till it isn't perfect, Bhaijaan won't do anything else."

They'd doubled over with laughter at that. Nikhat had covered her eyes in embarrassment but grinned nevertheless. 

And then there was a period when Ayaan had showered a blushing Humaira with the petals after which he and Nuzzhat had engaged in a petal fight. The heart shape was decided upon due to necessity. All clumped together they didn't look as wilted as they did randomly strewn about.

And besides, Zoya would love the over-the-topness of the heart.

     "By the way, you guys did absolutely nothing," Nuzzhat glared at Ayaan as the girls filed out under Asad's watchful glare.

     "And wow, you did so much!" He retorted throwing up his arms in the air. 

He tried to follow them out but Asad slapped him upside his head.

     "Bhai," he rubbed his head.

Asad turned around to yell at Omar for his corrupting influence. But Omar had already sneaked out of the window and was slouching just outside, one hand in his pocket. He looked Asad dead in the eye, made a lazy peace sign with his free hand, and pushed off.  

Asad couldn't help laughing aloud. All of a sudden he had a vision of Najma's toddler sons: miniature goons with baseball caps turned around, tiny high tops, and butt cracks peeking through saggy baggy pants. 

 

 

Song in Title:

Duplicate (1998), "Mere Mehboob, Mere Sanam"

 


	47. Ek Dil Ne Seekh Li Hai Batein Sufiyana

 

 

 

Zoya was in a Zen state.

For the first time, for as long as she could remember, she craved solitude. She didn't mind that the chillar party was not around her, or that she wasn't plugged into her iPad or iPod. She twirled around the room on her toes, stretched out on the bed, and breathed deeply.

In a few hours she would be Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan. She swished and swirled the name around in her head. 

Nah! Not Mrs. Too Auntyji types. 

She rolled over on her stomach propping her chin in her hands. 

Maybe Ms.? But Asad already called her Ms. Farooqui. Should she be Zoya Khan, Zoya Farooqui-Khan, or to just stay Zoya Farooqui? Damn, why didn't men have to figure these things out. But one thing was decided: she would only allow Mr. Khan to call her Mrs. Khan. And on special occasions only. 

Zoya turned to look at her bridal dress. A magenta lehenga with a navy border and a full sheer-sleeved blouse laden with kundan and seed pearls threaded through silver and gold work. She touched and hugged the bridal dupatta that Phuphi had given her. A heavy diamond jewelry set from Aapi and Jeeju, and millions of glass bangles and gold bracelets crowded the dressing table. Allah miyan, would she even be able to take two steps in all this? What if she tripped? She felt panic rise in her. But Mr. Khan would be there. She smiled.

She looked around the room. 

Her eyes fell on her mother's jewelry box. Sitting up, she reached out to pick it up and place it in her lap. She touched the earrings for good luck and slipped them on. Next she picked up the spherical music box and opened it to listen to the familiar haunting melody. 

Zoya fingered the two dancing figures lovingly. 

     "Ammi, Abbu, I'm getting married today to the best man in the whole world. I wish you were here. You would see how much he loves me." 

Her tears fell on her hands. 

On her ring. 

She stroked it and touched her hand to her heart, bowing her head in silent gratitude and prayer.

A little later she got up to pack her bags and smiled. Allah miyan, how many times had she packed her bags to leave this house! She did something that annoyed his holiness, and then he yelled at her through gritted teeth, and she packed.

She even left sometimes. 

And then he brought her back after much gritting of teeth and clenching of fists.

Zoya grinned, hugging herself. She reveled at the thought of those teeth on her neck and those fists in her hair.

And now to find permanent residence in his room. Hah! Jahanpanah never stood a chance. Zoya Farooqui Khan kucch bhi kar sakti hai! 

There, that had a nice ring to it. 

She put her parents' mementoes aside. She needed to dance some more.

 

By the evening the entire house was abuzz, although only close family had been invited. They could invite half the city for the Waleema later, Asad had told his mother; but the wedding he wanted strictly family only. With Tanveer on the prowl, he didn't want to risk any threats or unknown circumstances beyond his control. 

Today the security had been tightened, more so than other days. Tanveer's photograph had been circulated among the security personnel and female guards had been appointed to identify women clad in burqas.

He was not going to let that woman within a five-mile radius of his home and family. Asad still shook in angry horror whenever he remembered how narrowly Zoya had escaped serious injury. How dare she! In front of his eyes! 

His blood ran cold. 

Tanveer was a scorned and desperate woman, and would do anything to get back at them, Zoya in particular. 

Over his dead body.

 

That night at the Khan Villa, lights twinkled and glowed, camera flashes worked overtime, heaps and strings of fragrant flowers carpeted and draped every visible surface inside and out. 

Rashid's eyes teared up as he entered with Shireen and his Ammi by his side. There was much to be grateful for. He lovingly carried the sehra that he would tie for Asad. The kids were already parked at the Khan house. To see the childen's bond getting stronger was indeed a treat. For the past three or four days they'd hardly seen Ayaan and the girls because they'd been permanently camped out here. They were welcomed warmly by Dilshad and introduced to Zeenat and Anwar. Gifts were put away, drinks offered and they were all seated as guests of honor. 

The troupe performed the Qawwali and Asad's heart felt full. He wore a raw silk navy sherwani, starkly elegant, without any frou-frou adornment. Ammi had forced a black brocade-edged stole on him, "lagna chaiye ki tum dulhe ho," she had scolded. 

Ayaan was more flamboyantly dressed in a maroon sherwani and Omar was resplendent in white. 

 

The musicians began playing the shehnai.

Asad took his place, heart hammering and eyes searching. Rashid and Anwar stood by him along with the beaming Qazi. Through the sehra and the sheer curtain, Asad saw Aapi and Ammi escort Zoya, while the girls held the bridal veil over the small procession. 

He watched her come closer and closer.  

Before they came to seat her opposite him however, Nuzzhat and Najma jumped in front of Zoya, barring her from moving forward. Humaira joined them too.

Everyone stilled. This was new and off-kilter. 

Asad nearly slapped his forehead. His siblings had gone completely mental. He was surprised Ayaan and Omar weren't up there with them. But Ayaan and Omar were right next to him enjoying this spectacle.

     They stood up to bait the girls, "Hey ladies, get out of the way. Stop being annoying kabab mein haddis."  

People sniggered. 

     The girls weren't to be cowed. "First, Bhaijaan has to pay a ransom, only then will we release his bride."

Dilshad was alarmed. Oh my god, these kids would offend the elders and ruin everything. She looked at Badi bi. 

Badi bi was laughing in delight. She was thrilled to pieces; in her village, the girls' side would do something similar to delay the nuptials. In fact they would hold back the baratis with sticks adorned with flowers till they were paid up.

Dilshad looked up apprehensively at Qazi saheb. He looked placid enough and was even smiling. She breathed a little easier. 

     "What nonsense!" exploded Ayaan. "You are the dulha's sisters not the mafia, or even from the girls' side for that matter!" 

Zoya was loving this and giggling while trying to hold onto Aapi's arm; Zeenat was just as frazzled as Dilshad by this unexpected derailment.

     "Whatever, we aren't moving till we get to collect a toll tax."

     Omar piped in, "they are absolutely right, Ayaan. After all they are getting a brand new bhabhi who might torture them and make them work as maids and slaves. They are totally entitled to a  _troll_ tax!" 

     "Omar!" 

Everyone turned to look in amazement at Nikhat. 

She draped the bridal veil over her arm, and came forward to stand next to the girls. 

     "Stop giving our bhabhi ideas! What if she doesn't let any of her nanads get married because she gets addicted to having us as her maids!" She admired her fingernails imperiously, "especially her favorite nanad?"

She looked up at him, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised in a challenge. 

      "Meri Maa," Omar helds his ears in apology. 

     "Aur shayad saali, aur bhabhi bhi, nahin?" she teased him, cocking her head to the side. 

He joined his hands together and bowed his head before her in supplication. Omar loved that she was teasing him this time about his cousin. 

Asad looked up from his hands which had been clutching his head in despair a second ago. 

Someone had just shut up Omar? 

Nikhat?

Subhanallah! 

A bemused Qazi saheb was shaking his head now. More weddings? Wonderful! 

The grown ups were laughing, and Zoya was trying to look over her nanads' heads to see how Asad was surviving this improvised interruption.

Someone started clapping. Asad turned around and saw his father beaming proudly. Shireen, Anwar and Badi bi also joined in appreciating the youngsters' spunk and playfulness. But for Rashid, just to see Nikhat stand tall like a lioness, made his eyes moist.

He gratefully emptied his pockets, Anwar and Asad too, and Omar chipped in some crumpled Dollars and Rupees. 

Ayaan held up his empty pockets in triumph. 

     Omar thumped his back, "saale, teri bhabhi ko hostage banaya hai!"

He loved calling him saala.'

     "Chup oye, tainu jeeja kinne banaya, bhutni ke?" he taunted his future jeeja. 

And that's when the wrestling started.

The photographer and cameraman captured this on film for posterity. 

Oh god! This time Asad did slap his forehead. The mashed mogra flowers released the most divine aroma. He couldn't even yell at these two clowns. It was his wedding for god's sake! And the six mental dwarves were busy doing dash mein bumboo left, right, and center!

He sighed blissfully. Six months ago, he couldn't have imagined something like this happening at his wedding. He would've been livid. He might've even delivered a stick-up-his-butt tehzeeb-lecture that Zoya teased him about.

But now? Now he was just happy enough to land on his feet each time Zoya or the munchkins threw him a curveball. And he looked forward to a lifetime of this madness and mayhem.

Rashid and Anwar broke the demented groomsmen apart and returned to the money collection, still laughing. 

This wedding was turning out to be the most glorious circus.

Meanwhile, Badi bi made a big show of removing her rings and bangles, Shireen gleefully followed suit, and the ransom was paid off. Badi bi decided instantly that this would be a new family rasm for future weddings.

The loot gathered in Nuzzhat's dupatta, the girls finally parted to let Zoya come forward.

They seated her opposite him, low-fiving their bhabhi to be. It had been her idea after all. 

He should have known. 

If it wasn't Omar, then it could only have been Zoya's masterplan.

 

Her face was covered with an ornate veil. The girls adjusted it and her lehenga as each one hugged her. Dadi stepped forward to kiss her on the head and bless her.

His heart was full and eyes damp. 

She'd said they were even. 

But he knew that they would never be so. 

She didn't know what she had given his family, and he knew how much his family had taken away from her. 

 

The ceremony was simple and elegant. The fathers' names and Mehar were read, and verses from the Quran repeated. Asad was happy and honored to hear Jeeju's name as her adopted father's name.

The parents had tears in their eyes. Aapi was close to sobbing. Zoya had to hold her hand in both of hers to calm her down. 

Assured of the groom's consent, the Qazi then put forth the proposal to the bride.

     Reading aloud her full name, he asked "kya aapko yeh nikaah qubool hai?" 

He waited for her consent. So did everyone else with bated breath. 

Omar sniggered, and Asad smiled and shook his head, knowing exactly what she was up to. 

He felt exhilarated. 

Aapi, on the other hand, was having palpitations. Ya Allah, yeh ladki! She nearly groaned. Not again, please god, not again. 

     She shook Zoya's hand hard. "Zoya," she whispered angrily, "I will kill you." 

Anwar wiped his brow, but he had a little more faith in Zoya than his wife.

     "Zoya!" hissed Aapi, nearly apoplectic.

Zoya giggled. 

Asad grinned.

     "Qubool hai!"

He could hear the million giggles in that voice. 

Ayaan and Omar whooped. And the room exploded in spontaneous laughter, cheers and applause.

     "Mubarak ho," everyone called out. 

 

They were fed sweets. And then, one by one, Dilshad, Badi bi and Shireen came to kiss her head and offer blessings. 

Aapi was sobbing in Omar's arms.

     Anwar walked over and patted her shoulder, "Issme rone ki kya baat hai," he joked tearfully. "Iss wale room se use room mein jaa rahi hai!" 

While the rest hugged and exchanged greetings, Zoya lifted her veil to sneak a peek at her newly-minted husband, and he lifted the strands of his sehra to look at her.

She gasped with delight when he winked at her.

Nicely done, Mr. Khan! Just for that he'd get some extra sugar tonight. 

She blushed. 

Asad rose to take blessings from Dadi, Aapi, Shireen and finally Dilshad. He hugged his mother who was crying softly. Asad lifted the sehra so that she could kiss his forehead and pat his cheek. His own eyes moist, he wiped her tears. 

Someone tapped his shoulder. Asad turned around to see Zoya. 

     "Can I hug my Ammi too?" she asked cheekily. 

Dilshad smiled through her tears and hugged Zoya tightly to her heart.  

Zoya sobbed now. Finally, something she had yearned for all her life: she was in her Ammi's arms.

 

Dilshad led her bahu to the couch and signaled Badi bi and the girls to join her. They wiped her tears and fixed her makeup and veil. They kissed her cheeks, but then they had to wipe off the lipstick marks. More hankies were produced.

By now Zoya was giggling. 

Dilshad gave a jewelry box to Dadi, who placed it in Zoya's hands. 

     "Yeh tumhare liye, hum sabki taraf se." 

Zoya looked at Badi bi shyly. Her gifted earrings she had already worn at the mehendi function. 

     She asked Dadi, "yeh aapka hai?"

     Badi bi nodded. "Tha. I wore it for my wedding and then gave it your mother-in-law for hers." 

She beckoned Asad to sit next to Zoya.

Dadi went on to supervise their feeding each other sweets. They blushed feeling embarrassed being the center of attention. Their breaths quickened with their lips brushing against each other's fingertips. 

Afterwards, Dadi directed him to remove the necklace Zoya was wearing.

His fingertips brushed against her nape and she blushed again. The necklace was placed in a box that Aapi was holding. 

     Through tears in her eyes she said loudly enough for the whole room to hear, "I'll save this for your godh bharai ki rasm!" 

     "Aapi!" Zoya whispered, mortified more so for Asad than herself. She knew he would be beetroot-red by now.

Everyone laughed. 

Asad was already regretting that he'd removed the sehra and that he had nowhere to hide. But as he concentrated on the image of a pregnant Zoya, he smiled.

Dadi next gave him the ornate necklace she had worn at her wedding, given to her by her mother-in-law. He leaned in to fasten it around his wife's neck under the dupatta. She could smell his cologne and feel his breath on her as both his hands moved to her nape to fasten the necklace. She dared not look into his eyes for fear of not being able to look away.

He took his time adjusting it in the back, and then the front, making it just right, centering, patting it in place, and then unsnagging it from her dupatta.

With bent gaze and reddening cheeks, Zoya smiled. Trust his OCD to kick in. But she didn't mind. She could sit here all night. Oh well, may be not all night. She flashed her eyes at him and he pulled his hands back.

The room erupted in laughter again.

     "Bhaijaan, it's still not straight," teased Ayaan. 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Qubool Hai (2013) "Kalma Tere Naam Ka"


	48. Koi Kalma Mohabbat Ka, Dohrate Farishte Hain

 

 

 

 

They had teased while arranging and modeling her on the bed.

Zoya had let them.

Once they left her alone, she'd rearrange herself her way. 

Najma draped her ghunghat over her face and placed her arms artfully on her bent knees. Humaira had lovingly fanned out her lehenga on the bed after readjusting Najma's work. She had even lifted the lehenga's edge slightly to show off her hennaed and bejeweled feet.

So Bollywood, Zoya thought. She would kill them if they brought in a glass of milk in a brass tumbler. 

     "Tamatar, I can't see anything," Zoya protested.

     "You don't need to see anything. This is for Bhaijaan's eyes only." 

Everyone, including Zoya had been hit by a giggling fit.

Najma wanted the ghunghat to be a foot long, Humaira wanted only the eyes covered up. "Let Bhaijaan see just her lips when he enters." 

     "Haaawww! Enters!"

Squeals and oohs and aahs followed. 

Zoya was suddenly rolling on the bed wheezing with laughter and clutching her stomach. These sweet adorable fools! 

     "Zoya Bhabhi!" the girls scolded. "You've ruined all our hard work, now we'll have to redo everything." Nuzzhat pointed to the decimated floral heart.

     "Oh god!" giggled a breathless Najma, "now Bhaijaan will spend the entire night fixing the heart like the necklace!" 

     "Only if he doesn't die of embarrassment first," snorted Zoya. 

That set them roaring and rolling again.

     "OK, let's mess with Bhaijaan," said Nuzzhat as she deliberately made the necklace hang unevenly.

     "Great," Najma clapped her hands in delight, "between the heart and the necklace, Bhaijaan will be up till the wee hours of the morning!"

     "Haaawww! Up!" roared Nuzzat. 

Even Zoya was rendered speechless by all this x-rated frivolity as she continued to twitch on the bed in merriment. This was such fun! She loved having brand new siblings. 

 

     "Yeah, let Asad know that Zoya Farooqui's in the building," drawled Omar. "Oh, my bad, I mean Zoya Khan. Or should it be Asad Farooqui? I don't know, I can't tell any more." 

The girls gasped in embarrassment. Ayaan and Omar had been slouching on the windowsill, but for how long? 

     Now Ayaan punched Omar's shoulder. "Ay, apne saalon ki izzat karna seekh pehle!" 

     "Kis saale ki izzat karoon?" The girls laughed; Ayaan still didn't get it. 

     Nuzzhat was now enacting how Bhaijaan would come, sit by her side, lift her veil and say a romantic dialogue like, "Inn aankhon ki masti ke, mastaane hazaron hain."

      Zoya guffawed inelegantly, "mujra chal raha hai kya?" and slapped her hands away. 

Nikhat had unsuccessfully tried to repress all this bawdy behavior and rowdiness. But she was having the time of her life too. She hadn't laughed so much. And, she was thrilled that the two families were closer than ever. A chulbuli Zoya Bhabhi and spicy Omar had added that extra tadka to the mix. She loved how confident these two were in their own skin. 

Maybe, just maybe, one day, she would be like that too. 

 

Dilshad and Aapi came to the door to hurry them up. In rapid motion, the heart was haphazardly reset, the lights romantically dimmed, Zoya's ghunghat and lehanga rearranged, and her arms splayed uselessly on her knees. 

She rolled her eyes under the veil. Allah Miyan, what's wrong with these people! All this drama would make Asad run away and hide for sure. She had no intention of sitting on the bed like a mannequin, awaiting her bashful groom's touch. 

Finally the door closed after them. She raised her ghunghat and glared at the boys. They mercifully skedaddled out the window.

She got off the bed and shook herself off. Bending down, Zoya smoothed the creases on the bedcover. There, that would make Jahanpanah much happier. She giggled to herself. Poor Mr. Khan, there'd be no respite now. How would he handle the musibats and messes in his life now! 

 

Five minutes later a blushing Asad was forcibly pushed into the room and the door was slammed shut amid a lot of ribald laughter. Dilshad and Aapi could be heard shooing them away, but a shadowy, whispering clump remained by the door. 

This was beyond humiliating thought Asad. He didn't dare latch the door because he knew that the lunatic-laughter brigade was camped just outside.

He turned around and his heart stopped.

No Zoya. 

The empty bed was draped with garlands of fragrant mogra flowers and covered in a giant lopsided heart. God, how embarrassing! They may as well have placed neon arrows pointing to the bed. 

Shrugging off his stole, he went to the restroom. She wasn't there either.

Where? He turned around in alarm and saw a flash of pink under the window shrinking behind the console table by the settee.

     "Zoya?"

He rushed to kneel by her on the floor, heart in his mouth, worried that something was terribly wrong.

Her hands were covering her face. Was she crying?

     "Are you OK?"

She nodded yes.

     "What happened then?" he asked softly.

     "This is too embarrassing," she muttered.

     He laughed with relief. "I know!"

Asad too settled down next to her, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Sighing, she slid her hands off her face and leaned her head on his shoulder. He kissed the side of her head. 

     "They are still at the door, right?" she whispered, already knowing the answer.

     "Umm hmm. Idiots!"

     He rested his cheek on her head, "Omar is a terrible influence on my goofball brother and sisters."

     She chuckled. "Good, they need him to take the edge off your Akdu influence on them." She laced her fingers with his.

     "Ms. Farooqui!" He said in mock anger.

     "Mrs. Khan!"

     "I forgot. Mrs. Khan." He rolled the words on his tongue and savored their sound.

     "Mr. and Mrs. Khan," he intoned softly, tightening his grip on her hand.

     "Hiding by the settee," she songsonged. "Not K-I-S-S-I-N-G ?"

He laughed. 

     "I love you, Mrs. Khan." 

     "I love you more Mr. Asad Ahmed Khan," she competed. 

They sat in peaceful silence soaking in their first married moments. 

     "You know what's going to be even more embarrassing?" he teased gently, a little later. 

     "Unh hunh?" 

     "Tomorrow morning, when we come out of the room." 

     "Allah Miyan!" Zoya gasped. She hadn't thought about that. "They're all going to look at us and just know what we did." She covered her face with her hands again. 

Asad pulled her in his lap. 

     "Little do they know ..." he whispered in her ear, his breath fanning her neck and giving her goosebumps. He fixed her dupatta and straightened the necklace. 

She rested her head on his heart and giggled.

     He lifted her chin, "my beautiful bride."

     She wrapped her arms around his neck and nudged his nose with hers, "my hunky husband. All mine, forever."

They kissed slowly, sealing many an unsaid vow.

Zoya rested her hand on his chest and put her ear to his heartbeat. Asad kissed the top of her head again. 

He loved holding her in his lap, breathing in her scent, stroking her arms and hands, stealing kisses. 

They heard some rustling ... more whispers. This was followed by slapping sounds and people being shushed just outside the window. 

Someone was yelling at them. 

Nikhat? Good girl. 

     "Those morons," groaned Asad. 

Zoya's laugh was muffled in his sherwani.

He reached out awkwardly to the top of the console and grabbed a remote to slide the heavy-duty, double-lined drapes closed over the arched picture window. 

 

They settled back against the wall.

Asad lifted her palm to kiss it and traced the hennaed filigree with his finger. 

     "My name in your mehendi? Did you tell them where to write it?" He asked a little later.

Zoya smiled and nodded her head. 

     "Then, even without looking, I know exactly where it is."

     She gasped and then grinned. Looking up at him, she asked for formality's sake, "where?"

     "Will I get a reward?"

     "Maybe."

He watched her dimples deepen. Asad whispered hotly in her ear. She blushed and nodded a yes. Lifting her hand to brush his lips seductively over her palm, he pressed his thumb at the bottom of her ring finger. 

     "It's here isn't it?" He scraped his thumbnail below her engagement ring and she gasped.

     "You peeked yesterday!"

     "Never! I don't lie."

     "Mr. Khan, you lied once! And there's a coin in that drawer that proves it."

     He leaned his head back. "OK, that once. But that was for a great cause. Even Allah forgave me that!"

She kissed his cheek.

     "Zoya?" 

     "Hmm." Tucked in the crook of his neck she was thinking of how many times she had landed in his arms on this settee. 

     "I know I should've asked you earlier, but there was so much going on. Where do you want to go for our honeymoon?"

     "Nowhere."

     "What! Why not?" 

     "Asad," she twisted to frame his face in her hands and looked into his eyes, "I'm home, this is where I want to be. All my life, I yearned for a mother's love, a one true love, and a large family. And I have it all now. Why would I want to go away anywhere?" 

     "But I want you all to myself without my lunatic family at our heels."

     She rested her forehead against his. "Hey, my lunatic family too now!" She scolded him. He frowned. "OK, tell me, what did you have in mind?" 

     "Umm, ... voh ... actually ..."

She loved this man so much! Zoya waited for him to get over his shyness.

     "Umm," he stuttered. She rolled her eyes and grinned, but then leaned to kiss his eyes and nose.

He found his voice and flashed his eyes at her. "Since we can't stay holed up in this room for days, I thought I'd take you back to Ajmer, Jaipur and Agra. I wanted to erase every sad memory and create new ones together." 

He was greeted with silence. Worried, he bent to look into her face.

     "That, Mr. Asad Ahmed Khan," she said through tears, "is the sweetest, kindest, and the best gift you could've given me."

     He wiped her tears and brushed his lips across her mouth. "I saw your tickets to New York that day in your room. You were going to leave me." 

She buried her face in his neck remembering the day they had returned from the trip and her determination to leave as soon as possible because she couldn't bear to see him get married to someone else. 

 

     "I love you so much, Zoya," he hugged her tight. "I still can't believe we're married."

     She kissed him back. "Believe it, Mr. Khan," and then she sassed impatiently, "now, can we please get started on creating our suhaag raat memories?" 

His laughter rumbled through his chest. She rose and gave him her hand to pull him up. Zoya began to drag him by his hand, and was suddenly slammed into his chest only to be crushed in his arms. He kissed her, molding her body to his.

     "Dance with me, Mrs. Khan." Asad whispered in her ear. 

She looked up at him in surprise knowing how much he hated dancing. Taking her hand he twirled her around till she was breathless. He pulled her to him, gazing into her eyes with hot promise, and kissed her slowly.

Then he twirled her some more. 

He crashed her back against his chest and held her by her waist, both swaying slightly to an unheard melody. Zoya turned in his arms, rose on her toes to lick down his throat, and felt the flash of smoldering awareness ignite between them. 

     Trailing her finger down his cheek to his lips, she whispered, "shaadi Mubarak ho, Jahanpanah."

     "Aapko bhi, Mrs. Jahanpanah!" Snagging her gaze, he sucked her finger. 

Her body jolted. He hissed and bent to capture her lips with his, plunging his tongue in her mouth to seek out hers to tease and taste it. Zoya moaned in the back of her throat. He backed out and she came seeking his tongue now. Asad let her dominate and explore while he ran his hands over her back and waist dragging her closer to him possessively.

     "Zoya, I missed you so much today," he groaned when they came up for air. "A whole day without one glimpse or a word from you. It was torture. I want you right now." 

Her breath hitched. Eyes locked with his, she unpinned her heavily embroidered dupatta from her head and let it trail over one shoulder. She then turned her back to him and pulled her hair to one side, offering herself up in surrender.

He ran his finger over the curve of her ear, down her neck. 

Zoya shivered.

His finger continued to trace the outline of her blouse's neckline. Her skin tingled. Asad dipped his head to lick and nip along the same path. As she arched, he slowly undid the top dori that held the two ends of the blouse together with his teeth flicking his tongue out to lick her. His hands quickly took care of the other two strings below. 

     "Asad," she moaned and swayed with longing as he dropped openmouthed kisses along her back. With his thumb he traced the ridges along her spine from her neck to her lower back as he reached the top of her lehenga. He lightly ran his fingers all along the edge of her waist.

Zoya shuddered with sensations rioting through her.

As his hands met in front, he let his thumb skim her navel; she arched her back and rolled her head on his shoulder. He sucked the curve of her ear after licking its outline, and she moaned harshly. Excruciatingly slow, his hands crept up her stomach to span her waist and then move up her ribs to cup her over the blouse. With deft flicks and strokes of his thumbs he brought each tip to pebble through the brocade. Unable to take the slow torture any more she turned in the circle of his arms and hid her face in his chest. 

     "Shy, Mrs. Khan?" he asked lifting her chin.

She nodded, her lashes brushing her heated cheeks. He stroked her bare back and kissed each quivering eyelid. Their breaths mingled. 

     "What if they hear us?" 

     Crooking his finger under her chin, he whispered huskily, "let them hear their Bhaijaan make love to their Bhabhi."

Her eyes widened and desire pooled between her legs. That shy and "voh ... main ... actually" Mr. Khan was gone. In his place stood her husband—hard, and proud, staking complete claim. 

She sighed in contentment. 

And then she opened her eyes to look at him saucily. Slowly she peeled the blouse off, tugging it over the tinkling bangles and letting it drop to the floor. A few bangles slid off her wrists too. One broke … the others spun and danced. 

Asad stood bewitched.

Refusing to let his gaze skitter away from hers, Zoya draped her dupatta modestly over herself. Her bangles clinked musically again. 

As his gaze travelled below, his breath caught at the sight of her bare curves peeking through the shimmering and studded dupatta. He took a step forward. Still gazing unblinkingly into his eyes, she slowly took one back. He held her wrist and pulled her to him. Asad could feel her heart hammering. Lifting her in his arms, one hand against her bare warm back, he headed toward the bed.

 

     "Mrs. Khan, your lehenga must equal the weight of twins this time."

She chuckled. 

     "Mr. Khan," she said indulgently, "I'm loving your sense of humor."

     She parted the floral drapes for him as he placed her on the bed and sat by her side. She held his hand. "Will this be my side of the bed?" 

     "No. This is my side."

     "Oh really? Tonight this'll be my side," she teased. He frowned and she smiled wickedly, "don't pout baby, it can be your side too, I'll just be on top!"

His breath hissed. 

Asad leaned over her till she was on her back, her head on his pillow. This sight. He would never forget how she looked on his bed, hear head on his pillow. Their bed now ...

     "Jahanpanah would like that," he retorted, and bent to swirl his tongue and suckle her hard through her dupatta, "a lot." 

Zoya's hennaed hands tangled in his hair as she bowed backwards helplessly giving him better access. Her legs bent at the knees and she clenched her thighs.

Raising his head and looking intently into her eyes, he flung the dupatta off. Asad picked up a fistful of rose petals and showered them over her. She crossed her arms and covered herself shyly as they rained down on her. His breath caught looking at her stretched on their bed, heavily bejeweled, partially nude. 

This was better than any fantasy.

He took her hands in his, interlaced his fingers with hers, and dragged them to pin them over her head. 

     "You are such a goddess," he breathed, and bent his head to kiss his way down her body.

 

He proceeded to worship her body with his. She got her turn later when she eventually mounted him, laden only with jewels, to brand and possess him. 

Clothes shed, he hadn't let her remove any of her jewelry, even though it ocassionally scratched him and chafed her.

Only Dadi's rani haar heirloom he'd ordered removed. 

     "Don't want my ancestors in bed with us," he'd muttered.

Zoya had laughed softly and his heart soared.

To replace the necklace, he made her wear his gift to her: a delicate pearl and diamond high collar. It hugged her slender neck intimately and undulated each time she swallowed.

She had swallowed. 

     "Zoya," he'd groaned, looking into her eyes, thumbing her wet lips.

 

At his insistence, she had moaned and hissed the name of each piece of jewelry on her body. Asad lovingly kissed it, and stroked and stretched the skin under it with his charged thumb pads. Her hisses inflamed him further. His hands, a goldsmith's caress, sculpted and burnished her skin.

Her pajebs tinkled against his thighs. 

The kadas and bangles, anchored by jeweled webs on her hands, chimed on his chest.

He traced the baajubandh on her scarred arm, gripped her to lean over him.

     Through teeth gritted with desire he promised, "tonight, I'll mark you with my love."

     He'd laughed when she retorted a breathless, "bring it, baby!"

Punctuated with her breathy commentary, the rhythmic soundtrack accompanying their lovemaking became infinitely more erotic and urgent.

Their eyes locked and neither was able to pull away. 

He intertwined his fingers with hers, and rested her hands on his chest, stroking them with his thumb through the kundan hathphool. Leaving her bangles jingling and bracelets rustling on his chest, Asad reached out to hold her by her swaying waist spanned by a gold kardhani; its tasseled and belled edge slapped against his thigh musically as her breasts bounced.

He pulled her to lean over him. Her hair draped over them as her tight nipples brushed against his chest. Her eyes drooped close and lips parted. He couldn't decide if he wanted her clawing at his nipples or—

Asad arranged her hands on either side of him on the bed; he needed to pull her closer and they were getting in the way.

One hand couldn't resist tracing the studded nosering hoop linked by a slender chain over the shell of her ear. Or, splay across the spangled jhoomar draped over her temple and tangling in her hair.

Female jewelry had never aroused him as powerfully as it did tonight.

He watched smitten, as Zoya placed her gemmed hands on his chest now and arched her back taking him in more deeply. She ground against him, kneading her sweet spot. He watched, mesmerized by the flushed face thrown back, the parted mouth, and her eyes clenched shut in ecstasy. 

Asad ran a languid hand down those parted lips, to her neck, skimming her cleavage, pausing to cup her, then move further down to her navel, to finally span and gather her wildly bucking hips to his.

But it was the sight of that heaving necklace at her arching, moaning throat, the tiny jewel swinging against the hollow of her neck in sync with the dancing earrings that sent him completely over the edge.  

"Aasaadd!" She cried out savagely as he exploded and emptied deep into her.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Jodhaa Akbar (2008), "Inn Lamhon Ke Daaman Mein


	49. Dhadkan Se Tej Daudun, Sapno Se Aagey

#### 

 

     "Oh my god!" she gasped, "it's almost 7:30!" 

Zoya had looked up at the clock after a hard and fast sensuous session of wake-up lovemaking. Her eyes had popped open on their first morning as a married couple as she felt him push and move inside her.

     "So?" Asad pulled her to him to spoon her. 

He pushed her hair away and looked at the bruises on her neck and licked them. 

She bucked and hissed.

     "No, no, no! So embarrassing if we woke up late and everyone was already outside." 

Zoya struggled to disengage herself and rose to get up, but Asad wouldn't let her go, trapping her under his hard body and inspecting her neck. 

     "Are you going to wear jeans today?" he asked, just to make sure.

Where did that come from? But a part of her loved that question. Her Jahanpanah did accept her as herself. Awesome!

     "I wish," Zoya groaned. "But no, I plan to wear a heavier-than-Kevlar suit to face the firing squad." 

     "Good!" She was going to have to cover up with a dupatta anyways. One more love bite wouldn't matter. 

He sucked. Hard. 

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan!" 

Oh god, she'd married Count Dracula not Jahanpanah! She twisted his nipple painfully and he yelped.

     "Shh," she put her hand on his mouth. Zoya giggled and escaped. She ran to the restroom to quickly freshen up and shower, and came out with a towel wrapped around her. 

     "Uh oh." 

     "What?" Asad looked up sleepily. He rose up on his elbows and slow smile spread across his face. He half-lunged to yank her towel off.

     "Stop it, Mr. Khan," Zoya tried her best to growl at him. "I forgot to get my bag from my room. I don't have anything to wear!"

     He laughed. "Don't wear anything, come to me."

Oh god, this was the worst thing that could happen to her. Now what? 

     "Mr. Khan, can you text Phuph— I mean, Ammi to leave my bag by the door?"

     "No." 

     "Mr. Khan!" She stomped her foot.

Now leaning back against the headboard, hands behind his head, he looked at her in amusement. 

     "Mr. Khan has left the building." 

     "Asad! Asad, please," she remembered and begged.

He got out of bed and stretched. She got distracted momentarily.

Focus, Zoya, he's just messing with you, knowing you'll salivate over this vision of sculpted nakedness. 

She turned her back to him. As he neared her to go to the restroom, she moved to the far corner and jumped over the bed to grab his phone. Asad shook his head in mock disappointment and closed the bathroom door after him.

Oh god, what to do? Najma? So embarrassing! How would she be able to look at her after? 

Ammi would be the best. 

     "I left my bag in my room. Can you leave it by the door? Please! Zoya," she texted.

The phone showed a new text message received. She opened it eagerly.

     "It's already by the door." 

There was a smiley face at the end.

Thank god Ammi, you're the best! And thank god, it didn't feel as embarrassing as she thought it would. 

Zoya looked at the phone in her hand.

Hmm, her husband needed to be punished for being so unhelpful.

 

Asad came out. 

Still unclothed. 

Oh c'mon, at least tie a towel around your waist! 

     "Texted her?"

     Zoya was distracted. "What? Oh yes, Ammi said it's right outside. Can you please grab it?"

     "No." 

     "Mr. Khan, you are SO mean!"

He grinned and went to his closet to get his clothes ready. 

     "OK, don't. I'll step out and grab it." And she started toward the door, securing the towel tightly at her cleavage. 

He grabbed her from behind, as she knew he would, and pinned her against the wall. 

     "You're not going out of this room dressed like that!" 

     "Oh really? And how're you going to stop me?" 

He ripped the towel off her and flung it across the room.

     "Asad," she groaned in frustration and longing. "Please let me go."

     "No," and he bent to suck her neck and kiss her lips. 

Lifting her, he entered her and her head fell back. He rolled and rotated his hips and covered her mouth with his hand as her moans became louder. 

By now she had wrapped her legs around his waist. 

He carried her to the bed and laid her on her back, still keeping them joined.

     "Scream my name," he whispered. 

     "No!" she gasped in horror.

     "You did last night! Several times if I remember correctly," he gloated.

Zoya blushed furiously. 

     "But everyone was upstairs then!" she hissed back. "Now everyone must be in the kitchen or the living room." 

     "See? That's why we need to go on a honeymoon so that I can hear you scream my name out loud, day and night." 

He crept his hand between their bodies to stroke her intimately. She bit her lower lip, her hips betraying her and swaying in abandon. Asad bent over her, palms on either side of her face on the bed, and whispered hot threats and dirty nothings in her ear, driving her crazy with each thrust. She bit her knuckles to stop her cries. 

As they came, he chewed her shoulder.  

     "You may as well stay in the room today. You're in no fit state to go out in public." 

She'd seen herself in the mirror and knew what he meant. The jewelry rubbing against her skin had already done a number on her. And then there were the countless bites that he had lovingly peppered her with.

     Asad bit her ear. "And you have no clothes to wear! Unless," He traced a finger down from her neck to her navel, "you want to go out in my borrowed clothes again?" 

She slapped his hand away. 

     "You know, you will pay for this, Mr. Khan!" 

     "Umm hmm, looking forward to my punishment." He winked at her. 

She raised herself on her elbows and laughed. 

     Batting her lashes at him she taunted, "oh you poor deluded fool! Feeling so confident of yourself, hmm?" She fell back and let her hands slide up his chest to his shoulders, "haven't you heard of women going on sex strikes to punish their husbands?"

     "Nooo!" He looked at her in horror. "You wouldn't!" 

     "I might."

He grabbed her discarded towel, wrapped it around his waist and rushed to jerk her bag inside. 

It was her turn to lean against the headboard, arms behind her head. 

     "You know what, I think I will borrow a shirt of yours." 

And Zoya sashayed over to his closet, grabbed a snowy white dress shirt to slowly slip it on. 

She buttoned it partially and began to roll up the sleeves. 

     "Zoya," he growled in alarm, "aren't you going to get dressed and go out?" 

She looked delicious in his shirt though, the hem skimming across her creamy thighs. 

     "You go out first, and then I'll follow 5-10 minutes later so that it doesn't look too obvious," he pleaded. 

Poor proper Jahanpanah, always making plans. Terrified of spontaneity, her husband. Not when Zoya Farooqui, no, Zoya Khan, was here.

     "Nah!" she finger-combed her hair now and tried to pile it on her head in a knot; it slid down messily. 

His eyes dragged to the jiggle under the shirt. 

She could see his Adam's apple bobbing, and smiled. 

Zoya hopped on her side of bed, and heard his breath catch. Her dimple deepened. She patted the mattress, knelt on it to test it, crawled on all fours, bare ass waving at him. A giggle escaped when she heard a definite moan.

     She stretched out seductively, "hmm, this side _is_ better." 

His mouth was hanging open in lust and alarm. 

     "But what'll they say when we go out? Babe, it'll be so embarrassing," he croaked. 

She stretched her arm out and admired her ring. 

     "I'll just tell them that you refused to let me go. From under you! I'm sure everyone will understand."

Asad slapped his forehead. 

     "No!"

She would do it too. 

He scrambled to the bathroom to shower and get dressed. Zoya hopped off to get dressed too and was out of the room before he stepped out.

Gotcha, Jahanpanah!

 

When he came out he saw her gone and grinned, already missing her. 

     "That trickster!" It had taken him half way through the shower to figure out what she'd been up to.

He looked at the shirt she had discarded at the foot of the bed and put it on. It smelled of her. Asad took a deep, content breath. Glancing at the rolled up sleeves ruefully, he shrugged. Never had he rolled his shirt sleeves so messily. In fact, come to think of it, he never rolled up his sleeves. Shaking his head, he grabbed his phone.

And did a double take. 

The wallpaper on his phone now sported his artfully posed, nude wife winking at him. 

     "Zoya!" he muttered with delight and exasperation.

And of course, she had locked the settings. That's what happened for messing with a tech wizard. God knows what verbal password she had used this time. Could it be the same one as before? He tried the old one: I'm sorry, Zoya. 

Nothing. 

I love you, Zoya.

Bingo! But when exactly had she recorded that? Sorceress!

 

Asad had informed his lawyers to file a case against Tanveer for assault and blackmail the same day she had viciously attacked Zoya. The police had taken her in for questioning yesterday, and she was beginning to feel the pinch of uncertainty and niggle of fear.

Damn, why didn't she leave when she had the chance? There were no two ways about it, she would have to contact Imran to bail her out. Didn't he have an uncle in the police force who could make things go away? But getting hold of Imran wasn't easy. He was blocking her calls. He had been rude and abusive when she did track him down on the landline.

Desperate now, Tanu had told him about the money.

     "It's your baby, you have to help me out!" she shrieked.

He was in no mood to entertain her demands. 

     "I don't believe you. It could be anybody's," he retorted. "Don't ever call here again, you hear?"

     "I can pay you Rs. 1 Crore!" she had whispered, terrified he'd hang up on her. 

     "Stop lying and tricking me, Tanveer. You were always begging me for money. Where did this come from?"

     "Umm, I got it recently," she mumbled. 

Now she had his attention. 

Things weren't going well for him at all. The civil cases against them and his newly unemployed status had crippled their financial and emotional dignity. 

     "Imran, get me out of here and I will pay you handsomely!" She hissed. "Get your uncle to work some magic." 

     He laughed sarcastically, "what uncle? He's in a bigger mess than us. Damn that Asad Ahmed Khan!"

     "Please Imran! We can get married and go back to Kanpur. My factory is still profitable. We can start a new life there." 

She didn't want to reveal anything about her recent windfall, or the new flat. 

     "We'll be rich," she lured him desperately. 

     He sighed. "Which police station are you at?" 

 

Ammi and Aapi were supervising breakfast. The men were in the living room with the TV blaring when Asad stepped out of their room  Had they turned up the TV volume deliberately?

     He was reminded of his friend from college who joked about his newly married brother: "when you heard the loud music, you knew they were doing it." 

Oh god! He squeezed his temples and looked around at the crowd.

Suddenly these kids were early risers? When had they even come? They hadn't spent the night here.

Thank god, the girls were nowhere to be seen. He guessed they were all pestering her in Zoya's former room. He tried to sneak on to the living room couch, hoping to unobstrusively pick up the newspaper and pretend being there for sometime. 

     "Bhai!" exclaimed Ayaan. 

There goes that, Asad thought. 

     "Sleep well?" 

His face flamed. Asad nodded, not trusting his voice.

Omar sniggered half-heartedly. Asad glared, and then winked at him. 

Omar's mouth hung open. 

Hah! He had figured out how to one-up Omar. Be even more shocking and besharam.

But Asad noticed that Omar looked distracted today and didn't have his heart in the leg-pulling. 

Hmm, what was up with that? 

 

     "So Bhabhi?" Nuzzhat elbowed her in her ribs. 

     "Ouch!" yelped Zoya, and then went tomato-red and covered her face.

     "O U C H? Ooh, was Bhaijaan too rough?"

     "Nuzzhat!" Nikhat slapped her thigh and glared at her while biting her lips to hold her smile. 

Oh god, since when had they all become so besharam and badtameez?

The girls were in splits. 

Well, not Najma though. Zoya sobered up. What happened? 

     "Bhabhi why aren't you wearing any jewelry? You're a newly-wed now," asked Humaira. 

     Zoya blushed harder. "Umm, I forgot. I'm not used to wearing jewelry." 

She remembered last night. Her skin was still sore in places where each piece of jewelry had grated, without mercy, on her undulating body. But then she remembered Asad's hands on her body … his mouth, his—

     "Tamatar, what happened, you're so quiet?" she needed to change the subject ASAP. 

     Zoya held her new sister-in-law's hand, "you look upset." 

Najma bowed her head and a few tears slipped out. 

     "What happened, baby?" Zoya was really worried now. All lust and blushes fled.

     "Did you have a fight with Omar? I will kill him for you." 

Najma shook her head no.

     "Then what is it?"

The other girls were worried too. Nikhat was stroking Najma's back and Humaira was kneeling by her side. Nuzzhat got her a glass of water. 

     "He's leaving tomorrow at midnight." 

     "Midnight? He's Cinderella?" teased Zoya.

Najma burst into tears. 

     "Aw, poor baby," Zoya hugged her tightly. 

     "It'll be OK, I promise. He must have told Uncle and Aunty about you, right?" 

     Najma shook her head again. "He says he'll do it when he gets back home."

Zoya wiped her tears and lifted her chin. 

     "And he will. He's not the shy or timid types as we already know by now." 

The girls nodded eagerly to confirm this.

     Nikhat stroked her arm now, "Najma, don't worry, he's hopelessly in love with you. Are you scared they won't approve?" 

Now she nodded yes. Fresh tears fell. 

     "There must be so many smart Indian girls in the US. What if they think I'm too dehati, or too fat, or too dumb?" 

     "Hutt, pagal!" interjected Nuzzhat dismissing her worries. 

     "How dare they think that? We will do dash mein bumboo, if they do!"

     "Haaaw!" went Humaira.

Najma giggled. 

     Zoya pulled her chin again. "They think the world of Aapi. And she'll talk them into it if they have any problems. But," and she kissed Najma on the forehead, "they won't. They'll fall in love with you at first sight, just like their idiot son did!"

Najma flashed her eyes at her.

Zoya laughed. 

The door flew open and Ayaan came booming in. 

     "Girls, stop your khee-khee nonsense and come outside. Badi Ammi is calling everyone for breakfast."

They all noticed that Omar was not with him. That in itself was a red flag. 

The girls filed out, each thinking how to make the lovebirds happy. Zoya was the last one out. She was dreading running into her husband. She would combust into a fiery pile of embarrassed ashes if he so much as looked at her. 

And by now he must have seen the gift she had left him on his phone.  

 

Omar was at the table, brooding. 

Zoya saw Asad at the head of the table, arms folded across his chest, same shirt she had worn for two minutes, sleeves still rolled up. 

Oh god, if they'd been alone, she'd have launched herself into his arms and kissed him breathless. She would have mounted him right here and screamed his name out loud and begged him to come inside her.

Zoya smiled to herself, if they'd been alone, they wouldn't have been dressed.

If they had been alone, they'd probably still be in their room.

They'd probably still be in their bed.

Damn.

May be the honeymoon was a moral and mental necessity after all. 

She avoided his gaze.

     "Omar," Asad called out looking at Zoya. 

She stilled.

     "My phone got messed up, can you take a look at it and fix it for me?" 

Zoya gasped. Oh my god, he wouldn't!

She looked into Asad's eyes and smiled with confidence. He wouldn't, he was just teasing. And she could wait for him to blink first and admit defeat, but wives didn't do that to their brand, spanking new husbands, now did they? 

     "Don't bother Cinderella, I'll take care of it." Zoya patted Omar's shoulder and smirked at Jahanpanah as he looked triumphant. 

Aww. She looked at the screen and grinned. So he'd figured out the new password. Damn.

The girls had roared with delight at her words. 

Omar looked confused. Who's Cinderella? He looked up at Najma's pale face and his heart constricted. 

     Aapi was aghast. "Zoya, wear some jewelry. You are a nayee naveli dulhan for goodness sake!"

Asad's face was on fire. He ducked his head.

     "Aapi, I don't feel like it."

     "Ya Allah, yeh ladki! At least wear the rani haar that Badi bi gave you." 

Zoya outed and dragged her feet, but went to the room to don the necklace. Thank god, it was long and hung low. She would have loved to wear the one that Asad gave her last night, but it would abrade her skin even more. 

And if she wore it, he would either lift her over his shoulder like a caveman to go make love to her in their room or, just die of mortification in the middle of the living room. 

She'd spare him this once. She had other plans for her password-busting, six-packs-sporting Mr. Khan.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

My Name is Khan 2010, "Sajda"


	50. Tu Jo Paas Ho, Phir Kya Yeh Jahaan, Tere Pyar Mein, Ho Jaaun Fanaa

 

 

Last night she had told him that she wanted to visit the Dargah on her first day as a new bride. 

But by mid-morning, the newlyweds' simple visit to the Dargah had snowballed into a family procession with plans for a lakeside picnic later. 

Asad mentally rolled his eyes and slapped his head. Why not just call it the Waleema and be done with it, he groused to himself. There was no way he was going to get any alone-time with his bride the whole day. The bandar baraat would accompany them every damn where. 

And the night was just too bloody far away. 

 

All morning he had seen her load up on multiple cups of coffee. Asad blushed and smirked thinking of having kept her awake most of the night. But when she placed his mug before him, he saw her sleeve ride up to expose her wrist. Her dupatta was hiked up to her chin too.

He felt terrible.

Carrying his coffee mug in hand, he made some phone calls.

     "Asad!" Dilshad called, "stop working. You're off and on your honeymoon." She scolded.

He held up his hand as he continued talking.

     Anwar piped up, "speaking of a honeymoon, we were planning to give Zoya and Asad a trip as a gift." He looked fondly at Zoya, "beta, kahan jaana chahoge tum dono?" 

     Zoya bent her gaze shyly, "voh ... actually ... Jeeju ..." 

     Dilshad started to laugh. "Allah, ab ye bhi!"

Zoya looked toward her husband for help, but he was still on the phone. She'd have to bite the bullet and hedge her way out of this. 

     "Ermm, Jeeju, Mr. Khan has already done the bookings." 

She wasn't sure if that was true, but wasn't being married about covering each others' asses? Hmm, speaking of which ... she got distracted and shook herself out of her sex haze. 

Zoya, focus baby.

     "Ooh, Bhabhi, where is Bhaijaan taking you?" Nuzzhat asked, agog with excitement.

     "I don't know. It's a surprise." 

Oh god, this covering up was too much work. Asad!

Thank god Omar was preoccupied, thought Zoya, otherwise, by the time Asad was done with his phonecall, everyone would be going with them on their honeymoon, and Jahanpanah would kill her. 

     But then there was always Ayaan to pick up the slack, "can't we come too?" 

Humaira punched his shoulder.

You go, girlfriend.

 

The packing for the picnic was nearly done. They would pick up hot food and pizzas on the way after paying their respects at the Dargah. 

     "Umm, Ammi, I have to take Zoya to the immigration office to finalize her papers."

There was a universal groan of protest.

     "We got the appointment for this afternoon. So we won't be able to join you for the picnic but we'll go to the Dargah." 

Zoya pouted the most. Here she was diligently covering up for him and he springs this on her? So boring to go a government office on the day after her wedding and to miss out on all the family picnic fun. She looked unhappily at her husband ready to beg him to postpone the appointment. But he looked at her without blinking and imperceptibly jerked his chin. 

Hmm, jahanpanah and his secret head signals, she harrumphed. What was he up to now? She decided to hold her tongue, but did so very impatiently. Being a wife blowed.

Not fair! Allah miyan, and then there was Aapi. Aapi was still on and on about wearing more jewelry.

     "Kada to pehen lo kum se kum." 

Why wasn't the rani haar enough? Did she have to go out dressed like a Christmas tree?

 

Asad told them all to go on without them; they needed to complete the formalities for acquiring a marriage certificate first, and would meet them at the shrine later.

This bought them some much needed alone time at last. 

Pleased with himself he put the mug to his mouth to finish his coffee.

     The next minute he choked and sprayed it all out when Ayaan proclaimed, "Bhaijaan, we all are going with you on your honeymoon."

 

In the car he held Zoya's hand.

     "Tired?" He kissed her hand.

     "Not really." She covered up a yawn. 

     "I'm sorry, baby," he kissed her hand again. 

     "Why?" she looked at him in alarm. "What happened?" She narrowed her eyes, "what did you do?" 

     "I hardly let you sleep last night and was such a brute. Look at the bruises on your neck and wrists!" 

He kissed her wrist feeling wretched.

     "Asad, no!" She grabbed his hand to hold it against her heart with both of hers. "Last night was beautiful," she breathed, now kissing his hand. Her voice became husky, "and each time I look at these bruises it reminds me of how I got them! And that makes me wish that night would come soon so that we can rinse and repeat." 

     He chuckled. "Rinse and repeat? So no sex strike?"

     "Not tonight," she promised, lacing her fingers with his.

     He reached into his shirt pocket. "Close your eyes and hold out your hand."

     When she opened her eyes, her dimple flashed, "I have the bestest and sweetest husband in the whole wide world." 

He gently slipped on her mother's earrings for her and then started the car.

     "Finally, I have you to myself. And look at all the strings I had to pull."

     "What do you mean?"

     He grinned. "We'll go to the Dargah because you wanted to. But after that we come home so you can get some rest." 

     "What? No immigration office?" 

     "Nope, just an excuse." 

     "Mr. Khan! You're becoming too good at lying. You better not ever lie to me!" 

     "Never, Mrs. Jahanpanah."

She giggled. She loved how he now embraced her nickname for him so wholeheartedly. Zoya took off her heels, turned sideways to face him and tucked her feet under her, wiggling her butt to get more comfortable. 

     "Buckle up," he reminded her. 

     "I don't need to rest when we get home," she said softly after obeying him.

     "You will. I want my wife fresh and rested when I make love to her all night. And, you'll need all your energy to scream my name each time," he teased.

He turned to look at her not getting a response, and smiled indulgently. One hand tucked under her cheek, she was fast asleep, her head curled into the seat back. Asad slowed down and drove around in circles before finally parking in front of the Dargah.

He turned around in his seat to look at her. She looked so angelic. The dark crescents of her lashes dusted her creamy cheeks as she exhaled softly. Her hands were still dark from the lacy mehendi.

 

When she woke up with a start, it was her turn to smile. 

     "Poor baby," Zoya said to herself. 

Her husband had dozed off, hair flopping over his forehead and cheek stuck to the seat back. She saw Ayaan coming towards them and reluctantly shook him awake, thumb lingering on his lips.

     "Asad, wake up." 

He rubbed his eyes. Aww, wasn't that the cutest sight, she thought.

Ayaan came bounding up to them as they got out.

     "Ho gaya?"

Asad gave him the Mukka look: eyes narrowed, furrows between his brows. 

     Ayaan grinned, "oh ho! One-track mind! I meant the marriage certificate!" 

     "Almost," Asad hedged back. "They've called us again in the afternoon." 

He wanted to leave no open time for his family to suggest that they join them for the picnic instead. Zoya coughed, unsuccessfully covering up a giggle. 

He loved that sound. 

     Asad physically turned Ayaan around, "chalo."

He looked back at Zoya. She was rooted to the spot. 

     He was by her side in a flash. "What happened?"

     She looked up at him and then at Ayaan. "umm, nothing. You both carry on. I have to text Phu... I mean, Ammi about something." 

     Asad folded his arms across his chest suspiciously. "Ayaan, go," he ordered.

     Ayaan grinned goofily and wagged his eyebrows at Zoya. "Mona darling, humse kya raaz chhupana!" 

     "Ayaan!" 

     "OK, OK," he ruffled his hair, "jeez, you guys." He took a step back, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "Mona, tu Akdu se shaadi kar ke, maha-bore ban gayee hai!" 

He ran before the Mukka could grab his collar. 

Asad looked at her, waiting. 

     "Mr. Khan," she whispered in embarrassment. "I just realized that I'm, umm ... on my period. I shouldn't go in."

     His eyes widened. "Why?" 

     "I ... we ... just don't. Please, you go. And offer a phool chaadar on my behalf too."

     He took her arm and walked them back to the car. "No, we'll do it together when you're done. Let me take you somewhere else instead." 

     "But what about everyone else?" she panicked.

     "Text Ammi or Aapi that we had to go back to the lawyer's office." 

     As he started the car, she grumbled, "Allah miyan, let's count the ways how this is all so wrong." She held up her hand and counted off with her thumb, "one, making me a lying accomplice. Two, at a holy place of worship. Three ..."

He grabbed her hand and bit her finger before sucking on it.  

     "Four …"

He kissed her palm and snaked his tongue out to lick the center.

Zoya settled back with a happy sigh.

 

On the way, she told him about Omar. He had noticed their long faces and now understood why. Asad kept quiet, knowing that his wife would have already drawn up plans to interfere and make things right. He would just be needed to sign on the dotted line and play the hired muscle. 

     "So how are you going to fix this?"

She opened her mouth to eagerly share her ideas and then looked at his expression. 

Zoya frowned. 

Oh really? He thought her fix-it-tiveness was funny. She crossed her arms across her chest and huffed looking out the window. 

He tickled her at the waist.

     "Mr. Khan! I'm not talking to you!" 

     "OK, then I'm going on a sex strike!" 

She gasped, and then laughed with delight. 

     "Yippee," she clapped her hands, "I'll get a full night's rest now. So let's join the picnic after all!"

Asad pouted. 

As they neared their destination her eyes misted and she smiled through her tears. Zoya leaned over to kiss his cheek as he parked. 

     "I love you, and," she brushed her lips over his. "Jahanpanah, you're going to get very lucky tonight," she promised, and hopped out. 

 

She knelt by her father's gravesite after they had placed the chaadar and offered flowers. Raising her palms she felt his shoulders rub against hers and sighed in contentment.

Asad watched her bowed head and looked around warily. Though his lawyers had updated him on Tanveer's legal woes, he still couldn't rest easy in public spaces. Assuring their safety, his mind wandered. He looked up at the gravestone to read her father's name and the date of his passing. 

A crow cawed raucously in the tree above, and smaller birds scattered in alarm. Cars honked in the distance. 

Closer, the Muizim called for prayer. 

A ping of awareness gnawed at the edge of his consciousness. Asad looked at Zoya's covered head, and then back at the gravemarker. 

The hair on the back of his neck stood. 

His eyes widened.

It couldn't be.

Could it? 

He rose and whipped out his phone to review the video of Tanveer and Mr. Siddiqui taken by the investigator's team. Asad carefully watched the sequence of actions. The old man seemed aloof and angry in the beginning. But his body language immediately altered as soon as he opened the paper bundle she gave him. His hands trembled, and when Tanu started to speak through her tears, his face softened. He bent forward to grasp her hand.

Asad watched the video several times, each time his suspicions becoming more and more concrete. 

The old man didn't seem resentful or angry. Wouldn't he be, if it was blackmail? 

In fact he looked ... regretful, and hopeful at the same time.

When he removed his ring to place it in her palm and then curl her fingers over it, Asad knew. 

He staggered on the uneven ground.

 

Omar followed Najma as she wandered listlessly by the lake, picking and twisting leaves in her restless hands. 

     "Najma."

She halted but didn't turn around. She had seen him in an intense conversation with Nikhat by themselves, and her already chafed heart was now numb with grief.

     "Why are you by yourself?"

"Umm, just like that." She plastered a smile on her face. "I was just thinking about my application for a Masters Program at the University and whether I'd be accepted." 

She flung the crushed leaves away with more force than necessary.

     "I didn't know you wanted to study further." 

Her breezy coldness made him awkwardly self-conscious. 

There's a lot you don't know about me, Najma thought grimly, but said nothing. 

     "Umm, have you thought about applying in the US?"

Her heart skipped a beat.

     "No," she replied. "I could never think about going so far away from my family."

     He turned her around by her arm, "not even if I asked you to?" 

She looked down, and then away, hopeful, yet despairing.

     "Why ..." She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes, "what are you trying to say, Omar?" 

     He sighed and pushed his hands in his pockets. "You know what I'm trying to say." 

     "No, I don't." 

Najma was angry now. 

     "I know you've flirted with me since day one after you were done flirting with Zoya. I too got swept away in the romance of it all and thought that maybe ..."

She was dangerously close to tears. 

     "But now you're flirting with Nikhat. You say you're leaving tomorrow. I hope you had a fun summer fling in India and can go back to being a hotshot in the US!" 

She turned to run to hide her tears and was jerked into his chest. 

     "Shut up Najma, just shut the hell up!" 

He kissed her softly. 

     Najma struggled against him, more angry than ever. "Don't touch me! I refuse to be one of your desi conquests!" 

She kicked at his shin. 

     "Najma! Stop it." He held her face in both his hands and wiped her tears with his thumbs. "Idiot girl! Haven't I told you, I love you?"

     "You told Zoya also you loved her. You throw 'I love yous' around like a dog sheds hair. Why should I believe you? I'm sure you've said I love you to a million girls in America!" 

     He shook her by her forearms, "Najma stop twisting everything I say. Just because I was born and raised in the US doesn't mean I'm a slut!" he growled through gritted teeth. "And yes, I do love Zoya. But," he lifted her chin, "I'm in love with _you_." 

He bent his head to kiss her more fiercely this time. His arms tightened around her and she melted against him. As he parted her lips with his tongue, her head fell back in surrender.

     He whispered hoarsely against her soft lips, "marry me." 

Najma blinked her eyes open and pulled back.

     "Apply for a Masters at UC Berkely or Davis, and be my desi wife."

She hid her face in his chest. 

     "Toh main haan samjhoon?" he asked as he held her tight and bent to brush his lips against her ear.

Najma nodded.

     "No?" he teased. "Then do me the honor of forever living in sin with me as my mistress." 

She kicked his shin again. 

     "Ouch! Abhi se you're dominating me. Maybe we can try whips, handcuffs and blindfolds when we're married?"

     "Omar!" She was too shocked to be embarrassed. 

     "What? I thought every girl wanted her own version of 50 Shades of Grey'!" 

She'd had enough of his tormenting ways and tried to run away. 

     "I am not going to the US with you, _ever_." 

He tugged at her wrist. When she turned around, he was on his knee. 

     "I don't have a ring as yet, but Najma Ahmed Khan, will you celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary with me under the stars, right here, by this lake?" 

     She started to cry and he rose to hold her, "I got so scared when you said you were leaving tomorrow." 

     "Silly girl, you didn't even listen to what I was trying to say." He lifted her chin, "if you had stayed long enough, you'd have heard that I'm leaving early so that I can talk to my parents about you." 

     "What if they don't like me?" 

     "They'll love you." 

 

Later he'd laughed, and told her about his conversation with Nikhat. Nikhat had earlier pulled him aside and nearly bitten his head off. 

     "If you so much as hurt a hair on Najma's head, before Ayaan and Asad Bhaijaan kill you, I will slowly pull out each fingernail of yours to inflict maximum damage."

     Omar chuckled and kissed a shocked Najma, "hmm, may be the Khan girls do have some dominatrix issues!" 

Najma punched his chest, ecstatic with Nikhat's super-sister avatar. 

     "Omar," she twisted his ear and he yelped, "please tell me you haven't read that book!"  

     "No, but may be you should?" 

He groaned through laughter as fists rained on him. 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Fanaah (2006), "Mere Haath Mein"


	51. O Jaan-e-jaan, Dono Jahan, Meri Bahon Mein Aa Bhool Ja, Aa

 

 

 

 

     "Mr. Khan you are an evil genius!" Zoya gasped. "But I don't know how I am going to ever face them again."

She couldn't believe what he had just pulled off.

Two days ago, she had assumed Ayaan was just kidding about everyone accompanying them on their honeymoon.

But somehow that idea caught on like fire.

Now that Omar was back to his old self having re-charmed Najma off her feet, his demented collaboration had added more psycho impetus to the project.

One universal truth had quickly emerged: When Ayaan and Omar ganged up with the power puff girls under their wing, they were unstoppable. 

Even Zoya didn't stand a chance.

 

She was partially disappointed that they wouldn't get their own holiday where they could do what they wished, when they wished. Not leave the room at all, make love on the balcony at midnight, or in the jacuzzi. Or just wander around an anonymous city, lost in each other.

She would wear lingerie that left nothing to the imagination, and even strut naked in the living room suite to sit in his lap as he watched the news. 

The TV would be forgotten as she screamed his name.

Over rims of frothy cappuchinos they would gaze into each other's eyes, play footsie under the table, maybe even dance, or swim under the stars, among complete strangers, fragrantly cocooned in their heady romance. 

 

But another part of her was equally caught up in the excitement of a glorious family trip and adventure. This time she wouldn't be the sad outsider who constantly felt like the fifth wheel and yearned to be part of this magic. This time she would be the rightful center, cherished by her new family and spoiled rotten by her besotted husband. This time she would rightfully share a room with her husband and have him drive her crazy with need as she muffled her screams of joy instead of tears and sobs. So what if they didn't go the Taj and watch it in each other's arms on a full-moon night, they could still dine at the Taj Mahal hotel and may be even catch a celebrity or two if they stayed late enough. 

They were all to go to Mumbai where Omar's parents would join them. 

Rashid, Shireen and Dadi too would join the extempore festivities. 

 

Ayaan was ecstatic.

Finally, with so many elders tripping over each other to eagerly keep in-laws happy, Bhaijaan distracted in his lovefog, they just might be able to con their way into clubbing.

And in Mumbai!

Freaking awesome!

 

All through the Waleema, plans for the family trip kept getting more and more elaborate. The family trip would be a celebration for another upcoming wedding. 

The Waleema had become the staging grounds for a small engagement ceremony. While the newly weds were showered with gifts, the newly-engaged couple were showered with blessings. 

That morning Omar had snuck Najma away to go ring-shopping after having introduced her to his parents via Skype. His parents had already become familiar with the Khans because Zoya had oh-so casually shared videos of her mehendi and nikaah when she called to thank them for their gift. She had even given them a video tour of her brand new home, animatedly introducing her husband, sister- and mother-in-law.

Next Aapi had set up the assist by gushing to Hana about how blessed Zoya was to be married into such a fine family, and how wonderful it would be if Omar got married into the same family. And at last, they could still turn their friendship into a rishtedaari. Wouldn't that just be the cherry on top? 

How could Omar's parents resist this charm offensive? Especially when their only son clearly couldn't seem to stop smiling. 

They had eagerly given their blessings dazzled by Dilshad and even more so by Najma who blushed all through the video chat and never once looked up. They laughed aloud when they saw her slap Omar's arm when he got too rambunctious for his own good. 

She had looked up at her future in-laws in shock, blushed harder, and run off. He had joked later about her violent streak; she was the Jahanpanah's sister after all. 

This had earned him being clocked again. 

His parents had continued chatting with a tearful Dilshad and Zeenat afterwards about panicky last-minute preparations; that conversation had lasted well over an hour. Dilshad could tell where Omar got his smarts and charm from. His mother was serene and quietly witty, her dark eyes framed by laugh lines; and why not, his father was a booming laughter powerhouse.

 

Zoya couldn't contain her excitement. Allah miyan, what a riot it would be! 

Even the car ride to the airport had been wildly entertaining. Ayaan had got everyone singing "Pyaar Tumhe Kis Mod Pe Le Aaya," in a deliberate foghorn voice. Humaira and Najma, squeezed in the last seat, had blushed when Ayaan and Omar turned around and belted, "battiyaan bujhane wali jaane kab ayegi!"

     And Zoya had loved singing, "shor na machana warna Bhabhi jag jayegi." 

Even Asad hadn't been able to resist a chuckle at that. The SUV had rocked on its wheels as they all sang, as besura as possible:

     "Pyaar tumhe kiss mod pe le aaya, haye.

     Ki dil kare Haye!

     Haye!

     Koi ye bataye kya hoga!" 

They had pulled up at a traffic light just then, and even passengers in neighboring cars were smiling looking on at this tomfoolery. 

 

At the airport, Asad had herded everyone toward the gate, reminding them that they weren't able to get all the seats together. The chillar party had merrily gone on ahead with Dadi, followed by the scolding parents.

In the chatter and buzz no one had noticed that the newlyweds hadn't boarded the flight. 

He had whisked Zoya on a flight to Agra instead. 

     "I told Ammi and Jeeju," Asad told her, holding her hand in his as the flight took off. 

She stroked his arm with concern. 

     "Asad, we could have stayed at home. We didn't have to come. You've been so tense."

 

He had looked preoccupied and pensive all of yesterday and the day before. Zoya had asked him about it a couple of times but got no clear response.

     Finally she had framed his face in her hands and issued an ultimatum: "Asad, I know something's bothering you."

He lowered his gaze and swallowed.

     She'd kissed him firmly on the mouth, "the old Zoya would've pestered you till you came out with it. But, I'm going to trust you to tell me when you're ready."

He had nodded imperceptibly, sighing in relief and hugging her tight.

It was then that he'd recalled that moment of piercing clarity at the cemetery.

 

Asad'd looked back at her as she rose after lovingly tracing the contour of the stone and adjusting the chaadar.

     He had wanted to shout, "that is not your father!" but he choked on his own spit, his throat raw with suppressed tears. 

When she turned around and looked up at his face, she had looked haunted.

     "Asad?" She had rushed to his side. "What happened?" 

His eyes were unfocused; hers were wide with alarm. 

     "ASAD!" she felt his forehead and then wrist. His hand was ice cold. 

     She had held his face exactly as she was doing now, "Asad, don't you dare do this to me again. Talk to me!"

She pressed her lips to his. After a second his arms went around her to clutch her desperately.

     "Please talk to me, Asad. Don't shut me out!" she'd begged. 

     He'd pressed his forehead to hers and held her face. "Do you trust me?"

     "More than anything in this world," Zoya had whispered, terrified about what he was going to tell her. 

But Asad couldn't tell her. He was either the biggest coward in the world or the worst liar. 

 

Once home, he had contacted the investigator again.

     "Rakesh, I want those enlargements right away. And," he brushed his hair off his forehead, "I need you to do a full bio and profile on Gaffoor Siddiqui at this address." He paced angrily and snarled through gritted teeth, "I want to know everything there is to know about his entire life, if he sneezed yesterday, what he ate for lunch five weeks ago." He continued to dictate, "I want to know about dates when he travelled out of the city or country, destinations, where he stayed, with whom, this year, twenty years ago, whatever. Every bloody detail, as soon as possible." 

He flung the phone on the bed once he was done and wiped his face with both hands. 

It all made absolute diabolical sense.

He now knew with terrifying certainty whose skeletal remains were found in the factory and why his father had been scapegoated as the alleged murderer and arsonist.

And he knew why Zoya was at the factory that night, why she needed to be eliminated. 

Asad's heart twisted in abject terror and revulsion. 

His sister and wife were victims and pawns of a great conspiracy hatched eighteen years ago. Those filthy bastards had threatened one child's life to orphan another, and roast her alive in order to cover their cowardly tracks. 

He'd been unable to breathe. His chest burned.

 

That night Zoya had held him in her arms and made love to him as he clung fiercely to her, crushing her possessively to him and burying his face in her hair.

     "Zoya!" 

She wrapped her arms around him, whispering a teary litany of love and comfort while her heart hammered with worry. She had stroked his forehead with her soft fingers while raining a thousand kisses on his face.

     "I love you, I'm right here, baby. I won't let anything happen to you," heart squeezing in fear, she'd promised over and over again. 

One hand had rubbed his chest in circles across his racing heart.

She knew he would tell her when he was good and ready. Right now he needed time alone with his demons before he slayed them and returned to her. 

She'd be waiting with open arms.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Race (2008): "Pehli Nazar" 

Satte Pe Satta (1982): "Pyaar Tumhe Kis Mod Pe Le Aaya" 


	52. Jo Hai Ankahi, Jo Hai Ansuni, Woh Baat Kya Hai Bata

 

 

Ayaan was slack-jawed with awe.

Whoa! Bhaijaan was major badass! Mona darling sure had done a number on Akdu Ahmed Khan for him to become so crafty and supercool. 

He ruffled his hair and thought about whether he'd changed in significant ways since falling hard for his little Miss Sunshine. He was looking forward to stealing away with her and spoiling her during this trip. Humaira had loved his stories about his trip to Ajmer, Jaipur and Agra. Ayaan'd urged her to pack her skirt and boots so that she could go dancing in them with him. 

He grinned happily as he entered Dadi's room in the en suite. Ammi wanted him to remind her that they would be going down to dinner soon.

  


Ayaan heard a murmur of voices.

Abbu was there too then.  

He halted, glued to the spot as he heard Abbu's raised and angry voice. 

     "Ammi, I refuse to give in to that woman's blackmail any more." 

His voice rose and fell as he paced furiously. 

     "She is the one who forced us to accept Haseena bi's proposal. Yeh to accha hua ki Asad ne sari asliyat saamne la kar humari Nikhat ko bacha liya. Otherwise her life would've been ruined!"

     "I agree Rashid. But how are you going to convince Shireen to leave that house? Are you willing to tell her the truth?" 

Ayaan felt his world tilt on its axis. 

What was going on? 

Blackmail? Leaving the house?

Why? 

     "Yes, I am working on it. I already told her about Imran and Tanveer and how Ayaan paid off Haseena's corrupt brother with money he got from Raziya Bhabhi. Shireen was shocked to find out that she had the nerve to blackmail Ayaan into marrying Humaira for that money." 

He swore savagely under his breath. 

     "I have some evidence of their creative bookkeeping that could convince her more. They have some shell companies in Shireen's name, so that if they were ever caught, they could make her the scapegoat." 

     Dadi gasped loudly and shuddered, "itna ghatiiyapan! What about Shireen's kids if something terrible had happened?"

     "Kya hota Ammi? Hum pe apna ehsaan jatate, aur apni meherbaniyon ke bojh se humein zindagi bhar ghulam bana lete." He continued pacing, "but we have to get out before that woman gets Ayaan forcefully married to Humaira. I refuse to sacrifice my son to her so that she can continue to blackmail us for the rest of our lives. It's time to make a clean break." 

     Ayaan heard Dadi sigh. "Bechari Humaira. She's been in love with Ayaan since she was a little girl. It's tragic that she'll have to pay for her parents' sins." 

     "Haan, Humaira acchi ladki hai. But, we cannot enter into any alliance with that family. They are poison. Bhabhi's kept me under her thumb for too long. I agreed earlier because I was a coward and she threatened to harm Dilshad and the kids. But now all my kids are grown up, they can stand strong by my side and together we can take them on."

 

Ayaan stumbled blindly out of the room. What new evil had Mumani perpetrated now? How could her actions be standing in the way of his love for Humaira? Here he had secretly hoped that they too could soon announce their engagement. Wouldn't it be cool to get engaged at Najma's wedding or Waleema? It could be a cool new Khan tradition: ek nikaah ke saath, ek sagaai free! He had toyed with several ideas of proposing to Humaira. In fact, he was planning to run them by Omar and Zoya soon. 

Ayaan reeled. He was livid with heartache and raging hatred. He punched in her number.

     "You've been blackmailing my father all these years? You repulsive hag!" he ranted. 

     "Ayaan, yeh kya badtameezi hai?" he heard her shaken response.

     He laughed sarcastically, "badtameezi? You foolish woman, you wanted me to marry your daughter, right? And now, when I've actually fallen in love with her, Abbu and Dadi have decided that they will never let me be married to your daughter, Raziya Siddiqui." Ayaan wiped his brow angrily, "and you know what? I don't blame them! How can I marry the daughter of parents who destroyed my father's life and who would have thrown my Ammi under the bus to save their own sorry skins? You even threatened Badi Ammi and Asad Bhaijaan!" He laughed in despair.

     "I hope you see the horrible irony in this, you pathetic excuse for a woman! Your evil ways have finally managed to catch up with you and ruin your daughter's life! Thanks a lot, you blood-sucking witch!"

He slammed his fist into the wall.

Four hundred miles away, Raziya crumpled to the floor. 

 

Tanveer rummaged through her old purse. She was downsizing and getting ready to fly the coop. She had paid Imran some of her money, but was still unsure of whether he was her last hope in snagging a father for her baby. 

The eternal optimist, she was still keeping her options open. 

You never know. 

Her hand felt a bump in the lining. Curious, she fished around and retrieved a slim black cartridge, the size of a postage stamp. 

Her eyes gleamed. 

Now wasn't this just the perfect stroke of luck!

That jail scare had happened for a reason after all. 

She gripped her jackpot tightly and lay back on the bed, hugging herself with delight. How could she have forgotten this golden goose? They must be right about pregnant women losing vital memory cells!

 

Raziya was heartsore and furious! 

Her carefully-laid plans lay in shambles like a clichéd house of cards. How dare that bitch show her blackmailing, simpering face around here? She should've never brought her on board and embedded her in  _that_  household. She should have known that this one was bad to the bone. And now, once again, a major thorn in her side. 

     "I could turn it over to the police but where would the fun be in that," Tanveer purred. "Soch lo bi, yeh agar Asad Ahmed Khan ke haath lag gaya toh tumhari khair nahin." She had laughed baring her teeth, and gleefully mimed the action of a knife slitting her throat. "He has impoverished the Qureshis for messing with his step sister. They will never be free of legal battles and court hearings for the rest of their lives." 

     "Tanveer, I don't have time for this. Just name your price and get the hell out of my house." Raziya snarled through teeth clenched tight to prevent them from chattering in terror. 

     "Two Crores."

     "Are you crazy?" Raziya snapped, "I don't have that much money lying around."

     "So? Ask your husband. He must know about the blood on your hands I'm sure, and would want to save his own sorry ass." 

     After a bristling silence, Raziya croaked, "but how do I know that you haven't made other copies?" 

     Tanveer got up and laughed again. "You don't. That's the beauty of it."

     "Tomorrow at eleven in Cabin 45 by the lake." 

And she slithered off.

 

He was done playing fair. Asad had greenlighted the investigative team's search of Tanveer's new residence two days ago. Armed with the latest findings and evidence he'd decided to tell Zoya everything. Not the honeymoon of their dreams certainly, but far more critical to their happiness and sanity in the long run. 

  

After checking into their room and freshening up, they were perched on a pristine white leather sofa. The view out of the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Yamuna was breathtaking: the Taj glimmered in the setting sun's rays. 

Zoya was in his lap, ear to his heartbeat, playing with his fingers in her lap. 

She could almost hear the gears in his head whirring. It was as if he was doing a mental version of his "voh ... actually ... main" mode. 

     "Asad?" she kissed his knuckles and lifted her head to nuzzle the crook of his neck. 

He sighed heavily and intertwined his fingers with hers.

     "Zoya ... I don't know where or how to start." 

     She gripped their joined hands to her heart. "Just say it and it'll get easier." Suddeny she swivelled in his lap in alarm, "oh my god, is Ammi OK? You're not dying of cancer, right?" The idea had just come to her and left her choking with horror. 

He patted her back with his other hand, shaking his head to reassure her. 

And just like that ... in a flash she had put everything in perspective and made it so simple: Ammi and Najma were fine, in fact happier than never before. His family was together, and they both had their health and were weaving dreams of raising a family. 

Nothing else could possibly matter. 

He kissed her tenderly and Zoya sensed him relaxing for the first time in two days.

     "Pakka?" she confirmed. 

     "Pakka!" he affirmed. 

She breathed easier. 

     "You're magical, you know," he murmured in her ear. "You do have some superpowers that I hope you'll pass on to our kids one day!"

Zoya laughed, delighted with his playful tribute.

     "What brought that on, Jahanpanah?" 

He reached for his phone.

     "I've been having Tanveer followed since she left our house." 

Zoya frowned. This was all about that witch! What had she done to upset her Jahanpanah now? For two days in a row? She'd kill her!

She gave him her full attention. 

     "This is a video of her from last week." 

Zoya watched it, mystified, and then she gasped.

     "Mr. Khan! Those letters and pictures are mine!" 

He showed the enlargements of the photographs to Zoya to confirm this. 

     "But why is she showing them to this man? Who is he?" 

     He tensed. "He's Humaira's dad."

     "What? But how does he know Tanveer?"

     Asad gripped her waist hugging her to him, "I don't think he knows her. He met her for the first time that day."

     "But Asad, in this last part he seems so emotional. Look, he even tries to hold her hand. He _must_ know her from before!" 

She must've viewed the video about half a dozen times. Zoya was beginning to put the pieces together.

     "It looks a lot like blackmail. And if she's using those letters, then Humaira's dad must know something about my father and mother, right?" She asked hopefully. "But how did she know to steal my papers? What does she know that we don't?" 

Zoya was thinking aloud now.

     "If only we could tell what they were saying." She leaned against him in frustration and then sat up quickly. "We should get a lip reader," she kidded.

     Asad looked at her with admiration. "Maybe. Are there such experts?" 

     "They have them on cop and legal shows!" she replied, eyes glowing with determination. Zoya was beyond excited now. Asad grinned. She really believed in the miracles of her American cop shows.

"You call the investigator," Zoya instructed him. "Meanwhile, I'll do my own research."

She tapped on her iPad after retrieving it from her bag.

Asad smiled ruefully.

Only his wife would think detective work on her honeymoon was such fun. He sobered quickly, still terrified of telling her more. Asad brought out a manila envelope and handed her a black computerized chip. She looked at it suspiciously. 

     "They recovered this from her house and made a copy of the audio recording. She had two other copies. "

     "Back up just a minute. She has a house in Bhopal?" 

He nodded with eyebrows raised.

     "Just got it, paid in full, posh high-rise building, top of the line upgrades."

     "She can afford that?" 

He looked at her.

     "We think she blackmailed her way into it."

     "Wow! That must be some secret!" 

His heart broke. If she only knew.

 

She saw that he still had his hand outstretched. 

     "Why does this look so familiar?" Zoya spoke distractedly.

     Asad sat next to her, "because it's similar to the chip from Najma's doll that we lost and then found."

Zoya remembered those bleak days. A chip with a recording of Asad's Abbu confessing to setting the fire in the warehouse. An angry Asad had gone up against his estranged father, even having him arrested for murder. Ammi had begged him to retract. So had Ayaan. Even she'd fought with Asad to relent. To not make Ammi lose a son; she'd already lost her husband. But Asad—

     "Tanveer had this all this time? But why? We heard it and it had only Abbu's voice on it."

He felt humbled that she still insisted on calling his father "Abbu" even after knowing what he may have done. 

     "I think that was a fake. This may be the real recording."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "What? Why? What's going on, Asad? How is she involved with any of this?"

Her eyes narrowed and she continued as if talking to herself.

     "She did turn up exactly at the time of the case against Abbu. She was also the one who claimed to have found the doll with the hidden chip. Have you listened to it?"

     "Not as yet. I thought we'd listen together." 

While he pulled up the converted audio file on his laptop, snuggled next to him, she was still talking, working out the pieces of the sordid story. 

     "So she steals my letters and also the real recording. She blackmails Humaira's dad and possibly someone else with the chip and sabotages Abbu's case. She's been working against us since day one? Did someone plant her in our house to get this, or is she the mastermind?"

Asad felt terrible. 

Part of his moodiness over the past two days also had to do with blaming himself for his cruel words to Zoya during that period in their lives. She had firmly believed in his father's innocence and mother's faith. She had tried to reason with him, nag him and even trick him into not testifying against Abbu. But he had been adamant about his beliefs. Instead, he had relentlessly belittled her words and actions, humiliated her as an unwanted misfit, and degraded her as an outsider who had no right to interfere in his family's affairs. 

Worse, in trying to fight his growing attraction to her, he had extolled and paraded Tanveer as a paragon of virtue and modesty. Too often he had fallen victim to Tanveer's veneer of manipulated innocence and rushed to blame Zoya for the smallest of engineered offenses.

Asad still couldn't get over how, not even once, had Zoya uttered a harsh word against Tanu, or even himself. Sure, she had given him many nicknames but they weren't meanspirited. But he had been mean. Cruel, in fact.

Only now he knew how she was an expert at hiding her tears and grief from everyone.  

Asad still couldn't completely forgive himself.

He put the laptop aside and gathered her in his arms. His eyes were moist; his heart heavy with remorse and gratitude. 

     "Asad, what aren't you telling me?" she spoke into his neck, her lashes fluttering butterfly kisses across his skin. 

His pulse leaped. 

They looked at each other.

And laughed. 

     "Now?" she asked, surprised.

     "Now," he carried her into the bedroom. "This is more important than everything else. It clears my head, gives me a high … And I can't get enough of you."

Asad kissed her greedily.

     "Everything will be fine?"

     He hesitated, "it will be because I'll have you by my side." 

     "Mr. Khan," she sighed, "I never knew my Jahanpanah could be so romantic."

     He put her down and held her tight against him, "me neither," he whispered against her lips. "Sab apka asar hai!" 

     "I love this side of you," she breathed, swaying against him dreamily, arms clasped around his neck.

     He ground his erection against her, "and this side?"

     Zoya threw her head back, giggling and swinging in his arms, "umm hmm, especially that side! Mmm mm mm."

 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna (2006), "Mitwa"

 


	53. Dil Kahe Ke Aaj To Chhupa Lo Tum Panahon Mein, Ki Dar Hai Tumko Kho Dunga

 

  


It was a full moon night.

Her cheek against her husband's shoulder, knees pulled up to her chest Zoya  marveled at her luck. They must've sat for hours just gazing at the pearly Taj against the velvet night. It wasn't as crowded as they'd thought. Thank god, they even got a spot on the raised platform, the perfect viewing station.

Asad moved his arm to tuck her into his side. He dropped a kiss on her hair. 

     "So beautiful," she sighed.

     "Hmm. Chalein?" he asked.

     "Unnh, " she grumbled. She felt lethargic. She didn't want to move. This was too perfect.

He chuckled.

     "You owe me my fantasy number 6." Asad whispered.

     Zoya hid her face in his side, "Jahanpanah!" 

They walked out of the gate, arms brushing against each other. She stumbled on a loose stone and his arm went around her waist. He let it linger there.

They heard a wolf whistle behind them and drunken sniggers.

     "Haye, haye, besharmi toh dekho."

Asad's nostrils flared. He cursed under his breath.

He dropped his arm and balled his fist, but Zoya clutched it tightly. 

     "Mr. Khan, ignore them. They're drunk."

They began to walk faster. 

     "Raat akeli hai, bujh gaye diye ..." one of them sang, slurring the words.

Other tourists, families, and young couples also filing out looked uncomfortable and on edge. They rushed away, eager to avoid any street ugliness. 

Asad could hear the louts shuffle closer behind them. One of them tripped and brushed against her, grabbing Zoya's hand. Asad's fist spun out to grab the man's hand and hook him across the face. The thug screamed in pain and staggered as if deflated. 

     "Asad!" Zoya screamed at the same time.

Dragging her behind him to shield her, Asad faced the other two men. 

One of them tried to smash his beer bottle across Asad's head; the other flicked out a knife. Asad's eyes slitted dangerously. Glaring at them he charged as the knife-wielding assailant tried to lunge at him.

People around them gasped and scattered. Zoya looked around to plead for help. There were uncomfortable murmurs but everyone avoided eye contact with her. 

The men meanwhile were circling Asad—predators stalking their prey. The man with the knife bounced the knife back and forth between both hands expertly.

Zoya clutched Asad's shirt. She dug out her pepper spray. 

The men laughed. 

     "Arre, ladki ko bhaga kar laya hoga. Maro saale ko."

She could feel the heat and fury emanating from Asad. His arms were raised in front of his chest, fists clenched, knees slightly bent bracing for impact.

Zoya was scared but starting to get angry too. How dare they! Allah miyan, what's wrong with them! What right did they have to play the moral police and harass innocent people? And why wasn't anyone stepping up to do something about it?

She looked around her. Thank god, they weren't alone. She knew that Asad would take care of both them but she had also heard and read daily news reports of escalating attacks on women. 

Allah miyan, what is wrong with this country? Why aren't women safe even with their husbands? 

She heard a scuffle, the sound of flesh connecting with flesh, and looked back in horror. 

They had pounced on Asad. 

He held the hand of the man with the knife in a vise-like grip, but the other one had him a headlock. Asad wrenched his arm out and smashed the heel of his hand to break his assailant's nose.

Zoya gasped as she felt a hand on her arm. She looked up as the first ruffian dragged her toward him. Insane with rage she pepper-sprayed him full in the face.

     "You bitch!" he screamed in agony, his hands clawing at his eyes and face. Zoya landed a few satisfying kicks in his gut. 

She couldn't take it any more.

She wouldn't.

If they went down, they'd both go down fighting. Zoya tried to find a way to pepper-spray the men beating Asad but she couldn't. One wrong aim and Asad would be helpless. She had to find a different way.

Now armed with her phone, Zoya began to circle the seething, fighting and grunting mass of arms and legs. Her heart pounded and prayed for Asad's safety. Please God, don't let anything happen to him. 

     Her throat tight with tears, she started to speak loudly, "This is India, in front of the Taj Mahal. Aaj dekhungi ki yahan kiski jeet hoti hai."

She sniffed; her voice cracked.

     "Mere husband ki, ya inn gundon ki jinhone hum par attack kiya."

And she started clicking pictures from every angle. 

     Wiping her tears, she continued talking loudly for all to hear. "I'll post these on social media for the world to see that this is what happens to women and decent men in India."

She turned toward the spectators and started clicking pictures of them as well. 

     "Aur aaj duniya dekhegi ki kaise kuchh log tamasha dekhte rahe par mere husband ki madad karne ke liye aage nahin aaye."

Some people hid their faces and backed away. But two girls stepped close to Zoya and whipped out their phones as well. They started filming the fight and the crowd too.   

     "Haan," one of them said loudly, "even I want the world to know that today some brave people could've come forward to stop this cycle of violence but they hesistated." 

     The other girl urged, "please aage aayiye, someone help him. They are only two of them. We can stop this." 

Two young men stepped up and tried to pull the men off Asad. More men came forward to help too. As they held the drunks back, Asad landed a few more furious punches in their guts and the two slumped to the ground.

  


He exhaled loudly bracing one hand on his knee, and pushing his hair off his face with the other.

Zoya and the girls had turned from the crowd to film the break up of the fight.

Many other spectators were also recording this excitedly. For the first time they felt a powerful part of a cause bigger than themselves.

A middle-aged man stepped forward and said, "shaabash beta, humein apni insaniyat aur farz yaad dilane ka."

He turned to everyone. "Aap sab please, khoob saare photos and videos lijiye. We will give them as evidence to the police so that these criminals can be taken off the streets of Agra. Poore desh ka naam badnam karte hain aise log. Please publish and share these pictures on news sites right away to let the world know what is happening here." 

The crowd surged forward. Many people went near enough to the three gundas and took close-ups. Faces bloodied and groaning with pain, they tried to hide behind their arms. 

Some people, mostly women, tried to slap and kick them.

     "Kaminon, tum jaise logon ki wajah se ladkiyan kahin aa ja nahin saktin." A woman armed with her sandal cried out.

     "Tumhari wajah se humare parents humein ghar se nikalne nahin dete," huffed a young girl.

Someone pulled out the wallets of the assailants to search for their ID. A young girl grabbed it and read the name loudly.

     "Yeh mahashay hain Naresh Kumar. Gaur se dekhiye inko, aur inka chehra or naam yaad kar lijiye." 

People took photos of his ID picture.

     "Kitna garv hoga aaj Naresh Kumar ke maa baap ko!"

Some women continued beating up the men with their footwear.

     People started chanting, "Naresh Kumar haye, haye!" 

Others' names were called out too, and the crowd added their names to the chant. 

     "Gundagardi nahin chalegi!"

     "Nahin chalegi! Nahin chalegi!"

     "Aur nahin, ab bas!"

 

Looking around in wonder, Asad took out his handkerchief to wipe the blood and sweat off his face. He looked around in panic searching for—

Zoya slammed into his chest sobbing like a baby. He clasped her shuddering body in his arms, murmuring soothing words. In the distance he saw a police van arrive and constables pour out with lathis. They parted the crowd, which was still filming, and reached to nab the three men.

The crowd started cheering and clapping as the men were handcuffed. 

     "Besharam!" 

     "Nalayak!" People yelled as they were led past them.

Zoya heard Asad chuckling and looked up through her tears. He was looking behind her. She turned her head and saw a news van roll up. 

     "Mrs. Khan," he murmured in her ear, "you sure know how to start a revolution. Now let's get the hell out of here!"

Under the cover of darkness and the euphoria of a socially roused and responsible crowd, the honeymooners slunk away just as another news van lumbered up. 

 

Back at the hotel she cleaned his cuts with trembling hands. She was still crying. 

     "Zoya, I am OK, don't cry." 

She cried louder. 

     "They had a knife! What if something happened to you?"

     "After what you did? Impossible!" he tried to hold her but she was too worked up. She saw his raw knuckles and torn shirt and broke down again. 

     "We should have gone to the hospital to have you checked out. Please, Mr. Khan. For me."

     Asad looked at her tear-streaked face and relented, "OK, call the front desk and ask if they have a doctor on call." 

After some screamed threats and ultimatums over the phone, a terrified doctor and an apologetic Hotel Manager rushed in twenty minutes later. 

While his patient sat calmly, often smiing quietly through the tests and bandaging, his wife stood guard like an Amazon, barking questions and orders, making the doctor jump, and his hands shake.

The man cleared his throat. He spoke to the husband, not daring to face the raging wife. 

     "You should be OK. I've prescribed some painkillers."

The Manager tripped over himself to rush out and order the medicines. 

     "I am pretty sure nothing's broken, but it may be a good idea to get x-rays done tomorrow," the doctor continued.

He paused to take a deep breath and almost fell off the side of the bed when Zoya pounced again demanding guarantees and assurances that her husband would survive the night. Didn't he have a portable x-ray machine? Couldn't they do the tests right here, right now? 

     "Mr. Khan, I'll have to report this to the police." The doctor spoke when he finally was able to squeeze a word in.

     "Doctor saheb, please don't report my brand new wife to the police. She's really not that bad and wouldn't last a day in jail!"

The doctor looked up at the wife in alarm. That's certainly not what he had meant.

She looked so young in jeans and a smudged kurti. With her fists on her waist and fire in her red-rimmed eyes, who would've thought that she was such a terror?

She burst into tears.

     "Aw Zoya. Come here, baby."

The smiling doctor let himself quietly out of the room. He'd send them the bill later. He didn't want to disturb the lovebirds; they had obviously forgotten all about him.

In his haste to flee her wrath, he didn't make the connection between the feel-good news story he was watching just before the urgent summons, and the young couple whose room he had just left.

 

Asad had known that she would sleep fitfully that night. 

Zoya woke up screaming, tears running down her face and groping for him, running her anxious hands to feel his face, shoulders and arms.

     "Shh," he soothed her and held her to him.

He wouldn't admit it to her, but he was shaken by the events too. What if he hadn't been able to fend them off? Or if they had a gun, or had disabled him by hitting him on the head or something? What would have happened to Zoya? 

He squeezed his eyes shut willing away the worse-case scenarios.

 

The second time she jerked awake in a cold sweat, there were no screams.

Zoya gazed unblinkingly at the opposite wall.

Dawn hadn't completely broken through. She could barely see the ghostly outline of the Taj shrouded in mist through the windows. 

Zoya turned to look at his sleeping form. The room was chilly; the AC had been on all night at full blast. She covered his shoulders with the quilt and winced looking at the shadowy bruises and swelling. She was scared to touch him, not wanting to wake him up. 

 

When he woke up late in the morning, Asad saw her curled up on the sofa gazing sightlessly out of the bank of windows. 

She turned to look at him framed in the doorway.

He was at her feet the same instant.

     "Zoya? Are you OK?"

Her hands were icy. She looked remote, a thousand miles away, looking at but not really seeing him. 

     "He's my Abbu, isn't he?" 

 

His phone rang.

     "Yes, Rakesh?" Asad swiped his brow and flexed his shoulder still sore from last night despite the painkillers and a hot tub soak.

     "Mr. Khan, something strange has happened and it's not looking good."

     "What?" he pressed his fingers to his eyes; they felt gritty.

     "Yesterday my guy followed Ms. Tanveer to a lakeside cabin around 10 am. At around 11 am, Mrs. Siddiqui came to visit her. She had a large rolling bag with her. She went in and came out in about 45 minutes still rolling that bag.

     "Since then there's been no action. I had to change two shifts to keep an eye on this cabin."

Asad was listening impatiently, tapping his fingers against the tabletop in the living room. He had just managed to convince Zoya to take a nap threatening her with the doctor's return and sleeping pills if she didn't listen. Her teeth were chattering as if she just couldn't get warm enough. 

He'd warmed her with his body heat and rocked her to sleep after making love to her.

     "An hour ago, a maid went in and came out screaming 15 minutes later. From what we can gather, she found a lot of blood stains on the back of the bathroom door."

Asad reeled in horror.

     "They haven't called the police as yet, but I'm sure they will soon."

Oh my God!

Rakesh was still talking.

     " ... have to come clean to the police and give them all the evidence if it is true. What do you want us to do next?" 

 

His phone rang again. Nikhat?

     "Bhaijaan, Ayaan Bhaijaan has disappeared."

     "What?"

     "His backpack's gone. We can't reach him on his mobile. Ammi and Humaira are hysterical."

Asad heard his father on the line as he snatched the phone from her.

     "Asad beta, don't worry. We'll find him. I've informed the police though they say we'll have to wait for 48 hours before they can launch a formal investigation." As much as he was trying to reassure him, Rashid sounded very worried.

     "Abbu, I know a detective. I'll call to ask him about a trusty contact in Mumbai and send you his number. In the meanwhile have some recent pictures of Ayaan's printed up so that we can start showing them around."

     Rashid sighed. "You always know the right thing to say and do. Thank God we have you." 

     "We'll be there by the evening. Did he have a fight with someone? Ask Omar or the girls."

     Shireen grabbed the phone, "Asad, do you think he's been kidnapped?" she asked through tears. "I knew Mumbai was a dangerous place. We should never have come," she wailed. 

     "Nahin, Chhoti Ammi, I'm sure he's fine. In fact I'll kick his butt once I find him. Don't worry."

     "Nahin beta, usko marna mat. Nahin toh wo phir bhaag jayega." 

He smiled. 

God, Ayaan better be fine or he really would kill him. Asad punched in Rakesh's number after failing to get Ayaan on his phone. He gave Rakesh his phone number so a trace could be put on it the moment Ayaan switched it on.

His eye fell on Zoya's iPad on the coffee table. Asad pulled up her camera roll to find a picture of Ayaan and found a few from their earlier trip. 

He sent a couple to Rakesh. 

 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Bachna Ay Haseenon (2008) "Khuda Jaane"


	54. Yeh Hosla Kaise Jhuke, Yeh Arzoo Kaise Ruke

 

  


Asad called to arrange the earliest tickets to Mumbai. Once Zoya woke up they could pack and leave. They still had to talk about the Siddiqui situation …  And now Tanveer ...

Damn! 

 

His phone indicated a new text message received. Ayaan! Shukr hai khuda ka! 

Asad rushed to open it.

     "I had to get away. I'm OK."

Asad tried calling. 

Unreachable. 

     He texted back: "where are you? Do you know how worried everyone is?" 

     "I'm fine."  

They texted back and forth.

     "But where are you?" 

     "Bhai, don't worry."

     "Allah miyan, what is wrong with you! Zoya will kill you for ruining her honeymoon!"

     "LOL! And not Mr. Zoya?"

     "But what happened?" 

Asad waited for nearly half an hour but got no response in return. He had tried calling several times but no answer. He sighed in frustration and worry. Why had Ayaan run? Something bad must have happened to make him want to disappear like that. 

     "Call me whenever you want to talk. Or better yet, talk to Zoya."

Maybe it was better if he backed off for now. Asad called his father. 

     "Haan beta, he just texted us telling us he's fine. Yeh ladka! Idhar iski ammi ne ro-ro kar haal kharab kiya hai. Wapas aane do, khabar leta soon. And Asad, you don't need to come now. Enjoy your time together. Once the kids come you won't have any time to yourselves."

Asad blushed with pleasure. 

     Shireen once again grabbed he phone from her husband, "beta aap log apna khayaal rakhiyega. We saw in last night's news that Taj ke paas kucch badmashon nein kissi shadi-shuda jodey ko tang kiya. Shukar hai Allah ka, ki woh log pakde gaye."

     "Ji, chhoti Ammi."

     "Zoya ko humara pyaar dena." 

 

After hanging up, Asad stretched out on the sofa thinking about their hot tub soak. 

They needed one more romp in there to erase yesterday's bad memories. 

And maybe get started on those kids.

Asad glanced at the iPad lying next to him and browsed through the camera roll. He looked at all the pictures from their previous trip remembering the heartache and the smiles. His fingers itched to delete every photo with Tanu in it. But he held back. These may be the only pictures they had of her if they needed to identify her remains ... 

He shuddered.

Pushing his cuff back he checked the time. 

Who knew he wouldn't know what to do with himself without Zoya?  

Through the plate glass windows the Taj glimmered in the distance. 

Sounds from the room next door told him that she was up and about. 

The bathroom door closed. 

And just like that, the day felt brighter, the air crisper. 

In the afternoon sun, the marble glowed a buttery gold. He knew that the monument changed color with the different angles of the sun, but seeing it still managed to take his breath away. It was hard to look away. 

Asad folded his arms across his chest and sighed, vaguely remembering the guide's words at Agra fort from their last trip for some inexpicable reason. 

Shah Jahan would gaze for hours at the Taj Mahal when imprisoned there by his son in his last years. Sometimes so overcome with grief, he couldn't even look at the monument to his beloved directly. 

He would look at its perfect reflection in a broken mirror.

 

Clothing rustled behind him and Asad turned around with a smile. 

And did a double take.

Zoya was dressed in a demure suit covered from neck to wrist to toe. He held out his arm and she melted against him. Asad crooked his finger under her chin to brush her lips with his.

     "Zoya, why?" 

     "Maybe I shouldn't wear jeans ..."

     "What rubbish! I won't let some drunken hooligans change who you are." He nudged her nose with his and gazed intensely into her eyes, "after all, Jahanpanah couldn't do it." 

She giggled. 

That sound warmed him to his toes.

Asad arched an eyebrow.

     "Let's get you out of these clothes. I have many plans for my kaneez." He let his finger trail from her lips down to the pulse at her throat.

She started to back up playfully, still giggling.  

     "Oh really? Kaneez haath ayegi, tab na!" and she ran away from him behind the sofa.

He chased her. 

Snagging her flying dupatta he draped it around his neck. 

     "So, no Fatehpur Sikri?" Zoya pouted. She'd have loved to re-visit that pristine medieval city.

     "Only after Jahanpanah's fateh!" 

They faced each other across opposite ends of the glass dining table. He did his little head tilt indicating the tabletop.

She blushed a deep red. 

     "Mr. Khan!" she cried, feigning shock, and fled toward the bedroom. 

Asad grabbed her by the waist in two quick strides and swung her in a circle. 

"I know, the table would be too cold for my Mallika. I have just the right thing for her." He whispered in her ear. He raised both her arms over her head and peeled off her kurta. 

A few more flicks of his wrists and nimble fingers, and he had unhooked and tugged her out of the rest of her clothing. 

     "Hide these in your bag or I'll burn them. I never want to see them again, especially not on this trip," he commanded imperiously.

Ooh, she loved this dishy and arrogant Zille Ilahi! Tyrant and feminist rolled into one, how lucky was she?

     Asad lifted her chin, "are you OK?" 

     "I think so ..." 

     "Want to talk about it?" 

     Her lashes brushed her cheeks, "later?" 

He carried her to the bathroom and placed her at the tub's edge. 

     "Whenever you're ready," he caressed her cheek and leaned over to kiss her forehead. "I love you."

After turning on the faucets and the jets in the hot tub, he quickly divested himself of his clothing. Zoya came to examine the bruises on his jaw and ribs.

     "Have you been icing this down?" she touched his jaw.

     "Umm hmm, all that time that you were sleeping." He turned her around, and reached for her hair scrunchie on the counter. 

     "Wanted to look my best when I seduced my wife out of her Bhartiya nari clothing into a naked goddess!" She let him secure her hair in a high ponytail. 

He'd really gotten good at it too. 

     Zoya laughed, "Asad, you really surprise me. I had thought you wouldn't ever want me to wear western clothing now." 

He kissed her hard after turning her back to face him. \

     "Wear whatever you want. I love you in jeans. But on some days I would love to see you in a saree with a sexy blouse." Asad bit down on her neck and trailed kisses to her shoulder, "or no blouse at all." 

     He nuzzled her now, licking the hollow of her throat and nibbling on the column of her neck. Warm hands feathered to the curve of her waist and he huskily murmured in her ear, "wear that tiny lace thingie tonight with your fuck me heels ... I promise, you won't even have to take them off!" 

Eyes hooded with desire, she shuddered and moaned in his arms. 

     "Jo hukm jahanpanah," she purred.

 

Zoya urged him into the hot water now frothing and steaming, ready for them. 

He reached his hand out once he had settled his back against the wall of the tub. She shook her head and went out. 

     "Zoya?" he complained. 

     "Hold your horses, I'm coming." 

     "I want you coming here, with me," he whined. 

     "Mr. Khan, behave!" 

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, arms stretched loosely over the edge. And inhaled deeply as he felt soft, warm fingers rub something fragrant on his jawline, neck and shoulders. 

     "What's that?" he asked softly, languid and relaxed. 

     "Vitamin E oil. May be it'll help with the bruising. Shh now, just relax." 

     "I'll smell like a girl now." 

     "Not just any girl though, a goddess hmm?" 

     He looked down in his lap, an eyebrow arched, "now you've just confused the god downstairs." 

     She convulsed with laughter and hugged him from the back, "I really, really love you, Mr. Khan." 

     "Good, because Mr. Khan needs lots of loving right now," and he tugged her into the swirling hot water on top of him.

Stroking her thighs, he told her about Ayaan. 

     "How could he do that to Humaira!" She wrapped her arms around his neck and hitched up higher in his lap.   

His eyebrows shot up. 

     "Please, Asad, if you don't kick his butt when he returns, I will!" 

     "But Zoya, he must be really upset to do that."

His hands lightly tracked up her bare back. She fisted her hands painfully in his hair forcing his chin up. 

     "Aaahh! What the ..." he complained.  

     "Mr. Khan, you're already hurt so I'll be gentle." 

His eyes widened; Asad swallowed. 

     She leaned over to whisper tightly in his ear, "what is it with you Khan men? You run when faced with a problem and don't talk it out to find a solution?" 

She tugged at his hair even harder. 

God! He realized she was really furious now. 

At him? But what did he do? 

Damn you Ayaan, I'll really have to kill you now, he fumed. 

     "You would've walked away from us if I hadn't talked to you that night, right? I died a thousand deaths on the mehendi day." 

She bent to bite his nipple. He jerked. 

     "Before that, you nearly let me go back to New York. What if I hadn't seen that video that you didn't even record intentionally?" 

He wrenched her to him. 

     "I was a royal fool." 

     "Yes, incredibly foolish!" He felt her lips curl on his chest. Her tongue snaked out to take the sting out of her earlier bite. 

     He guided her mouth to his to suck and feast on her. "I'm sorry baby, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I promise." 

     She looked him dead in the eye, "and, your brother better do right by MY sister." 

     Tucking her hair behind her ear, he promised gruffly, "together, we'll make sure he does. Meri saali ki zindagi ka sawaal hai aakhir!" 

He bent to lick a stray teardrop. 

     " ... And speaking of kicking butts," he cupped her bottom as she guided him into her. " ... when we return, all you girls will learn some hard ..." he thrust hard into her and she bucked. "... core martial arts," he ground out through clenched teeth. "And ..." his fingers dug into her waist, "... Mrs. Jahanpanah, you will learn too. Don't even," he nipped her neck and bent his head to suckle her, "try to tell me that you already know from watching too many movies." 

     Zoya's ponytail bounced and swung from side to side as she rode him, "only for you, Mr. Khan, since you asked so nicely," she barely gasped out.

The room filled with steam; the gurgling jets and their hissed breaths punctuated with soft cries and amorous banter added to the headiness of their union.

     "And ..." she gripped him by his hair again to tilt his head back, "only if you spar with me!" She let go to next rake her nails on his arms. 

     "Koi shaq, Mrs. Khan?" Asad ground out with quickened breath, he swatted her bottom, slowly kneading it. 

     "And ... then we'll make love afterwards ..." she queried innocently. 

     "Yes!" he grunted as their bodies moved more urgently now. 

     " ... when you lose ...?" 

And she arched back and screamed his name.

 

It was hours later at the Buland Darwaza, when he realized what she'd really said.

Asad squeezed her hand.

     "Mallika-e-Asad Ahmed Khan, why will I lose?"

     She turned to look into his eyes and raised her eyebrows. Fist on her angled waist, Zoya explained patiently, "Mr. Khan, when we're sparring naked, who do you think is going to win?" 

     He slapped his palm on his forehead, "of course, what was I thinking! Sorry baby, I must've had my stupid pills today."

  


They'd just visited Salim Chisti's shrine where Zoya sank to her knees in gratitude after carefully untying two threads from the lattice groaning under billions of hopes and wishes. 

She pressed those threads, her duas, to her heart. Zoya remembered her last visit to this holy site. Allah _had_ granted her her wish. Please Allah miya, meri behen ki bhi dua qubool karna.

 

Seated on the stone ledge under the Masjid's shadow, shoulder to shoulder, Asad had asked when she wanted to meet her Abbu. 

She shook her head. 

     "No, Asad, it's OK. It's enough for me to know that he's well and that I have a sister. She's wonderful isn't she and she'll be my devrani!" 

     "But Zoya, all your life you yearned for your Abbu. You came to India only to find him." He couldn't understand why she would turn away from her life's quest. 

     She touched his shoulder and gave him a half-smile, "and I found you instead." 

She showed him the two strings she still clutched in her hands. She would go home and place them in her copy of the Holy Quran. Hugging her knees to her now, she rested her chin on her arms. As if thinking aloud, she spoke softly. Asad had to strain his ears to catch what she was saying. 

     "He believes he's found his daughter. Just looking at him being emotional is good enough for me."  She turned to him, hope and regret in her eyes, "He would've loved me ... and cried for me ..."

     "Zoya, you can meet him in person ..." 

     "No, Asad, why would he believe me? I have no evidence. And I don't want to put him through the indignities of paternity tests." 

     "Oh my god, Zoya," he drew a ragged breath, "what are you made of?" 

He was so angry at Gaffoor Siddiqui. That man did not deserve a daughter like Zoya. Why had he not looked for her? He knew that this question still haunted her: why didn't he try to find her? Asad felt fear and loathing curl up inside him. Was this man part of the conspiracy to kill her mother? Did he leave Zoya there in the factory to die? Who does such a thing? To their own child? 

Not caring who saw them, he dragged her into his arms, hid his face in her neck, and cried with her.

 

Song in Title: 

Dor (2006): "Ye Hausla"


	55. Rahey Bechain Dil Kab Tak, Milay Kuch Pal Toh Rahat Ke

 

 

 

Zoya called Humaira after they returned to the hotel.

She'd locked herself in the bathroom and turned on the faucets in the tub. A part of her was scared and nervous. Would she be able to talk to her? Would she resent Humaira for having lived with their father's love all her life while she had yearned for him all of hers? 

Please Allah, give me strength to ... to what? 

Please don't let me hate her. Please don't let me start crying.

     Heart thudding, she punched in her number, "Humaira?" 

     "Zoya Bhabhi!" Humaira wailed and burst into bitter tears. 

Zoya's heart melted. 

     "Na baby, it'll be OK." She made soft soothing sounds and tried talking her down from her near-hysteria. "Have some water, now, c'mon. I'll wait." She waited till she heard her gulp down a few sips. Zoya made a soft kissing sound to encourage her, "tell mama what happened? Did you have a fight?" 

     "Nooo!" Humaira started to cry again. "He won't take my calls. I don't know what to think anymore." She sniffed. 

     "Shh ... don't worry, Humaira. If you didn't have a fight then everything will be fine between you two. It must've been something else that upset him." 

     "Really? He's not mad at me?" 

     "No! Why would he be? He better not be, or I will kill him. I've already told Mr. Khan to whoop his ass when he returns."

Humaira sniffed.

     "No, Zoya Bhabhi, tell Bhaijaan to go easy on him." 

     "Why? And anyways this is now between me and Raabert. And Raabert will have to answer to C.I.D Jahanpanah." Zoya changed her voice and channeled some ACP Pradyuman, "Daya, kuchh toh garbad hai. Ab toh phaansi hogi, phaansi!" 

Humaira giggled. 

     "You know Zoya Bhabhi, I feel so much better after talking to you. I've been so worried. First Ayaan, and now Ammi acting strange. Abbu is so stressed. He wasn't too happy with me coming to Mumbai with everyone, but Ammi convinced him to let me come." 

Zoya's hand tightened on her phone. She blinked several times and shifted it to the other hand, taking a deep steadying breath in between. 

     "Is everything OK ... at home?" 

     "I don't know. Ammi too isn't taking my calls and Abbu says she's pretty much locked herself in her room. Do you think I should return early, Bhabhi? May be I should have listened to Abbu and not come." 

     "No ... don't ... second guess yourself like this." Zoya took another deep breath, willing her voice to not crack. "We ... we were all so happy on our way to the airport. Inshaallah, those days will come again. Just remember that Ayaan really loves you." 

     "Really? I don't know anymore. I've loved him all my life. But he … " Humaira sniffed. "Maybe he realized that he doesn't …"

     "Yes, he does love you! When I was teasing him that I wanted to fix you up with Omar, you should have seen his reaction." 

     "What was it? Tell me!" 

     "I said, Omar is a great guy,' and he said," and Zoya changed the tenor of her voice, " 'I don't care if he's freaking Santa Claus!' " 

     "Really Bhabhi, he said that?" 

     "Hmm. And then I told him, 'but Humaira and Omar look so cute together,' and you know what he said?"

     "What?" asked Humaira breathlessly. 

     "He nearly bit my head off, " 'she's mine!' he yelled." 

She heard Humaira gasp with pleasure, and smiled. 

     "See? There's nothing to worry about." 

     "Thank you, Bhabhi. You're so funny. You remind me of when I was young and Abbu would read stories to me changing his voice with each different character." 

Humaira rattled on, not hearing Zoya's choked gasp.

Why didn't you read me stories, Abbu? Why didn't you come looking for me? 

     "And Bhabhi ...?" Humaira hesitated shyly. 

Zoya cleared her throat.

     "What is it, swee— Humaira?" 

     "You know, I did something really silly, and now I'm feeling embarrassed." 

     "I'm sure it's not as silly as you think. D'you want to tell me?" 

     "Remember, the skirt and boots we tried on, and then Ayaan gifted them to me?" 

     "Umm hmm." 

     " Um ... I wore those, and ... took a picture of myself and sent it to him!" 

     "Good girl!" Zoya laughed. Her heart was light again. "That's exactly what I would have done too!" 

     "Bhabhi, why would you dress like that and send a picture to Ayaan?" 

Zoya snorted.

Humaira giggled even more. 

Thank you, Allah miyan for that sound. 

Zoya splashed cold water on her face after she hung up. 

 

Asad was by the door when when she came out. She flew into his arms. 

     "All well?" he asked stroking her back and tucking her head in the crook of his neck. 

     Zoya nodded. "I thought I wouldn't know what to say. I thought that I'd feel jealous of her. But how can I be jealous when she's so miserable?" 

     "Shh..." He cupped her face, "you don't have a jealous bone in your body. And I know. I've checked every inch of this body." 

She boxed his stomach.

     "Oh god Asad, I would've died if I didn't have you," she hugged him fiercely. 

     He kissed the top of her head. "Don't talk nonsense. And Ayaan's an idiot, but he'll figure it out like me ... eventually."

     "But if he doesn't, you'll kill him for me right?"

     " ... umm" 

     "Mr. Khan!" 

     "OK, I'll hold him down for you. You can kill him." 

     "Now that's more like my man! How would you like to be rewarded for being my knight in charming armor?" 

He was already peeling off his shirt.

     "Charming armor? I thought it was shining." 

She slithered out of her jeans.

     "Nah! Not when Jahanpanah charming wears it and mounts his queen!" 

 

     Hours later, in the dark, snuggled into his side with her head on his chest, she asked him, "Asad?"

     "Hmm," he mumbled stroking her silken back.

     She played with his fingers, "you'll read stories to our kids, right?" 

     "Every night." 

     "All of them?"

     He wiped her tears, "all of them. Even their imaginary friends." 

 

Somehow both of them had instinctively shied away from listening to that recording from 18 years ago. It was as if each seemed to want to protect the other from what happened that day. 

And protect themselves from the crimes of their fathers that night.

     "We don't have to listen to it." Asad had suggested. 

They were flying to New Delhi. This was a surprise for her that he wouldn't reveal till they got to their destination. 

     "Ever?" 

He smiled ruefully and squeezed her hand.

     "If that's what you want." 

     "May be when we return home?" she asked softly. 

     "We aren't going to be home for another week." 

     "Really? Why?" 

     "All part of the surprise, Mrs. Khan." He laced his fingers through hers on the armrest. "Zoya, I know you're scared to find out what's on that recording. I am too." 

His biggest fear was hearing not just her father's role in her mother's murder, but evidence that he willingly abandoned Zoya. Asad's fist clenched. He would pound that man into a pulp if there was even a shred of evidence that he'd left Zoya to die in the factory.

     "If you want, I can listen to it. You don't have to."

She nodded her head and looked out the window. He felt her withdraw into herself and kicked himself for even bringing it up.

Asad absently stroked the top of her hand with his thumb. 

     "Zoya," he whispered seductively in her ear. "How are you going to reward me for the surpise?" 

He saw her lips curl in a reluctant smile and tugged on her hand.

     "Depends on the surprise. If I like it, you could get lucky," she murmured.

     "And if you love it?" 

She laughed softly.

     "So sure of yourself?" 

     "I aim to please." 

     Zoya turned around in her seat to face him and promised breathily, "then you'll be very pleased." 

He grinned. 

     "And Jahanpanah?" she continued in a hushed tone as she rested her cheek in her palm. 

     He looked at her expectantly, "it'll be my pleasure." 

She swallowed audibly. 

Asad blushed.

     "But Asad, at least give me a hint, please!"

     "No, not at all. A surprise is a surprise. And," he pinched her cheek lightly, "pouting those sexy lips of yours isn't going to work on me."

     "Oh really?" the dimple deepened, and she licked her lips slowly. His grip on her hand tightened and his lips parted.

     "So sad that my charms don't work on you. Shaadi ke baad aisa hi hota hai." Zoya lifted her arms provocatively to pile her hair on her head and then shook it loose. "Ghar ki murgi, dal barabar, right?" 

Next, she arched her back pretending to stretch it, and heard his sharp intake of breath.

     "Maybe I do need to give these lips a rest. They've worked overtime these past few days, no?" She purred.

And she bit her lower lip. 

He groaned softly.

     "Mrs. Khan, behave!" 

     She turned away from him in the seat, looked over her shoulder, and playfully stuck out her butt at him, "otherwise you'll punish me?" 

His eyes darkened and glittered.

     "Koi shaq?" 

     "Kaneez ko deewar mein chunvaenge, jahanpanah?" 

     "Nahin, dil mein." 

     "Lekin chunva ke rahenge?" 

     "Ab aap aise hi kabu main aati hain to yehi sahi." 

     "Mr. Khan!" 

     "Settle down, Mrs. Khan," he teased. 

     She looked at him through narrowed slits and then cut her eyes to his lap, "you settle down!"

His shoulders shook from laughing. Looking around, he quickly kissed his finger and placed it on her lips. She kissed it. Asad traced her lips with his thumb. So plump and soft, and damn! That mouth. Sassy as hell. And so hot when on him. 

Zoya's eyes drooped. 

He pulled his hand back and both sighed in frustration.

 

An hour and a half later she couldn't restrain herself.

     "But why did we fly into Delhi to only take the train?" 

Mr. Khan was being just too tight-lipped about this surprise. None of her wiles and charms and threats seemed to work on her drill sergeant of a husband. 

Zoya gave up and huffed in silence in the car ride.   

     "Catch yourself getting lucky anytime soon," she muttered in annoyance. 

     "Oh don't you worry, I will," Asad drawled. 

She decided to complete some unfinished business and channel her frustration; Zoya texted Ayaan to give him a piece of her mind. 

Asad had already texted Ayaan that Zoya was furious with him.

     Ayaan had sent her a message while they were in the flight: "Kya Mona darling, you're mad at your devar for ruining your honeymoon?" 

     "Your brother is already doing a fine job of that, thank you very much." She added matching emoticons to indicate her displeasure with his beloved Bhaijaan.

When Ayaan read that, he guffawed with pleasure. Trust them to be still fighting. She really knew how to push his buttons. Perfect jodi, he half-smiled to himself to avoiding think about his own jodi.

     He messaged Asad: "Jhansi ki rani ko sataa rahen hain Jahanpanah?" 

Asad looked up sharply at Zoya. She was furiously punching away on her phone. 

     Ayaan's phone pinged: "Raabert, I'm furious that you left Humaira heartbroken. I'll never forgive you for this."

     "Mona, you don't understand. I can't explain. I just had to leave." 

     "Typical. How convenient for you. You have the option of running away and leave the girl hanging, worrying that she may've done or said something."

     "It's not because of her."

     "Have you told her that? And you know what. I'm done text-talking. Call me when you are ready to talk like a man." 

 

Whoa! His pistol-packing, cowgirl of a Bhabhi was seriously pissed off. Ayaan scratched his head. He really didn't know what to do. He was repulsed by Mumani's actions. But Humaira was innocent. Why punish her? But how can you love someone whose mother did such terrible things? To your family. 

What if they got married and had a fight, and he threw her mother's vileness in her face each time? Wouldn't that be more hurtful than making a clean break now? 

Ayaan wandered blindly in the courtyard at Ajmer Sharif. In his grief and anger this had seemed the only place where he could think of bowing his head to seek peace and purpose. 

But each time he closed his eyes he saw Humaira's face. 

Her look of hope and concern. Her bent gaze each time he'd flirted outrageously with girls from their college. Her eager greeting every morning ... 

... every memory of her pain and his indifference stabbed him. 

He'd hurt her so much already ... wouldn't it be typical of his selfish attitude to hurt her for the last time? 

She could forget about him, get married to a guy who really deserves her ...

No!

 

Humaira was done crying. 

After talking to Zoya Bhabhi, she had been thinking more and more about Ayaan's thoughtlessness. If he had fled because of her, then what had she really done? And if it was because of something else, then why hadn't he told her? She'd sent him a million messages and now felt embarrassed and angry with herself. 

How clingy could she have been? Why did she reduce herself to a doormat each time it came to Ayaan?

Enough!

Man up, Humaira! She dashed her tears in anger. 

She paced in her hotel room and wished she were home.

Should she text him just one last time?

No! 

No Humaira don't go there. You're not dumb. You're not ugly. You're not ...

She burst into tears.

Idiot! Stop it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself right now! 

 

Ayaan had read all the texts from everyone and was beginning to feel antsy. There were pleas of worry and love from his mother and father and sisters. Bhaijaan had offered a shoulder to cry on.

There were threats of bodily harm from Zoya and Omar. 

     "Saale tu wapas aa, Ima kick your butt from here to eternity." Omar had texted. 

And then there was Humaira. 

Ayaan had felt dark remorse reading through each of her frantic messages. 

But his phone had been silent for the last two hours. He checked absently whether it was running low on battery or if he had accidentally switched it off.

Humaira's messages had stopped. 

A flatline on a heart monitor. 

Ayaan felt a tingle of alarm. Did something happen to her? His fingers itched to reach out to her but then he thought of Mumani. 

He flung his phone on the hotel bed. 

Should he tell Bhaijaan about all this? 

Not the right time. May be when they returned home. Impulsively, he called Omar. 

     "You bloody dick! I'll seriously kill you Raabert!" 

     "Oh really? You and which army?"

     "Shut the hell up, man! What's going on? Where are you?" 

     Ayaan sobered up. He sighed, "Ajmer Sharif."

     "We'll be there by tomorrow." 

     "What? Why?" 

     "My parents go there each visit to India anyways. And may be there you'll come clean about why you pulled this crap stunt." 

     Ayaan dragged his hand through his hair, "I can't talk about it with anyone else. They all are too close to this mess." 

     "I'm not. Tell me, though I'm seriously pissed at you man." 

     "I know ... I think that's why I called you instead of anyone else ... What time are you guys getting in tomorrow?" 

 

Ayaan had been waiting in the hotel lobby to receive them. His face fell when he saw only Badi Ammi, Nuzzhat, Nikhat, Najma and Omar and his parents.

     "Where are Abbu and Ammi?" he had asked Nikhat. 

     "They went back home with Dadi. She was not up for a longer stay away from home."

     "And ... Humaira?"

     "She wanted to go back home. Mumani is not well." 

Nikhat had looked sharply at her brother. His cheeks were sunken and hair even messier. His eyes had searched for Humaira.

So they still weren't talking or texting. She didn't want to pester him with questions at this time. But she was mad at him for Humaira's sake. She'd seen Humaira go from being sick with worry and fear, to numb acceptance of some doomed life sentence, and her heart had twisted for her friend. 

She had seen Humaira faking cheer all of yesterday. 

Bhaijaan would have to figure out this one on his own and do right by her. 

She deserved better. 

 

Zoya squealed loudly enough to make many people around them clutch their hearts in fear for a second. But once they turned to look at her they smiled. 

They saw a young woman in jeans and a kurti, hair flying, bouncing on her toes and clapping with delight. They saw her launch herself into a young man's arms nearly knocking both of them off their feet. He was laughing huskily and held her tight in his arms.

Aw, must be newlyweds! 

     "The frikking Palace on Wheels! I love it. I love it. I love it! And I love you, Mr. Khan!" She twirled in front of the coach entrance, manned by highly decorated doormen in colorful pagdis and clothes, flanking the red carpet. 

     "Oh, did I hear you correctly? You did say you love it, not just like it, right?" 

     "Umm hmm," she smiled knowing exactly what he was hinting at. 

Zoya was dying to explore the inside.

     "OK fine," she flashed her dimples at him, "I know, I should've had more faith in your super-psycho planning abilities."

Oh really? He was so going to get her for calling him psycho.

 

 

 

Song in Title: 

Gangster (2006): "Ya Ali"


	56. Magar Ab Chaand Poora Hai Falak Pe, Aur Ab Poore Hain Hum

 

 

     "But when did you arrange all this? Aren't they booked months in advance?" Zoya was still bouncing off the walls, giddy with delight.

     "I saw a brochure at the hotel and got my people to pull some strings."

     "You have peeps! Mr. Khan, you're too good. But aren't you taking this Jahanpanah thingie a little too seriously?" She teased him after having inspected every inch of their luxuriously appointed saloon. After all, they didn't call it the Palace on Wheels for nothing! Their traditionally attired khidmatgar, whilst serving them chilled drinks, had introduced himself as their personal valet for the rest of the trip. 

Zoya could _not_ stop giggling. How weird to have someone wait on you hand and foot? She snuck a glance at her husband. Hmm, may be not so weird to His Highness here.

 

She had only heard about luxury trains like this. A friend's parents had taken the trip for their 25th wedding anniversary and Zoya and her friends had oohed and aahed over the pictures of the lavish décor and lapped up stories of the royal treatment that mimicked the lifestyles of the maharajas of old.

Zoya couldn't believe that they were actually here. In the Palace on Wheels! Wait till she told all her friends back home about it. 

All guests were invited for a meet and greet at the bar this evening for drinks. Thank god she had packed some formal outfits thinking that they'd be with family in Mumbai.

She twirled in the stateroom after snagging Asad's hand and dancing under it.

     "Raja ko rani se pyaar ho gaya," she sang.

Asad laughed before pulling her in for a kiss.

 

The train started and Zoya curled up on the window seat to see the train pulling away from the station. She saw kids on the streets playing cricket, shanties and homes gave way to fields. In the US, looking out of a train or car window, one only saw other cars or concrete structures. But here, people and animals co-habited and thronged every surface, bright eyes shining and brown hands gyrating. The vibrant and fading colors of clothes and billboards bled into one another. It was hypnotic to watch faces and landscapes zoom by. 

Picking up speed, the train rocked rhythmically; the sound of the grating metal on the rails had a soothing effect. 

She felt Asad sit behind her and sighed as he pulled her into his arms. 

     "How did I get so lucky?" she mused aloud. Zoya rested her head on his chest still looking at the trees and houses and clouds fly by, "I must have done something right." 

His arms tightened around her and she felt his breath on her neck. 

Eyes half-closed, she thought about the day she had christened him Jahanpanah. It had been only two or three weeks into her stay in India and she was bored. Flipping through channels she'd come across one of Jeeju's favorite movies. 

She missed him terribly. 

Every scene reminded of her of what Jeeju would say, or where she'd roll her eyes; how they'd argue and eventually beg Aapi to take sides. And bless Aapi's heart, even though she loved the film and the songs herself, she always took Zoya's side which riled Jeeju infinitely. 

Zoya always found the Jahanpanah in "Mughal-e-Azam" to be comical and way over the top. That booming voice and rocking mountain of a man she didn't diss too much; but only because he was her Ranbir Kapoor's great grandfather. But Jeeju would take off on a fangurl rant about how the film was an all-time classic, had the finest actors of the time, cost so much to make, the multiple re-takes of a particular scene and blah, blah, blah.

Zoya just didn't get the hype. Except for a spunky Anarkali, the others were just so meh! 

Spoiled rotten men from a forgotten era (thank you, Allah miyan) who'd it so damn easy. 

And just then Mr. Khan had walked in from work. Stiff, scowling, and Allah miyan, so damned full of himself. A seventeenth-century man time-warped into the twenty-first century. 

Incredibly foolish, she'd smirked to herself then, and now. 

And then real life had mimicked reel life: she saw Phuphi and Najma jump to attention like robots. They leaped to serve him and do his bidding as he held court inspecting smudges, straightening cushions, and commanding the women who were running around him like headless chickens. 

Zoya had looked up from the TV screen to Akdu Ahmed Khan, and then back again to the TV screen. 

And her Jahanpanah had been born. 

In a flash, she'd even imagined him sentencing her to umar-qaid in disapproval for constantly challenging and upsetting him. Allah miyan, the old Mr. Khan! He only looked at her in anger, nostrils flaring, teeth gnashing and fists clenching. A fire-breathing dragon who daily terrorized and oppressed the fair warrior-maiden Zoya Farooqui.

Any moment, and he'd gladly throw her to the lions or into the Khan dungeon. 

 

Asad stirred, already reacting to her body's heat.

She smiled and turned in his arms.

     "Asad." 

     "Hmm?" 

     "Make love to me."  

He released his breath. 

     "I didn't know your superpowers included reading minds," he ran his tongue down the curve of her ear.

     She shivered, "reading minds has nothing to do with it, apparently. It's something way lower with a mind of its own that needs attention!" 

He snickered, and let out an exaggerated sigh as he pushed her hair to the side and lowered the zip on her shirt, "kya zamana aa gaya hai! Roz-roz, the 21st century Jahanpanah gets sassed and doesn't even get the last word." He bent to rain kisses on her exposed back, tracing the goosebumps on her flesh. 

     "Aww, poor underdog Jahanpanah," she rasped through hitching breath, "how about being my khidmatgar to complete your surrender?"

He was too distracted, and his mouth too busy to respond.

She laughed huskily in triumph, but was soon silenced.

Their clothes fell in a blur; their lips and hands barely ever inches apart. 

  


A phone buzzed. 

     "Unnhh!" she complained coming up for air. 

     "Let it go to voice mail," Asad ordered gruffly. He hadn't even begun his inspection of the skin behind his begum's knees before they hugged his hips urging him in deeper.

     "But what if ..."

     "No, don't say it!" 

     "... it's Phuphi, I mean Ammi?"

     "Brilliant! Bring up my mother to kill the mood why don't you," he grumbled. 

Zoya giggled and rolled over to rest her chin in her palm. Watching him cover himself with a sheet before checking the phone made her want to really torture him out of his Jahanpanahness. 

But if it was Ammi on the line, then she'd better behave. 

It was.

She did. 

For all of two seconds. 

She plotted various scenes of wicked foreplay in her head. Eyes wandering, they hooded when she saw the platters of fruit, nuts and pastries their khidmatgar had left behind. 

Naked, lambent, Zoya sashayed over, yet undecided about which treat to seduce him with. 

The pastries of course, with all that luscious cream and chocolate. But the clusters of grapes and plump strawberries beckoned too. 

Umm, a little healthy and a little sinful. 

Perfection! 

Asad's eyes had followed her and now narrowed in horror and anticipation as he watched her debating the offerings.

     "Ji Ammi," he answered distractedly.

He saw her turn to him and tilt her head back. Her hair, already mussed up from his earlier ministrations, reached well below her waist grazing the flare of her hips. Her neck corded as she dangled the cluster of grapes over that sinful mouth.

A couple of grapes sank into her mouth and she crunched on them, purposefully. 

He had to bite off a moan. Asad couldn't look away from his incoming ruin. His throat went dry.

Zoya glided over to him and popped a grape in his mouth. He tried to bite her finger but she skittered away. 

     "Aur umm, haan, Tama ...tar ...?" he swallowed and cleared his throat. 

His breath caught as his eyes locked with hers and he watched her slowly dip a fat strawberry in the cream atop a pastry, and just as slowly, open her mouth, curve her lips into an O, and take a raunchy bite. Some cream smeared over her lips and the tip of her pink tongue darted out to lick it off. 

He groaned and crashed back helplessly into the headboard.

Zoya grinned and pumped her fist in victory. 

He squeezed his eyes shut. 

     "Umm ... haan Ammi, aur aap bhi." 

His eyes gleamed darkly. 

     "Allah hafiz, Ammi." 

She saw him smirk.

     "Yeh lijiye, apni ladli bahu se baat kariye." 

Asad flung the sheet away, and rose to give her the phone and wink at her.

She gulped, nearly choking on the strawberry. 

Hot damn! He had just turned the tables on her. She couldn't take her eyes off that glorious erection and he knew it.

     " … H-hi, Ammi!" Zoya watched in dismay as Asad inched closer, grabbed her hand and dipped and swirled her finger in the frosting. She almost moaned aloud as he thrust it deep into his mouth and sucked hard on it.

Her eyes bugged out and her knees buckled. 

She glared at him, or at least tried to. It was hard when your eyes wanted to close in surrender or roll back in your head.

    "Thanks Ammi and ... aap?"

     She shook her head desperately. No! I love her but not now, please ... "OK ... hi Tamatar!" she squeaked.

He was doing it again.

Oh really? Was there any frosting even left? He'd already smeared some on her nipples and licked it off. Slowly. 

Now he dangled a maraschino cherry over her mouth. Already hypnotized by the swaying orb, Zoya leaned forward to swipe it from his hand, but he dipped his head to wrap his tongue around it. 

His nose brushed against her cheek. 

     "Zoya, I wish you guys were here. Omar and his Ammi Abbu know about Ajmer more than any of us. It's such fun." 

Zoya's eyes now snagged on his lips. Her hand, as if magnetized, lifted to brush his mouth. His tongue snaked out, hot and firm, to tease her fingertips. Molten desire leaped deep in her ... her thighs clenched expectantly.

Chewing on his trophy Asad lifted her finger to once again scoop up a mountain of topping, from a black forest pastry this time. Eyes daring her to look away, he swooped to lick and suck her finger again, slowly tugging at it with his tongue. But this time he didn't swallow. Instead he knelt down before her and her eyes widened helplessly, to only close heavily.

No, no, don't you da ... 

Her body jolted. Her head fell back. 

... aahhh, oh god, yes ... ple...ase ... ye ...s 

Thank god, Tamatar was gushing about Mumbai ... and now Ajmer Sharif, and how Omar this … and his parents that. 

Zoya whimpered, almost falling back. His hands on the back of her thighs and her fist in his hair were the only anchors holding her upright. 

     "What happened, Zoya? Are you OK?"

     "Ye...s," her breath rushed. "Najma ... the battery's dying ..." 

And so am I ...

     She heard him laugh softly and murmur, "liar!"

She whomped him upside his head with her free hand. 

And was swiftly punished for it. 

Her hips lurched forward and she rocked on the balls of her feet, nearly tipping over. She stuffed her knuckle in her mouth to keep from keening. Najma yammered on about yummy Rajasthani food. 

Zoya bit down on her knuckles, he hips danced. 

Omar had an upset stomach but still soldiered on to prove that he could handle spicy food. 

     "Najma ... I have to go..." because your Bhaijaan is just about to make me— 

Her head jerked back; she turned the phone off ... she hoped, and it slid from her limp hand falling with a soft thud on the carpeted floor. 

 

Ayaan and Omar were in the hotel game room playing pool while the girls were at the spa. But the game had long been forgotten once Omar heard the details of why Ayaan had fled. 

     "So now what?" he asked Ayaan who rubbed his face in growing frustration. This was indeed a mess and a hard place to be in.

     "I don't know man, I just don't know what to do. I don't know if I can face Humaira. I've hurt her enough already and ..." 

     "What are you really scared of Ayaan? That in choosing her you are betraying your father? Or that you'll hurt her, or even that she carries her parents' demon DNA?"

    He clapped his hand on Ayaan's shoulder, "does it really have to be an either-or' situation? Do you think your folks won't accept Humaira?" 

     "I don't know. So far, everyone from Ammi to Dadi to Abbu has always seen Humaira as one of us. It's always been the four of us. Growing up no one ever distinguished between me and my sisters and Humaira." 

     "Doesn't that say it all, you jackass!" Another time Ayaan would have punched his lights out, but now he just gazed moodily at the green felt. 

     "Nothing else matters then. If Rashid uncle can accept her, why not you?" 

     "You don't get it, Omar. It _does_ matter." Ayaan was running both his hands through his hair in agitation. "How can I forget everything that woman did to me and my family? She tried to trick me into getting engaged to Humaira, not once but two times!" "And then I find out that she's being doing the same to my father. God knows for how long? Do you know how emasculating that is!" 

Omar looked at him, feeling his anguish. It must rankle to be screwed over like this. He too felt revulsion for a person who could manipulate people to such an extent causing unmitigated ripples of hate and spite. 

Who does that? 

     "Look, you're right, I haven't been through anything like this, so I don't know the sense of helplessness you or Rashid uncle must have felt. But I do know what it means to be in love and to fear the loss of that love. And somehow, I don't think anything can fix or replace the sense of that loss."

Ayaan's head reeled.

An image of his father came unbidden to his mind. He'd always known that Abbu felt immense guilt for walking out on Badi Ammi, Bhaijaan and Najma. 

Ayaan had felt that guilt too each time he met Bhai. As a teen, once, for months, he'd stopped meeting Bhaijaan because of that shame: he and his family had snatched Bhai's haq from him. Robbed Najma and him of a father's love and shelter from the storm and sleet of a cruel world. He never knew what it was to grow without a father, when across town, Bhaijaan had struggled daily, working twice as hard to study and help Badi Ammi make ends meet. He would save up money to buy his spoilt kid-brother little treasures; cheap and inexpensive for a kid whose parents lavished him with gifts and electronics from abroad. 

But Ayaan had those treasures still carefully and lovingly hoarded. 

The expensive gifts and electronics he didn't even remember nor care about; they must've been passed on to servants' kids or trashed. 

And while Bhaijaan had hated their Abbu, he had only love to shower on Ayaan and his sisters, not once making them feel any different from Najma. That neither Najma nor he hated their half-siblings was a testament to Badi Ammi's parvarish. And if they were all together today it was only because Bhaijaan had made the effort that day to sneak into his room at night and hold him while he cried, begging forgiveness for his family's selfishness.

     And Bhai had said through tears, "Ayaan, you and the girls are the only wonderful thing to come out of this daily hell. Meeting you just makes my day better." He had softly hummed their song, wiping Ayaan's eyes and smiled when Ayaan had wiped his nose on his pristine shirt. He'd playfully whacked him on his head and they had wrestled knocking over a lamp.

Bhaijaan had returned to their house only once since then. And that was to come tell Abbu that Badi Ammi had been shot.

But that night, a new tradition had been born: Ayaan's nightly visits through Asad's window. The windows had changed as his older brother had became more successful, but the ritual of Ayaan tracking in dirt and Bhai's mock-reprimands and frantic clean-up remained intact. 

Except now, Mona darling had invaded their stronghold: their man cave. 

He smiled ruefully and shook his head.  

How had he begun to think of all this fraught history? 

Ah, yes, love and its glorious dash mein bumboo.

Abbu.

And Bhai. 

The two men in his life who he loved and looked up to. Thank god, Bhai had begun to open up and it was all thanks to Mona darling. And may be now it was time to grow up. May be even let in the idea that Badi Ammi had probably been Abbu's one true love all along. 

His heart jammed. 

Oh god, if Abbu had felt for 18 years what he'd been feeling for a little more than 18 hours, then love sure was a bitch that ate you up inside. Would he want that for himself? If he loved Humaira would he want that for her? 

Omar saw the kaleidoscope of emotions skim Ayaan's face. May be this idiot needed one last nudge.

     "Do you remember that dinner when I met you all for the first time?"

Ayaan nodded, distracted.

     "Remember how miserable Zoya and Asad were that day?"

Though Zoya never told him, he had seen how she would look at Asad when she thought no one was looking. He also knew that she had booked her tickets to New York because she couldn't bear to see him get married to another woman. She would have even left for good, if Asad hadn't taken the first step to declare his love. 

     "What? No!" 

     Omar laughed humorlessly. "They were that good at hiding their pain, Ayaan. But I guess, you get to that point when you don't give a damn about what anyone else thinks. And then you just take a leap of faith ..."

He cleared his throat. He didn't give him the sordid details of Tanveer's blackmail, but projected the angst of having to sit through seeing the woman you love be hurt daily because you couldn't confess your love for her. 

Omar sighed.

     "In fact, it was watching them that gave me the guts to put it all out there and propose to Najma. I wanted what they have now. Don't you?" 

Ayaan could have kicked himself for being so blind. He thought back to the trip and how even he had noticed Zoya's silence and Bhaijaan's moody reserve. He had even taunted Bhaijaan for not looking ecstatic about his engagement. He had no idea all this was going on right under his nose! How could two people so in love have gone through so much pain?

Omar saw the moment it hit Ayaan. He put his hand on Ayaan's shoulder.

     "Would it be such a big bloody deal? Sure, you'll have problems, you may even hurt her. But can't you face this mess together, with her by your side? Think," he continued, "what if you told her about her mother?"

     "She'd feel terrible and never want to be with me knowing that she'd remind me of her mother's awful acts." 

     "Exactly! If you are so sure that Humaira will feel that way, then does she really carry her mother's dark DNA?" 

Ayaan was stunned at the simplicity of these words.  

If he had such faith in Humaira's reaction, of course, even in his heart he must have known that she was not her mother, nor her mother's daughter. 

And may be that was his biggest fear after all: that in telling Humaira about her mother he would lose her forever. Not because he would despise her, but because she would never forgive herself for being Raziya Siddiqui's daughter.

 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Fanaah (2006): "Mere Haath Mein"  


	57. Aaj Jana Pyaar Ki Jaadugari Kya Cheez Hai

  


   

That evening in the dining car they met the other guests even though Asad was reluctant to leave their room. He relented when he saw her eagerness in wanting to dress up, go out as a couple, and be treated like royalty.

     "You're treated like a king daily by your mother and sister," she sulked. 

Zoya was wearing a gift from him: a full-sleeved white suit with sharara pants and an zari-embroidered magenta dupatta, while he wore a dark brown suit with an open collared shirt.

     Later, while slow-dancing in each other's arms he bent to whisper in her ear, "am I imagining it, or are you commando under there?"

Zoya fused her hips to his and rotated them reveling in his immediate response.

     Arms around his neck, she cocked her head to the side to tease him, "that Mr. Khan, is for me to know and you to find out." 

     "Zoya!" he groaned, resting his forehead on hers. "If you knew the things I want to do to you …"

     "Tell me," Zoya breathed through a shudder. Her body was already reacting to his heat, undulating, melting ... 

     "I'll spread your legs so wide and—" 

She moaned. Thank god, the lights were dim!

     "Let's just get out of here!"

     "But I haven't finished my drink as yet!" And you haven't finished telling me about all the nasty things you'd do to me! Zoya's pout plumped some more.

Asad led her to their table and downed the mocktail in her flute.

     "It's finished now. Move it, babe."

It didn't matter that the other guests heard them, or saw them unable to keep their hands off each other. They basked in a self-spun shimmering cocoon of golden desire where every breath felt charged and every movement electric. 

     "Oh really? Is that how it's going to be? You'll dictate and expect me to obey each time?" She still hadn't forgiven him for breaking off mid-sentence of his dirty talk. She wanted to hear more about how he'd spread her so wide that she'd nearly break in half. How he'd—

     "Zoya, stop messing with me. And may be not each time, but every other time, hmm?" He was already pulling her out of the vestibule.

     "Nahin to kya karenge aap?" she whispered even though the corridor was empty.

He lifted her in a fireman's throw over his shoulder and carried her to their room. 

     "Asad!" She rained her fists on his back to no avail. Once in their room he slapped her butt, biting it playfully. She reached out to yank hard at the waistband of his briefs giving him one hell of a wedgie.

     "Aahhh," he shrieked. 

     He swatted her bottom again, "Mrs. Khan, behave!" 

He let her down only to pin her against the door.

     "Oh god, Zoya, I can't get enough of you. I want to eat you up." He tracked a thousand kisses down her throat and up again behind her ear. 

His hands touched her skin through the slits of her kurta. 

Oh yes, he was right! Bare, warm and smooth skin all the way up her rib cage and beyond. He cupped and stroked her under the silky fabric. His thumbs beat an erotic rhythm on her traitorous skin.

     "Asad," she moaned. "I love you."

He stepped away from her and sat back on the bed.

 

     "Asad?" Zoya felt exposed and abandoned.

     "Undress for me." 

Zoya blew her hair off her forehead, exasperated and aroused. Jahanpanah wanted a show?

She tugged and let the dupatta slide off into a hot pink puddle at her feet. Her nipples poked through the kurta, hyper aware of their rapt audience as she moved languidly to the desk to unclasp her kundan earrings from each ear. 

One by one, slowly, she removed her bracelets and bangles. A couple fell to the floor; they spun and danced. 

Zoya felt goosebumps along her skin. Once again he had made the simple act of wearing or removing jewelry, sensual ...

... extrasensory. 

Raising the hem of the kurta, she smoothly pulled it off her head and shook her hair loose. Was that a groan, Mr. Khan? Good.

The kurta too joined the dupatta on the floor.

She stood before him, statuesque. 

Her skin felt cool yet oversensitive; it burned under his heated gaze. 

He looked at her clad only in her high waisted straight-leg sharara pants.

Asad sat forward now, elbows on his knees. 

     "Take those off so that I can find out if I was right," he rasped, unclenching his fist. 

She stepped out of her heels and slid the side zipper down and shimmied out of them.

The pants rustled to the floor.

He crowed in victory.

Stepping out of them daintily, she slipped her feet back into her heels. She smiled to herself, remembering his thing for her in heels. Zoya tipped her head back and trailed her hand from her throat to her navel and down to her thighs.

His breath caught. 

Eyes closed, she slowly, sensuously, continued to slide both her hands over herself. Lazily, she twirled and swayed to music only she could hear and turned her back to him. Zoya looked at him over her shoulder and smiled at his dazed expression.

     "Breathe, Mr. Khan," she said softly.

Back still turned to him, she raised her arms over her head to lift her hair off her neck and let it cascade loosely over again. Arms still raised, she angled her hip to one side and stretched out the other leg away from her, toes pointed. Bowing sideways she dragged her hand from her outstretched calf up her hip. Her engagement ring winked at him.

And she shifted to plant both feet firmly apart. She looked back at him again and winked.

Then, legs locked at the knees, she bent down at the waist, and lightly, meticulously, deliberately, 

picked 

up 

each 

article 

of 

discarded

clothing. 

He cursed out loud and a long groan followed; Zoya smiled to herself. 

Mission accomplished. 

     "Enough games," Asad growled.

She felt him move up behind her. Snatching her clothes from her fingers he flung them away; his own clothes grazed against her oversensitized and overheated skin. He hauled her to the desk, tossed the chair aside and bent her over, elbows and wrists on the table. He had already discarded his suit jacket.

She heard the rasp of his zipper. 

     "But Asad, don't I get a strip tease?" she complained, and gasped as he took her in one deep thrust raising her up on her toes. 

     "Later," he grated, biting into her shoulder. His hands came up to cup her from behind. 

     "Promise … ?" He set a slow pace as payback for her torture; his hand came up to stroke her between her legs.

     "Oh ... god ..." Zoya moaned and spasmed, biting her lip.

     "Am I hurting you?" He went faster now. Harder.

     "Not enough ..." her wail was drowned out by the shrill whistle and hiss of the air brake release.

The train swayed and hurtled through the night, shuddering and grinding on the rails. 

 

Because they joined the tour late they had already missed sightseeing in Delhi yesterday.

     "But what about Qutub Minar and Bahai Temple and other sights in Delhi?" Zoya was looking at the brochure she'd found on the night stand. 

     "First anniversary," he promised her, kissing her pout away after another session of lovemaking. "And, may be I'll take you somewhere for another surprise after that?" he grinned smugly, pretty pleased with his model husband behavior.

     "You'll wait a whole year to surprise me!" she shrieked covering herself with the sheet in dismay. 

     "The Palace on Wheels has gone to your head Mrs. Jahanpanah," Asad said as he pulled on his jeans. "When will I work if I keep satisfying your diva demands?"  

She saw red. 

     "Oh no you didn't! Na-ah! You take that back right now! A DIVA! No one gets away with calling Zoya Farooqui a diva! Specially not a prissy, pretty boy, drama queen like Akdu Ahmed Khan!"

Asad's jaw fell. 

     "What the hell? ... Prissy?" he roared. "Oh yeah, I was so prissy yesterday, and just now!" he thundered as he snatched his shirt to angrily slip into it. 

Zoya turned her face away to hide a smile. Oh boy! No doubt, that chocolate and cream lovefest had been one of his finest moments. But she couldn't back down now. She bit the inside of her cheek and covered her mouth with her hand. 

He was still ranting.

Sweet, meticulous Anal Ahmed Khan. Even when he fought, he line-itemized. 

     "And drama queen! Kahan se do I look like a drama queen?" He was buttoning his shirt furiously, and paused to dash his hair off his forehead.

     "You missed pretty boy!" she muttered. Arrogant pig. 

He couldn't believe he was having this conversation. How had this moment been hijacked from him magnanimously promising her another trip to being blamed instead for being the bad guy?

     "I'm a drama queen?" Apparently her husband didn't mind being called pretty boy, Zoya smirked.

     "I think you're fixating on the queen part more than the drama," she deadpanned.

     "Oh really? I am dramatic? When did I ...?" He flashbacked to almost every encounter of theirs since they'd met for the first time. They'd been pretty dramatic all right. Him nearly running her over two times, running into her at least a 56 times and catching her so she wouldn't crack her head open, flipping her off his bed because he thought she was in intruder, the time he'd run into her bathroom to save her from electrocution, Mangalpur— 

Asad tried another tack. 

     "Drama queen my foot! Says she who … who—" And suddenly for the life of him, he couldn't remember a single instance of her being dramatic. 

He scratched his head. 

There had to be so many. This was Zoya Farooqui after all. Why the hell couldn't he think of even a single one right now? Asad rounded on her pointing his finger at her accusingly. 

     "You did something to my head right? You did some chhoomantar stuff of yours and suddenly my mind is blank."

     "What I did to your head, Mr. Khan, you saw and liked very much if I do say so myself. In fact you were begging for more, 'yeah baby, please baby, deeper, take me in,' " she parodied him mercilessly.

Asad blushed. She swallowed a giggle. Aw, wasn't he so cute?

     Zoya went on to snort, "and making your mind blank? It wasn't blank to begin with?"

His eyes were still unfocused.

     Her voice dropped an octave, "and isn't the point of doing that special something to your head precisely to make your mind go blank?"

Asad didn't even hear that part. Hmm, she was beginning to note a pattern here. He would return to it later for sure or, choose to completely ignore it. Right now he was still stuck on something else she'd said earlier.

     "And you're no longer Zoya Farooqui!" he raged. He knew he was being irrational and hardass, but suddenly he was mad. 

So random. Ainvaiyeen. Zoya sprang up to stand on the bed and rage at him.

     "Oh, kisi ghalatfehmi mein mat rahiyega, Mr. Khan! I so am still Zoya Farooqui whether you like it or not."

     "And my mind isn't blank to begin with." 

And there we have it kids, meet your Abbu, Tubelight Ahmed Khan.

     He still stormed, "what the hell is wrong with you? Why are you picking a fight?"

Zoya couldn't hold it together anymore. She fell back, rolled and roared with laughter, tears streaming down her face. 

     "Oh my god! Mr. Khan you are _so_ cute." 

     "Cute?" Asad was livid. 

Prissy, pretty boy, drama queen, and now cute! Not even married a week and he'd already been girlified. He clenched his fists and flexed his arms. Aarrgghh! Next, she'd be dressing him in a tutu and putting bows in his hair.

Zoya watched him frown and grimace. He squared his shoulders, his jaw angled and his chest puffed out. Any moment now and he might just morph into an indignant, albeit well-dressed, Tarzan. Hmm, may be she should buy him him some leopard or cheetah print thongs for his birthday. 

She laughed harder, almost wheezing now.

Asad huffed and turned to the door to get some fresh air. Damned nonsense being locked up on a train with his mental wife. She was taking over like a body-snatcher. He even smelled like her at the moment. 

He heard a thump and looked up in alarm to see her flying at him. Instinctively his arms opened wide and the next second she was clinging to him by his neck, her legs locked securely at his waist. His arms went around to grasp her bare waist just before he toppled over backwards. 

     Zoya held his face, "I'm sorry, so sorry, baby." She kissed him. "You aren't prissy or a drama queen!"

He still hadn't got his breath back but he tried to get her off him. To no success. 

     "But I stiil think you're pretty and cute," she nibbled on his jaw.

She was hanging on for dear life still kissing him. But she had to slap his hands away as he tried to dislodge her again.

     "Stop it, stop it, Mr. Khan, or this time I'll really be mad at you! And I said I was sorry!"

She still laughed.

     "Really be mad? That wasn't real? What the hell was that stupid fight about then?"

Zoya rose to sit astride him but he rolled over to pin her under him.

     She smoothed his forehead, "I miss us fighting. We haven't fought for so long."

     "Genius! Just genius," Asad muttered.

She nipped his nose.

     "I wanted to see your nostrils flare, hands saw through the air like a stiff drum major and your eyes get purple with rage."

     "My nostrils don't flare! And purple eyes, stiff drum major? What kind of a cartoon character have I become? Did you have bhaang pakoras again?"

She whacked him across his chest.

     "They do so flare when you snarl like a wolf! Ooh, nice idea, let's order pakoras from room service?"

Asad rolled his eyes, still miffed. He was convinced that his wife had ADD. Now he had gone from being a pretty airhead to a wolf!

Incredibly foolish.

His stomach rumbled.

They both burst out laughing.

     "With bhaang?" Asad teased tucking her hair behind an ear.

     "Nah! I want to remember this time." She pulled his face down to plant a kiss on him. "And Asad?"

     "What name are you going to call me now?" he asked warily.

     "You're no cartoon character." She stroked his jaw and rubbed her knuckles on his stubble. "In fact, you're my superhero!"

Asad flashed his dimples at her, very pleased with her hero worship.

     "Finally, you're making some sense! Which one?" 

She grinned. Aw, the ego needed some massaging after all that pranking.

     "Umm, the Mighty Mukka?"

He frowned.

     "No?"

He shook his head. 

     "How about Super Sexy Khan?"

Zoya tried to wiggle out from under him. She could tell by the wicked gleam in his eyes that he liked that one better. Oh really? Sucker! She was almost free of him and casually rose to her feet, a naked goddess. 

     "So Mr. Super Sexy Khan?" 

Asad leaned back on his arms crossed under his head. He beamed up at her like a Cheshire cat. A Cheshire cat that'd swallowed a canary after an entire bowl of cream.

     "What color chaddhis are you going to wear over your superhero tights?" Giggling, she ran and locked herself in the bathroom.

     "Zoya!" he bellowed and rattled the doorknob.

 

The train traveled at night and each day they awoke in a new city where an air-conditioned bus would take them on a guided sightseeing tour and a 5 Star hotel for lunch. 

But thanks to their faux fight and real make up after, Mr. and Mrs. Khan missed the deadline for the guided tour to Jaipur. But at least now her Mr. Khan didn't care what everyone would say about their absence. After a leisurely soak in the hot tub and a pakora breakfast, they hired their own private car to make their way around the Pink City. Asad insisted on posing her artfully under the chhatris at Hawa Mahal for some still shots. She complied only because she'd exhausted her quota of making fun of Jahanpanah today. 

Poor thing, after a lifetime of taking himself so seriously, he needed to be eased gently into the Zoya zone. 

Too soon, and he'd run screaming. 

Like a little girl.

 

Zoya was entranced by Amber Palace, but the elephant ride Asad just plain refused to do.

     "It's dusty and gross! God knows how many people must have sat on that raggedy seat."

     "Mr. Khan, you're so mean!"

She was mortified. Poor Gauri, the elephant, richly adorned in velvet and gold trappings looked so beaten; her tear tracks glistened and her wrinkled hide puckered as she lumbered, still chained to her post. Zoya stroked her trunk looking into the huge eyes. And those ginormous lashes, Allah miyan! She had chatted up the Mahaut and asked a hundred questions about Gauri's age, diet, sleeping habits, parentage and siblings. 

Asad sighed dramatically.

     "Do you really want to ride?" 

     "No. It's just so sad how she's tied up and all she does is carry people here and there." Zoya clicked her tongue. "And then someone comes along and says she's gross."

     "I didn't call her gross!" 

     "Still. And that's what I meant by the nostrils flaring." 

     "Zoya, you better not think of adopting her and taking her home with you." 

     "Can't we? Every Jahanpanah needs an elephant."

     "Are you mental? And stop chatting with this guy! He thinks he'll get a big tip from a memsahib who really likes his elephant. Let him fleece firangis." 

     "But I am a firangi!" 

Asad rolled his eyes. Now who's a drama queen. He pulled out some money and deposited it in the Mahaut's greedy palm. 

     "Happy?"

She smiled and took his arm.

     "Very. Told you, you're my superhero!"

 

 

 

 

Title in Song:

Sarfarosh (1999): " ****Hoshwalon Ko Khabar Kya"


	58. Ishq Se Hain Saari Khushiyan

 

 

 

 

Aapi and Jeeju had returned from Lucknow to join the party at Ajmer.

     "Are Khala and her family doing OK?" Zoya asked when she called Zeenat.

     "Haan sab theek hain. They've sent a gift for you and Naseema will email her college application essays—just proofread for her, na."

     "Sure, no probs. I'll call her too."

     "Zoya, tum Asad ka khayal rakh rahi ho na?" Aapi asked anxiously.

Zoya frowned.

     "Aapi, what about me, why didn't you ask if he's taking care of me? Ladkiyon se hi umeed kyun rakhi jaati hai ki woh apne shauhar ka khayal rakhen?"

     "Ya Allah! Yeh ladki! Bechara Asad," she lamented. But her voice softened. "I didn't ask about you because, one, I know you can take care of yourself, tum supergirl jo ho. And two, I've seen Asad around you. Main jaanti hoon he'll take care of you! I'm just worried that he won't know what hit him." 

Zoya laughed.

     "Aapi! I love you so much. Aap janti hain na ki mujhe aapko satane mein kitna maza aata hai? I'm the same with Mr. Khan."

     "Jaanti hoon, tumhe bhi, aur tumhare Jeeju ko bhi. Main hi ek mili hoon tum dono ko satane ke liye. But now at least Asad will understand what it's like for me to live in a paagalkhana," Aapi harrumphed.

     Zoya snorted, "very funny Aapi. Chutkule maarna seekh hi liya aapne in my absence."

Aapi ignored her.

     "But anyways, tell me, tum logon ne kya-kya kiya?"

If there was a cord on the phone she would be winding it on her finger right now.

     "Aapi," she teased in mock indignation, "sach mein bata doon humnein kya-kya kiya."

"ZOYA!" 

Her laugh bubbled up and over. She wasn't sure who shouted loudest, or was more outraged: her Aapi or her Akdu. 

  

Raziya was weak with pain. Every labored breath reminded her of that horrible day.

And then to see Humaira's pale face. 

What had she done? It had all been for Humaira's birthright and happiness, and now both were doomed. For so many days she had seen her daughter radiant and glowing. She'd felt so smug about her success. Her ploys to push Humaira in Ayaan's reluctant company had paid off finally. 

And to now find out that it had been overkill. She'd been tripped up by her own micro-manipulating. Rashid was already straining at his chains, and now his combustible son to handle. And then there was that vile Tanv— 

     "Ammi?"

She looked up at Humaira and her heart wrenched. Desolate eyes shadowed with dark undercircles gazed at her as she tried to smile bravely.

     "Is it OK if I go to spend some time with Ruby Khala?"

Raziya knew why she was asking. The kids were returning tomorrow. At least Ayaan hadn't told Humaira that her mother was the reason for her heartache. For that she was grateful. Allah, yeh kya kar diya maine! Was this god's way of punishing her? Through Humaira, her one and only weakness? Raziya raised her arm and winced.

     "Theek hai beta, jaisi tumhari marzi."

     "But Ammi, I don't want to leave you like this. Why haven't you called Dr. Rizvi? Saara din aap room mein locked rehti hain. Na khati hain, na soti hain. Kya haal kar liya hai aapne? How can I leave you like this?"

Oh my sweet baby! Raziya's eyes blurred.

     "Na beta, tum meri fikr mat karo. I think it's just hormonal issues. I've already talked to the doctor. You just go and have some fun." 

It was imperative to have Humaira stowed safely away before the rest of them returned. Raziya didn't know how she would face Ayaan tomorrow and knowing his impulsive and volatile nature, he could blurt out anything, anytime. And she was in so much pain right now. She wanted to be alone. Taking painkillers dulled her senses and made her groggy. If she slept, how would she plan her next escape? 

How she craved sleep and its cloying oblivion though!

But closing her eyes brought other visions. 

Was she beginning to lose her mind? In whatever sleep she was able to snatch, she would have suffocating nightmares about dolls being sliced by knives. Mile-high flames seared dark factories and bright bathrooms. And it would all spin around a screaming Humaira slowly being swallowed up by blood-soaked quicksand. 

     "Bachao Ammi, Ammi bachao!" 

Raziya would wake up, gasping for breath, heart racing, and every pore sweating.

Oh god, no!

  

The girls were worried for Humaira and Ayaan. She wasn't taking their calls, only texting occasionally. Moody and sullen, Ayaan kept to himself. Omar hadn't told Najma everything about his talk with Ayaan.

     "Let him tell you all," he'd said to her. 

Back in Mumbai, he had initially comtemplated some violent retribution for his chhota saala's disappearing act. Without Zoya and Ayaan, Omar had felt rudderless. The girls had been pensive and no fun at all. How he had longed to take Najma dancing but that hadn't happened, thanks to Ayaan.

But now he understood a little better. My god, thank goodness he had Najma, and their love story hadn't been this traumatic. 

Tonight, he'd asked permission from her mother and taken Najma out for dinner. 

Just her.

Now, if Nuzzhat had the old Ayaan Bhaijaan on her side, then the three of them would have definitely piled on to rain on his parade. But with a morose and preoccupied Ayaan, she was grossly outnumbered. 

And Nikhat would never intrude on the lovebirds; in fact, it was her idea in the first place.

     "Ask Badi Ammi and take Tamatar out. Don't you want to start making fun and romantic memories to tell my nieces and nephews?" 

     He had hugged her sideways and teased, "Nikhat babes, you are the bestest saali a guy could ask for!" Of all of the siblings, he loved Nikhat the best. She had Asad's seriousness, without the steel, tempered with a kindly wit, and none of the mad hatterness of the other three. He had convinced himself, if he had a sister, she'd be exactly like Nikhat: serene and charming, just like his mom. 

And having so many siblings, and now their spouses underfoot, sure was fun. Growing up as an only child had its drawbacks: no patsies to divert your parents' helicoptering. If something broke in the house, it could only have been you, if you stayed out too late, no sibs to talk down the hyperventilating folks from calling every friend and ex-roommate at 2 am.  

 

Ayaan was beside himself with worry. 

Humaira had refused to take his calls or answer any of his texts.

His heart caught; this time he'd driven her away for sure. In the past she had never been able to resist his puppy-dog apology face for teasing and tormenting her. But now, when he pined for her the most, she had shut him out. For her to go completely silent like this meant that she had given up on them. 

And that she was punishing herself more than him.

He was itching to get home right away, but they were only able to get tickets for tomorrow. Once home, he would be able to worm his way back into her favor, he was sure of it. But for now, every moment reminded him of his selfish cruelty. 

Watching Omar and Najma make googly eyes at each other and hold hands under the table made him want to kick himself for having thrown away his chance. 

Omar was right. He'd have to be brave enough to risk losing her. Abbu was doing things his way to make things right; it was his turn to face up to the aftermath of her finding out why he'd really left. 

  

The more she thought about it, the more ashamed Zoya felt. Not that there was much time for her to think on her honeymoon. She suspected Asad kept her busy and wrapped up, just to keep her from gnawing over the incomplete details of her off-again-on-again quest.

May be she just needed to give up her obsession with her father. After all, he hadn't bothered to look back.

She suppressed a pang. 

Asad squeezed her hand and she rested her head against his shoulder gratefully. In the bus rides between the attractions in each city, she would play devil's advocate when not planning how to ambush her husband.

The two people who had given her everything they had everything she wanted, had been there for her, all her life. All along. Was it really so important to know or meet her biological father? Did she need to know the man who may or may not have had a hand in her mother's death? Her mind refused to even consider his foreknowledge of her being at the factory that night.

She could always get to know him vicariously though Humaira. 

Stupid gadha Ayaan, making her cry like that.

Jeeju had been her real Abbu all these years. Why had she wasted her life pining for a man she didn't know, who probably had forgotten her and moved on a long time ago? 

Jeeju had read her stories and even played house, dress up, and tea party with her. Once, when they had run out of apple juice, he had given her real black tea and she had sputtered all over her princess costume in tears. He'd hugged her tight and made her laugh by wearing her tiara and feather boa. For the sixth grade father-daughter dance, he had clumsily fumbled his way through, just for her. They would still watch the school video sometimes for the belly laughs.

He was there at every graduation. 

When she went to high school he and Aapi had sat her down for the "talk" about boys.

     "Beta, they only think of one thing." 

     "And what's that, Jeeju?" Aapi and she had laughed through it mostly, while Jeeju had turned red with embarrassment, but still, he had valiantly soldiered on. Sometimes it was easier to tell him stuff because he wouldn't freak out or have a cow like Aapi. See? She really hadn't missed out on having a father. She had the best dad in the whole world already.

Zoya's eyes misted and she sniffled. 

The next second, a snowy white handkerchief appeared under her nose and she smiled. 

And the best husband. Thank god for Asad. Shucking her shoes off, she tucked her legs under her and shifted sideways to snuggle into her husband's comforting side. 

Zoya closed her eyes. 

If there's one thing you did for me Abbu, it was to bring me to India. Thank you for that. And, Allah Miyan—  

     "What are you smiling about," Asad whispered over her head interrupting her reverie. 

     Eyes still closed she replied, "I'm thanking Allah for sending you to nearly run me over seven months ago."

     He gasped softly, and then chuckled, gripping her fingers more firmly, "not once, but twice." 

     "Totally! Because obviously, one signal from above wasn't enough for you, Tubelight Ahmed Khan." 

     "Hey, watch it! That's what happens for walking in the middle of the street. It's a wonder you've managed to live this long." His heart stopped; Asad bit his tongue. He suddenly remembered that she almost died 18 years ago. His hand squeezed hers painfully.

     Zoya pulled him to her by his ear, "can you believe it? It never happened before that, or since. Why was I walking in the middle of the street just on those two days, just when you were speeding up to run me down?"

She had seen the sudden pallor of his face and knew what he was thinking.

     Stroking his cheek with her other hand she whispered, "what is that sher about: ishq and aag ka dariya?" 

     Asad cleared his throat, "umm, ye ishq nahi asaan ... bas itna samajh lijiye, ek aag ka dariya hai, aur doob ke jaana hai."

     She looked up at him, "see, hum aag ke dariya mein doob kar aapse miley." 

     "Zoya, don't even say that!"

     "Then stop tormenting yourself about something that you had no control over."

     "You're so crazy." 

     "Unh hunh." She played with his fingers, "was that Ghalib?"

     "I'm not sure." 

     "Mr. Khan! I thought you called yourself," and she made air quotes, " a real shayari enthusiast!' " 

     "Aapki wahiyat shayari ne humein sab kucch bhula diya!" 

For someone referred to as Mukka Ahmed Khan by his younger brother, he was sure getting walloped a lot since he confessed his love to her. 

 

They were returning from Ranthambor National Park and Zoya was ecstatic at having spotted live tigers. The stuffed trophies at the various palaces and havelis had depressed and angered her. How cruel.

But after about 15 minutes he had to snatch away her iPad.

     "Watch them for real, not through a camera lens," Asad said.

Relaxed and grateful for the reminder, she had gloried in just watching the noble beasts roll, stretch, scratch, swat flies, yawn, and god knows what else.

     "Look at the size of those paws," she'd marveled, eyes bright with mischief. "Do you think it's true about paw size and ...?"

     "Zoya!" Asad had looked around them in embarrassment hoping no one had overheard this shamelessness. And great, now he couldn't stop thinking the same. He looked down at his own two feet and blushed bright red. 

His wife was a terrible influence on him. 

After a while he just watched her changing expressions of wonder. This was one thing he had begun to cherish about Zoya: she never complained about the heat, dust or the smells. She only noticed the fun and the colors and the noise and the people. 

In passing through Rajasthan she had soaked up its language, calling out "Khamma Ghani!" and teasing him by calling him Jahanpanah Sa, or Hukum, now. She had even noted some recipes and chatted up rickshaw wallahs, street vendors, folkdancers and anyone else who would bother to answer her eager-beaver questions. And like an idiotic vazir or chamcha, he had handed out money to everyone she interviewed, since she was possibly keeping them from their business. At least, that's what she told him, before moving on to the next beneficiary. 

He had imagined all NRIs as snotty, whiny complainers; but he'd begun to realize shamefully, that he was the more finicky, nitpicky and critical between the two of them.  Incredibly foolish.

  


Now Asad gratefully rested his cheek on her snoozing head thinking how they had nearly missed today's tour too. All Mrs. Khan had to say was "jump," and her besotted shauhar would pant out, "how high?"

That morning, freshly showered, she had surprised him in faded denim short shorts paired with an undershirt.

Wait, wasn't that his?

And of course, nothing else.

He had nearly choked on his coffee. Damn, this woman had no mercy on him. And then Zoya had come and crawled into his lap, under his arm and burrowed sleepily in his chest.

     "Asad, can't we stay in today?"

Oh, madam was feeling lazy, hence the wardrobe assault.

     "Where did you get these?" He'd asked through gritted teeth.

     "Why? You don't like? I've had them forever." She pretended to pick imaginary lint off those sinful shorts. "I used to wear them all the time in New York." 

     "You went out in these skimpy shorts?" His blood boiled but his hand inadvertently ran up her bare skin. How many men had seen those legs? "How could you? Do you know how many men must have lusted after you?"

     "What nonsense! No one was lusting. And these are so comfy." 

     "Comfy my foot! They aren't comfy for me!"

     "Hain?" She'd looked at him with bleary eyes. "Why would they be? You aren't wearing them."

     "But you are!" 

     "Mr. Khan, stop shouting. And how does my wearing them make you uncomfy."

     He pointed to his lap. "Really? Suddenly you are the blushing virgin who has no idea of the effect those will have on a full-blooded male." 

Busted. 

     "What full-blooded male? Where, I'd like to see? And why is that so bad?"

Zoya sat astride him thrusting that flimsily clad chest into his face. All his life of wearing these utilitarian white cotton vests, and he didn't know they could be so deliciously translucent, barely hugging such succulence. His head had dipped like a hopeless moth to a flame. 

     "Stop glowering at me like that! Can't a girl have a fantasy of tormenting her husband once in a while." And she'd added a butt wiggle to that. 

     "Humph! Once in a while, not every two hours!" His helpless fingers dug into that juicy behind.

     "Oh really? Fine!" She had got off him in a huff. "And here, I don't want to wear your lousy baniyan either!"

It landed in a heap on his face and slid down his front. She stood glaring at him, nude, except for those damned shorts, thumbs hooked in the belt loops which dragged them down her hips.

Asad had gulped. Adam's apple bobbed. 

She turned on her heel and he groaned just looking at the curve of her bottom peeking out from under the frayed edge. 

Shameless hussy! 

     She was muttering to herself, "Zoya, you married the wrong guy. You're badtameez dil and this pappu can't dance saala." 

She was lifted up from behind and dumped unceremoniously on the bed.

He'd wasted no time in unbuttoning and unzipping the useless patch of denim, dragging it roughly down those luscious legs. Of course she was commando under those. 

     "Pappu can go to hell. Jahanpanah Sa will kick his scrawny butt." He'd pinned her arms over her head and threatened, "this one doesn't count. When we come back, you will keep on my undershirt longer. And these wicked shorts too, you hear?" 

She'd flashed a victorious dimple, and damn, he'd made it count.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Main Hoon Na (2004): "Tumse Milke Dil Ka Hai Jo Haal"


	59. Manzil Mushkil Toh kya, Dhundla Sahil Toh Kya

     "WHAT!"

He couldn't believe it. She was gone!

Ayaan had sent Nikhat to Mumani's room to find out where Humaira was. There was no way he was going to face that blackmailing witch on his own! He might just break something. Or worse.

They hadn't seen Humaira when they came back from Ajmer, and the servants just said that she'd gone to a relative's house. The girls had texted Humaira and she had responded briefly by saying that she needed to get away and think things through. 

She wouldn't take their calls.

     "Mumani refuses to say, and even told me not to disturb her." Her voice dropped, "she looks really sick."

Ayaan slammed his fist into the wall and roared in pain and frustration. 

Now what? 

 

     "Finally!" Zoya muttered looking at the caller ID. "Ab akal aayi hai mahashay ko. Bolo Raabert, how can Mona help?" 

     "She's disappeared." 

     "What?" Zoya nearly jumped off the bed in panic. The pizza box went flying. She didn't notice her new husband's pained grimace. "Oh my goodness, she would never run away. Allah miyan, kidnap ho gayee woh?" 

     "Mona, stop. It's not like that. She's gone to her aunt's place somewhere. I just don't know which aunt. And before you jump down my throat, we tried to find out from her parents but they refuse to tell us." 

Zoya began pacing in the tight space.

     "See how it feels, Raabert? To not know where she is or why she left? Serves you right."

Asad signaled her to put the speaker on. 

     " … I know. But now I don't know how to find her."

They could both imagine him dragging his hand through his messy hair. 

     "So you've decided to explain to her why you ran away in the first place?" Zoya asked crossly.

     "Yes." 

She handed the phone to Asad and stared into space while the brothers talked.

     "Bhai, what if she won't forgive me and hates me?" 

     "She'll forgive you. And I don't think she can ever hate you," Asad rushed to reassure his brother.

     "How do you know?" 

     "I just know." And also because she's Zoya's sister. 

     "But Ayaan, why did you run?"

Zoya jumped up and snatched the phone from Asad.

     "Ayaan, if you really want her back, you'll have to work hard for it." 

     "I'll do anything."

     "Then listen. Zaroor Humaira ke parents ki koi purani address book hogi kahin. If the relatives haven't moved over the past 10-15 years, then the address and phone numbers may still be the same. Start calling everyone." 

     "A long shot, but something's better than nothing," Asad added. 

     "Mona darling, that's genius. OK, mission address book starts now. Nikhat and Nuzzhat can help me too..." 

He hung up without so much as a bye.

 

Zoya and Asad looked at each other.

     "You could never keep him down for too long," he smiled. "Like someone else I know ... and love," he swung her up in his arms.

     Zoya pouted and fiddled with the buttons on his shirt when he set her down, "I wish someone had chased after me like that."

     He tucked her hair behind an ear and held up his balled fist, "good! I better not catch anyone chasing you. Ever!" Asad pressed her head in the crook of his neck, "I was completely against the typical chase and vowed never to fall in love. But then you kept falling in my lap each time I turned around." Tilting her face up he planted precise rows of soft kisses along her jawline. "You challenged everything I thought was right …" He tightened his arms around her, "but trust me, if you had left me, as you were planning to, I would have followed you all the way to New York."

     "Really?" Her eyes shone bright.

He sealed his assurances with multiple kisses and lifted her up in his arms to sit on the couch.

 

     "Asad, you have to come to New York with me once. Either fall or Christmas, or even spring. It's gorgeous!" Zoya went on to excitedly plan their itinerary. "And then we can visit Tamatar and Omar in San Francisco and go down to Disneyland. It'll be such fun!" 

     "Omar will still have a job in San Francisco at the rate he keeps extending his leave?" he teased.

     "Asad! That's so mean!"

She turned to him even more excited, his ironic comment already forgotten.

     "We can ask Ayaan and Humaira to join us." She squealed louder. "Of course Ammi will already be with us, but Nikhat and Nuzzhat too. And Abbu and Chhoti Ammi. Travelling such a long distance might be too much for Dadi, no? But she'll be fine in first class." Zoya frowned and quickly added, "but winter may not be a good time for her."

He loved that she constantly thought of including his family in every escapade, and of everyone's comfort. How had he even allowed himself to ever think the worst of her? Without Zoya, every memory of the other house had mostly brought pain and rancor. He loved Ayaan and the girls, but every thought of theirs was suffused with some bitterness toward his father. But now he was surprised he could even look forward to having fun with the extended family. 

     "So the whole Khan circus will relocate to the US for some time. That'll keep the FBI busy."

     "Mr. Khan!"

     "No? I thought I read that the FBI had bugged every mosque in New York!"

     Her face fell. "You're right. There's still a lot of prejudice and profiling. And don't even get me started on the lunatic right-wing nutjobs!"

     She shuddered, but warmed up to the topic, "when 9/11 happened it was as if suddenly the oxygen had been sucked out of our lungs. So much fear ..." Zoya's eyes widened, "We had an Iranian friend whose birthday was that weekend, and hardly anybody came! Can you believe that?" She shook her head in disbelief. "That one day … and everything changed forever." She went on to muse after a long sigh. It was as if he had touched a raw nerve. Asad watched the play of emotions on her face ocassionally feathering her cheek with his knuckles. "I was still a kid then, but Jeeju tells me that the suspicion was so horrible. He says in those weeks, Indians and Pakistanis finally felt what it was to be black in America."

Asad pulled her closer.

     Zoya shook herself and smiled, "but we started speaking up; my friends and I joined protests against the war and the torture, and we even rallied for the Islamic Center at Ground Zero." 

She had left him speechless all over again. Asad had just made a flippant comment to tease her. But her serious response and activism sobered him.

     "So if I had paid closer attention to those protests on CNN I might have actually seen you on TV?"

     "You bet! I even participated in some Occupy rallies. Such fun." 

     "Did you ever get arrested?"

     She looked at him, and raised an eyebrow, "not in the US, no," Zoya said, too softly.

He looked at her quizzically, she cocked her head to the side and mock-glared at him, waiting for the coin to drop. Here eyebrows waggled.

Realization dawned. Asad slapped his forehead.

     "Zoya, I'm so sorry, baby. I was such an ass." He covered his face remembering his fury at having to bail her out when Najma's college principal had had Zoya arrested. He was livid. Mortified then. 

But even more so now.

     She kissed his hands and pulled them off to kiss him on the mouth. "Asad, it's OK, I was kidding." Then recalling something else Zoya continued their previous discussion as if nothing had happened. That was another thing that amazed him about her. She didn't hold on to grudges or anger for too long. 

     "Remember when Omar was telling you about how I entangled with that bully in school?" Her eyes got squinty, "that ignorant ass had called Omar a terrorist." 

     Asad gasped and held her tight. "But my sherni kicked his butt right?"

     She nodded, "umm hmm, it was easy. He had a crush on me!"

     He burst out laughing, "of course, who wouldn't!" Asad stroked her arm and went on somberly, "it's not exactly a bed of roses for Muslims in India either. Every cricket match between India and Pakistan is a powder keg." 

     "How wrong is that!" she sat up indignantly in his lap. "A game should bring us together not rip us apart, right? Morons! And cricket! C'mon!" 

     "I know." He re-tucked the errant strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her fingers. With her so close, it was hard for him to resist touching her animated face. "But why didn't Omar defend himself?"

     "Because uncle and aunty had drilled it into him: people will say cruel things, don't react, and absolutely no fighting; it'll just make things worse, may be even give narrow-minded people an excuse to suspend or expel him." 

     "And Aapi and Jeeju forgot to tell you that?" 

     "I think in those days every Muslim kid in the US got told that. They did too." 

     "But you didn't listen. Because Zoya Farooqui kissi ki bhi nahin sunti!"

     She slapped his arm, "it's not funny! We got called to the prinicipal's office and nearly got detention."

     "Why didn't you? And why do I get the feeling that you must have spent half your school life in detention!" 

He got swatted again.

     "Jason was already embarrassed that he got beat up by a girl, and I told Mrs. Peters what he'd called Omar. She was furious with him and told him so. Then I turned to him and yelled, RACIST!' " She scrunched her eyes shut and then opened one sheepishly, "he started crying."

     Asad started chuckling, "shabash mera cheetah!"

     She snuggled in deeper. "Anyways, Mr. Khan, speaking of cricket..."

     "Boliye, hukum," came a martyred sigh.

     "Can we please, please, please watch a live cricket match with Dhoni?" 

     "Not Dhoni. Anyone but Dhoni," he teased. He didn't want to spoil the surprise. Asad was already planning something that would make her very happy.

She chose to ignore his anti-Dhoni talk. What match would even be worth watching without Dhoni? Baat karte hain!

     "We can all go, haina? Omar, Najma, Ayaan and Humaira will be fine by then, Nuzzhat and Nikhat. Would Ammi like to go?"

     "Why does the whole family have to go everywhere with us?" He muttered. "Dargah, Honeymoon pe, Disneyland bhi, ab match bhi. At this rate we'll probably never have kids!" 

     She punched his side. "Oh really? Haawww! Mr. Khan, you were planning to get me pregnant in Disneyland or at a cricket match!" 

     "Zoya! You're nuts." Asad covered his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

But she wouldn't be stopped now.

     "Oh I know, in the Small World ride, right?" She started to hum the tune that accompanied the Disneyland ride and swayed from side to side: "It's a small world after all... it's a small world after all … It's the cutest kiddie ride with dancing dolls," she explained. "But they'll be traumatized for life, and the little dolls from all over the world will go blind."

     He listened, rapt. Even her imaginary scenarios got more and more detailed and involved as she proceeded, "I'll buy an ovulation kit and then we'll go when I'm at my most fertile." She snapped her fingers and her eyes sparkled, "no! Space Mountain ride-"utter darkness. Perfect for making babies!"

Asad rolled his eyes but cracked a smile.

     "Or when the umpire rules a four or a six ... hmm soccer would be more appropriate. GOAL!!!"

Asad was laughing now. She was too much. 

     "And when the umpire signals OUT,' I'll pull out," he said, blushing, but tongue firmly in cheek.

Zoya gasped with pleasure.

There, the only way to shut up these Americans was to be absolutely behaya multiplied by besharam. 

     When she finally found her voice, Zoya said admiringly, "now that, Mr. Khan, was chummeshwari!" She gave him a standing ovation but sassed nevertheless, "but pulling out would defeat the whole purpose of making babies, wouldn't it?"

He groaned. Forever doomed. Never to get the last word. 

He shut her up the only way he knew how. 

     "Let's practice," he muttered later when he had pulled her down to the floor and pinned her under him, breathless and strung taut with unfulfilled desire. He had looked down at her flushed face and trailed a torturous finger from her forehead, down her nose, to her swollen lips. 

Her tongue darted out to lick it but he continued down to her chin, freshly tender from whisker-burn, to the thrumming pulse at her arching throat. Asad dipped his head to tease the hollow of her throat.

     Settling himself between her legs, he whispered in her ear after guiding her arms over her head, "Madam umpire, start counting."

And he started moving inside her. 

Zoya's hands gripped the edge of the coffee table; head thrown back, she moaned out a score of each thrust. Her voice began to break and roughen as he drove harder and harder past boundaries; her heels dug into the plush carpet. 

     "One sixty two ..." she breathed, squirming and buckling.

     "Babe," he ground out through gritted teeth, his breath hot on her ear, "let me know when I hit a six."

     "One sixty three ..." went her strangled litany.

Asad bit down on the side of her neck, swirling his tongue down her throbbing pulse.

     "Zoya!" he murmured roughly in her ear, "tell me you're ovulating right now." 

     Her hands clawed his shoulders, "Asaadd!" she cried out.

He sucked her tears and held her shuddering body. 

     "siiix..." she sighed out and went limp under him. 

 

Zoya had dropped a line or two of text to Humaira every few hours. She would name-call Ayaan, even offer to have him beaten up by her husband, and sign off with unconditional support. Or she'd randomly send some funny memes that made her laugh. Humaira didn't even know when she had begun to look forward to these messages. Since the Sangeet, she had fallen in love with the idea of Zoya bhabhi as her jethani. 

She sniffed hopelessly. How could she still be on her side even though they weren't related?

But today, she'd been surprised by a message from Omar.

     "I know why Ayaan ran. It's bad, but give him a chance to explain." 

     Humaira's heart had constricted. "OMG, is he OK? He doesn't have cancer or AIDS?"

     "LOL, no it's not THAT bad. Just listen to him. And we all are there for you and want the 2 of you together, no matter what."   

     She couldn't bear it any longer and called him. "Omar you're scaring me," she spoke tearfully.

     "Humaira, listen. You have every right to be mad at Ayaan, but you have to let him tell you what happened. It's not going to be easy for him to say, or for you to hear, but you must talk to each other." 

     She had started to sob, "that's even scarier. Something terrible has happened! Why aren't you telling me?" 

     "Look kid, he needs to be the one to tell you this, not me. But it's serious enough that no one else knows, not even Najma or Asad. He told me because I am not related to you guys." 

     "Does he need a kidney? Am I dying?" 

Omar started to laugh.

     "What is it with you and disease or death? Just remember, Humaira, it won't be a life or death thing if you guys are a team."

     "Omar! You're freaking me out! Did he have an accident? Has he killed someone?"

     "Again with the doom and gloom! I want for you what Najma and I have, or what Zoya and Asad have. You both will have to fight for it. But if either of you chickens out, or starts to have some bizarre filmy idea of self-sacrifice, then I'll have to kick your asses. And I have Zoya and Asad on my team so you guys don't stand a chance." 

     "OK," he heard the smile in her voice,  "... I trust you, Omar. I know what you and Zoya did for me." 

     "Good girl! Now stay strong and make this love story happen. You can do it. Call me if you need to talk. 

 

She called Zoya. 

     "Zoya bhabhi!" she wailed.

     "Humaira! It'll be fine, munna. I swear I'll kill him," she went on to mutter.

Humaira loved it when she called her 'munna,' but right now she was scared out of her wits.

     "He really loves you and is trying to find you—" Zoya tried to calm her.

     "Just tell him I'm—" Humaira cut her off.

     "No, no, don't tell me! Let him suffer a bit. It'll build character." Zoya saw her husband shaking his head. Too bad, Mr.Khan. He may be your brother but she's my sister.

     "Zoya bhabhi, you're so weird. Here I'm dying thinking that something terrible has happened." Her voice broke, "Omar called to say that it may be really bad."

     "What? Omar knows?"

     "Yes, Ayaan told him why he ran," she started to cry quietly. "Omar won't tell me. He says that I have to give Ayaan a chance to explain."

     "Omar has good instincts, Humaira. Listen to him. Now tell me where you are." 

She hung up to see Asad watching her.

     "What's going on?" 

     "Ayaan told Omar about whatever happened. And Omar told Humaira that it's serious but to give him a chance."

She saw Asad go pale and rushed to hug him.

     "Asad, it can't be that bad otherwise he'd have told us for sure. We'll go back home right now. Let's talk to Ayaan and give him her address at least."

He had her call Ayaan while Asad talked to Omar.

     "Asad, look, I'd rather Ayaan told you himself. He plans to do so after you guys return. It's bad, but no one's sick or dying. All I can say is that it's some bad history between Rashid uncle and her mom." Omar stilled at the silence from the other end, "Asad? You there, man?" 

He went on, knowing that Asad was still processing this.

     "And don't even think of canceling your trip. We're here with Ayaan and this will keep till you guys return. By then he may have even worked things out with Humaira. You focus on keeping Zoya happy."

Asad hung up, stunned. He hadn't even given a thought to how Ayaan or Humaira would be affected by revelations that only he and Zoya knew. Now Ayaan knew something. 

But how much? 

Zoya was still on the phone with Ayaan.

     "Drive safely Ayaan. We want you arriving there in one piece. Why must you take your bike?" she scolded. "Take a car with a driver. It's a 2-3 hour drive after all. And listen, please keep your cell charged and—" 

Asad grabbed the phone out of her hand.

     "Ayaan, stop arguing and being stubborn. Do as Zoya says, take the car and driver. You WILL NOT ride your bike. There are too many trucks and drunk drivers on the highway." He scowled, "I don't care how much faster you'll reach. 30-40 minutes does not make a big difference. No. Kaha na, bill nahin! We will all rest easier if you let someone else do the driving. Tumhara koi bharosa nahin hai, petrol raaste mein khatam ho jayega, or your phone battery will die, you could get lost." 

     He almost relented hearing his baby brother's whining. But Asad willed himself to steel his voice, "spare us more drama. If I have to cancel my honeymoon to come running to rescue you, my wife will happily kill you. As it is she bugs me daily to kill you for making Humaira cry." 

     He breathed a deep sigh only when he heard a sheepish, "ji, bhaijaan."

 

Asad ran his hands through his hair in exasperation and anxiety. 

Should he call Abbu? 

Zoya tugged on his arm and he let her push him down on the floor while she sat behind him on the sofa. He groaned in relief as he felt her soft hands on his shoulders, massaging the knots and kinks in his neck. 

     "What did Omar say?"

He told her. Asad also told her that Rashid was doing his own forensic accounting investigation of the Siddiquis and slowly gathering evidence to expose their shady business dealings. They would file civil charges if there was no physical evidence of murder.

Zoya was silent for a while. 

     "So may be he heard something incriminating against her mom? Call Abbu. How else could Ayaan know? He must have overheard some conversation of Abbu's with the investigator or something." 

     "Hmm." Asad was beginning to feel drowsy. Her hands had started to massage his temples and she dropped a kiss on his head.

     But suddenly Zoya's hand clutched his shoulder in panic, "Asad, he won't hate her for her mom's ... er ... her parents' criminal acts, right?"

     "No," he spoke softly. "Or he wouldn't be trying to find her so desperately." Asad unhooked her stiff fingers still digging in painfully into his shoulder. "They'll be fine." 

     "But she'll be all alone and this will kill her. Her entire world will come crashing down. How will she get past this?" 

     "She's your sister and if she's even half a braveheart as you, she'll be fine." Asad yanked her hand to wrap her arms around his neck so that her cheek rested against his. "And like you, she'll have her Aapi and Jeeju to take care of her. And Ayaan. And our parents."

Zoya fluttered her wet lashes against his cheek and squeezed her eyes shut. 

     Sniffing and clearing her throat she said gratefully, "not fair, her Jeeju is even better than mine." She kissed his cheek, "I love you." 

Hugging him tight, Zoya went back to massaging his neck after wiping her cheeks. She applied firm pressure with her thumbpads, slowly kneading the tension away. Asad struggled to keep awake. She reached out for the phone to order coffee from room service.

He was thinking aloud.

     "When we get home, I'll have to talk with Abbu and Ayaan about what we know." 

He caught hold of her hand to place a kiss on it, and then pulled her down to join him on the floor.

     "Zoya, the recording. It's time."

 

 

 

Song in Title: 

Dor (2006) "Yeh Hosla" 


	60. Hai Jo Seene Mein Qaid Dariya Woh Chhoot Jayega, Hai Itna Dard Ki Tera Daaman Bhig Jayega

 

 

The blood drained from her face.

No!

Zoya had stoically come to accept her biological father's indifference to herself and possible felony. Or thought she had. But the idea of reliving the horrors of that night terrified her. Please god, let Ammi already be dead when the fire—  

She hugged herself into a tight miserable ball.

Asad watched her steel herself for the worst as he retrieved his laptop. He was glad that they were on a speeding train right now. Safely trapped, with nowhere for her to go. At home, he'd have feared her running away in blind despair and never being able to find her.

     He grabbed her hand. "We'll be fine, I promise." 

     Her throat was dry, "I'm scared."

     "I know baby, me too." 

     Knuckles pressed hard to her lips, Zoya whispered, "I never thought you'd be scared. Why does it have to be this way, Asad? I hate this." 

     "Shh." He put the laptop on the coffee table and hauled her in his lap. "We'll get through it. Together." 

     She raised her eyes to look at him. "I promised myself that I wouldn't cry over this anymore. I want to be strong for you, but ..." 

Asad rocked her in his arms trying to absorb her fears and relaying his body heat as comfort. 

     "Zoya, you're the strongest person I know." He pressed his lips to her temple and breathed in her scent. "Remember the Mehendi night?"

She nodded, her hair swinging to cover her face. 

     "I was so scared that you would hate me. And I ended up hurting both of us. But since then we've been together and happy. Isn't that worth more than our worst fears? Imagine if I'd let my fears stop us from being together?" Asad waved his arm , "from this, our honeymoon?"         

She wiped her streaming eyes.

     "Thank god, for the mehendi night! And thank god I have you!" Zoya gave him a fierce hug and then nervously traced circles around a button on his shirt. "In my head, I know you're right, but ..." 

     "I know. But remember, I shared my fears with you that day? And together we were able to get past something that I thought would rip us apart. Think of that night Zoya, and how far we've come along today."

     "And then we'll put this behind us just like that night?"

     Asad smiled. "Insha'allah! And just remember," he crooked a finger under her chin, "you're my strength." 

     "And you are mine," she spoke softly with a half-smile. She held his face in her hands, "Mr. Khan, you're no less magical you know that? We make a great team don't we? Super jodi, Zoya and Asad!" 

He stroked her cheek, pleased that her smile and spirit were back. 

     "Ready?" 

He laughed softly as she shook her head stubbornly.

     "OK, how about this? You tell me your worst fears and I'll tell you mine."

 

He felt her withdraw into herself again.

She nodded and squeezed her eyes shut half-afraid to vocalize her worst fears. As if saying it out loud would make them even more real. Her playful expression morphed into one of pain. Dragging a long breath Zoya stuttered, "I'm scared ..." Her voice betrayed a distinct tremor. " ... that ... I ... I'll hear Ammi's screams!"

Stumbling over the words, Zoya broke down and buried her face in his shirtfront. 

Oh god, he hadn't even considered that. He wouldn't put her through that.

Asad held her for a long time.

     "Zoya, I'm so sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I wish I could make it all go away." 

When she'd wrung herself dry, Zoya rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands deciding that she was done and ready to face the worst. Her hand lifted to wipe his cheeks, "your turn now. What is your worst fear?" 

     "I'm scared that I'll hear your screams," he convulsed with pain.

     "Asad!" she cradled him to her. "Even if we do hear my screams, I'm OK and right here, with you." 

And somehow, just knowing his fears were for her, made her feel a little better. He was right. They had each other. The worst had been admitted, and it shimmered between them out in the open, in each other's eyes and hearts. Letting it go from the frantic clutches of her mind and putting her terror in his hands for safekeeping, made her feel braver. Less desperate even.

She could do this.

     Zoya clutched his hands soaking up the strength and warmth from his grip, and went on, "you know, I'm also scared that this might be concrete evidence against your Abbu." She self-consciously tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, "I really, really hope that ... they ... that we can find something to use against ... them."

Asad knew then that she had given up on her Abbu. Her sense of innate justice and mercy floored him. She would not confront that man's delinquent paternity to spare his sorry reputation, but she would go up against him to fight for what was right.

His heart ached for her. 

And yet he knew, she didn't hate Gaffoor Siddiqui. He had hated his father for 18 years for abandoning them. But she just accepted her father's betrayal? How? And she wanted to still protect his father who had given her that scar?

Asad felt humbled, and his eyes stung again. 

     His face twisted and his hands blindly reached for hers to place kisses on her knuckles, "Zoya ... I'm scared and furious that we'll find out that your ..." he cleared his throat, "... that he …" Asad couldn't resist pounding his fist on the table as he spat out,  "that man knew you were there all along and did nothing."

 

Her head spun.

She froze. 

Hands suddenly clammy, her fingers seized. 

She wanted to bolt.

No, she wanted to hide.

To hunker down in blackness. 

Zoya's arms shot out and flailed, and she blindly thrashed to struggle out of his arms.

     "No!" she panted repeatedly through hoarse cries, trying to slap his hands away. "Let me go!"

Asad felt the coiled energy surge from her frantic legs, but pinned her down, his arms steel bands around her. She was panting, straining to free herself. She was a retching, clawing, caged animal that would gnaw its leg off to free itself from the biting maws of the trap.  

But Asad wouldn't let go. He couldn't let her get lost in some dark place from where he couldn't bring her back. He had nearly lost her once. Never again. He would claw his way into the earth all over again to keep her with him. 

     "Zoya," he whispered, torn. "Don't go so far away that I can't bring you back. Come back to me, please. I love you so much." He crushed her to him, her temple against his cheek. His hot tears mingled with hers. "Please, Zoya! I love you."

All the fight drained out of her. She deflated and collapsed in his arms. She was breathing heavily, as if she'd run a marathon.

All that was left was a shattered rag doll with glassy eyes.

Asad panicked. She felt as lifeless as she had, so many months ago, in another town, on another crusade. She'd been unconscious then, but even fully conscious now, she was catatonic: buried under ruins of loamy grief that he couldn't penetrate.

Her pulse was weak and erratic, her breathing too shallow. Asad carried her limp body to place her gently on the bed and tucked her in. He switched off the bedside lamp, knowing she craved the shroud of darkness.

Her eyes were still unfocused and dry, her breathing still labored. Asad stroked the hair away from her ashen face. His ears rang with her wounded whispery cries. Each papery rasp stabbed at him, "… I should've died ... he never loved me ... I'm nothing ... nobody … should've died ..."

Asad's blood ran cold.

His hands fisted. 

 

It was late. But he didn't want to wait a whole night. 

Ayaan texted Humaira.

     "Please meet me. I am outside by the swing. I love you." 

Not a minute later she came flying out of the house straight into his arms.

     "Ayaan!" She touched his face, shoulders and chest. "Are you OK? Is everything alright?"

Once Humaira had ensured his health and safety, she felt anger bloom up inside her. She pushed him violently away from her.

     Ayaan fell on the swing. "Humaira? What the hell?"

The swing still swayed and creaked.

     "What is your problem?" She hissed. She wanted to yell at him but didn't want to wake up the whole neighborhood. "Kyun Ayaan? Why do you do this? Why do you always torment me? You know I love you. Does that give you the right to walk all over me?"

     "Humaira, please just listen to me. I love you too, Jaan, and I'm so sorry."

He went down on his knees and held both ears. 

She crossed her arms not wanting to give in but unable to resist the face, the messy hair, the kneeling, the remorseful holding of the ears and that plaintive voice.

     "Humaira? C'mon yaar. Ab murga banoon kya?" 

She nearly burst out laughing.

     "Haan!"

The old Humaira would have given in a long time ago. But the new and improved Humaira glowing from the certainty of his love for her, wanted to show him who was boss now.

     He stared at her in disbelief. "Kya? You really want me to be a murga?" 

     "I'm waiting Ayaan," she folded her arms and tapped her foot impatiently.

And he did try his best for her.

But the nearly four hour-long car ride must have made him stiff. He could get his arms under his legs but couldn't bend down enough to the hold his ears. But even he knew he was doing a half-assed job of it. Any minute now, and she would relent and have mercy on him.

She always did.

He was sure he wouldn't really have to go through with it. 

Not this Humaira.

     She pressed her hands on his back to help him. "C'mon, stretch just a little bit. You're almost there." 

Damn, she was dead serious. He may as well do as she asked or he'd be here, in this position, all night long. Panting hard, hair falling over his eyes, he heard the click of the phone camera. 

     "No!" Ayaan roared and tried to lunge for her phone. But he tripped because his arms and legs were still wrapped around each other.

     She held up a finger. "Stop right there. This is my wallpaper from now." 

     He groaned miserably. "Don't be so mean Humaira begum." None of his usual charms seemed to be working today. 

     "Sit," she ordered him. He sat on the swing. She still stood in front of him, her duppatta rustling in the light breeze. "Explain." 

     "Ah ... woh ..." he ruffed his hair uncertainly. "... actually ..." 

     "Ayaan!" 

     "Humaira, this is really serious," he pulled her to sit down next to him, "... and really hard to say."

She tensed. 

     He held on to her hand. "It's about our parents." 

     "Oh my god, is someone sick or hurt?" 

     "No... It's Abbu. Aaahh!" He jumped up and roared in frustration. "This is so hard to say... umm ... he doesn't want us to get married."

     Humaira's heart lurched and hands chilled. "Why?" she asked in a subdued voice.

     He knelt in front of her holding her hand in his. "It's not because of you, Jaan; it's ... your mother."

Humaira gasped. She guiltily recalled her mother's humiliating actions from months ago. Ammi had tried to engineer a scene where everyone had come to believe that Ayaan and Humaira had slept together. Humaira was mortified. Did they find out about Ammi's trickery in trying to force Ayaan to get married to her?

Oh god, Ammi. What have you done now? 

     Ayaan stroked the back of her hand and even dropped a kiss on it. "Just remember that I'll still marry you no matter what anyone says or thinks." He hesitated. "But ... But it's not going to be easy. Things are too messed up right now." 

     It was her turn to grip his hand reassuringly, "It's OK Ayaan, just spill it. I know it's something terrible. But Omar told me to trust you, and to trust us." She wiped her eyes, "and I do! I will." 

     He dropped another kiss on her hand and took a deep breath, "remember when Abbu was in jail because Bhaijaan called the police on him at the factory ...? They were torturing him there, Humaira. And Bhai wouldn't help. I needed money to pay off Feroze, Imran's mamu. I needed Rs. 1 Crore." 

He jumped up and started to pace before her in agitation.

     "Mumani heard me talking to Abbu's business associate and offered to give me the money." 

Humaira knew that this was just the tip of the iceberg. She cringed in shame and self-loathing knowing exactly what her mother must have demanded in return. 

     "And Ammi said that she would give you the money if you promised to marry me?" 

     He nodded glumly and rushed to her side. "I'm sorry, baby. But there's worse stuff." 

Humaira stiffened painfully. Ammi! What else have you done?

     "Oh god, Ayaan. I'm so sorry. May be your Abbu is right and you shouldn't marry me."

She nearly passed out with the stab of pain she felt at saying this.

     "NO! Don't even go there."

Ayaan knew she'd say that. He hugged her tightly to him, dreading the next few words, already knowing their effect on her fragile state of mind. 

     "If you're going to talk like this, I won't tell you the rest," he looked at her earnestly, pleading to not forsake him. 

She nodded her consent and promise. 

Letting her go, he began pacing again, nearly pulling his hair. Slowly, haltingly, he recapped the overheard exchange in that fateful hotel room in Mumbai. 

She sat mute, turned to stone.   

  

Asad held her long into the night as Zoya stared stonily at some faraway point. Her eyes had only closed out of sheer exhaustion. But her body was still rigid and tense. Pulse thready and breathing still choked. She held herself too tight, joints locked almost arthritically. She still uttered fading and broken whispers, calling out to a dead mother to hold her.

He had read about returning battle-weary soldiers and this felt like a PTSD episode. The nightmares had become waking flashbacks, and she was locked in a world of endless repetitive battle. 

He kept massaging her back and shoulders knowing that they'd be stiff and painful when she woke in the morning. He wanted to make love to her to bring her out of her stupor, but feared that she would balk and flail like a startled colt. He kissed down her throat and murmured words of comfort. Asad let his hands caress her, willing her body to remember and react to the familiarity of his touch. He undressed and joined her under the covers.

     "Zoya," he breathed. "Feel me." He ran her hands on his chest. "I love you," he repeated again and again, placing her palm on his heart after kissing it. He unbuttoned her shirt and pressed his lips to her collar bone and ran his tongue down to her cleavage. Her body reacted, but her eyes were still glazed. 

     "Come back to me, baby," he implored. "Please." He bit the column of her throat sharply and her pulse leaped. He began undressing her and dropping kisses on her shoulders. He bent his head to suckle her hungrily, inflicting pain, and finally felt her come alive under him.

     Her hands rose to comb through his hair. "Asad!" she cried. She was crying again, "Asad, make me forget, please. Stop it from hurting so much." 

He kissed her and swallowed her sobs. As he moved to gently and tenderly love her, she gripped the hair on the back of his head with both hands.

     "No," she said through quickened breath. "take me hard, without mercy." 

     "Zoya, no! I don't want to hurt you."

     "You won't. You could never hurt me." Her nails gouged his shoulders and she moved restlessy, "I trust you. But please," she begged, "I need you to mark me, Asad. Make me yours. Brand me! Make me forget ..." 

Her raw tone flamed his blood and his body jerked inexorably to do her bidding. Asad hooked her arms over the headboard making her firmly hold the edge as he roughly bit and seared his way down from her lips to her throat. His hands kneaded and dug into her flesh painfully; his mouth ravaged and branded his way further down.

She thrashed and whimpered under him, tight and swollen.

Resisting, complying; avenging, reveling; defiant, melting.

They dueled.

Her arms would lower to fight off and guide him, but he would force them back up to demand unrestricted tormenting access.

They clashed and warred; sighed and cussed; hurt and healed.  

The hurtling metal capsule was rife with their steamy war cries and groans of surrender. He gripped her hair, yanking hard at her scalp, and bowing her body backwards as he blitzed his way in. Her body thrummed at the onslaught, his name wrenched from her ravished lips. The torrid slaps of heated flesh against fevered nerves reached a thrashing crescendo of violent and grateful intensity. 

Her name ripped from his victorious throat as he collapsed against her, beaten.

Asad held her. 

Her body now boneless, she finally relaxed enough to fall into a sound sleep.

Thank god the nightmares spared her tonight. 

 

The next morning anger still tore at him. Zoya didn't deserve any of this heartache.

Asad closed the bedroom door softly behind him. He would hear the recording on his own and if it didn't have her mother's screams or father's incriminating words then she could hear it too. He'd burn it and expunge it otherwise.

Settling down, Asad cracked his knuckles nervously before clicking play.

As it started, he heard scratchy noises for some time. 

It felt anticlimactic. Was there nothing on it after all?  

     "Sandy, have milk now!" suddenly came the clear sound of a child's voice. 

     "Zoya, drink up your milk," came a female voice in the background.

Oh god, the doll had been Zoya's?

     "No, no, no," the child countered defiantly. "Eew! Yuckkky!"

     "Ya Allah, ye ladki! Iska main kya karoon!" 

     "Ya allah, issa kya kawoon," mimed the imp.

Asad laughed.

Some sounds and thuds followed. She had probably tired of the doll and moved on to torment another toy perhaps. 

     "Insy weensy spider went up the water spout ..." She sing-songed and lisped along with her mom.

     "Down came the rain and washed the spider out!"

Asad smiled through his tears. She must've been adorable as a baby. 

But his heart hammered.

He already knew what terrible things were going to happen this child. 

There were other scratchy sounds,

     "Whewe is Zoya's Abbu?" that same child whined.

This was followed by some more snatches of phrases by Zoya talking to her doll. Other words and sounds followed … someone else, probably her mother, scolding her, kissing and cuddling her.

     Asad's favorite part was when he could Zoya's voice, clear as a bell, instructing the doll, "say hi, Zoya," "say bye, Zoya," "I love you, Zoya." 

     "Meet Abbu!" she squealed a little later.

He stilled. Asad had almost forgotten the purpose of listening to this recording, so engrossed had he become in getting to know Zoya as a child. He thought he could hear the familiar music from her cherished music box.

     "Yeh tumhare liye. Maine apne haathon se banaya," came a distant male voice. He knew that was her father. So she had met him once, and at least he had acknowledged her then.

Asad felt waves of rage nearly choke him. 

And then he heard her cries.

     "Ammi, Ammi," but these were not the cries of a child in pain. Thank god! Just the cries of a child scared or missing its mother.

Asad's heart began to beat painfully. 

There was silence and then some indistinguishable sounds. A scuffle maybe?

A muffled conversation.

He heard a grunt, he thought. 

Then a wail.

Asad turned it off and buried his face in his hands.

He knew he would return to it, but right now it felt too raw to carry on. He stole back into the room, leaving the door open and watched her sleep. The faint light streaming in from the other room allowed him to gaze at Zoya's lashes fanning her cheeks. The regular breathing, the hair falling over her temple gave him the much-needed courage to go back and listen to the rest of the recording. 

He came back a half-hour later and drew the curtains to gaze at the passing lights through the window. He sat at the window seat for hours, finally falling into an exhausted sleep.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Fanaa (2006) "Mere Haath Mein, Tera Haath Ho" 


	61. Tune Kya Kar Dala, Mar Gayi Main, Mitt Gayi Main, Ho Ri, Ha Ri, Ho Gayi Main, Teri Diwani

 

 

  

When a dizzy Raziya nearly collapsed in the bathroom she knew she'd have to go to the doctor. There was just no way out of it any more. She hobbled out and lay weakly on the bed. Her phone rang and she groped for it blindly.

     "Hello," she squeezed out painfully. She hoped it was Humaira. 

     "Did you get the money?"

Her blood curdled. The call she had dreaded all these days. She turned the phone off and smashed it on the wall opposite her. 

What was the point anymore? Let that tramp Tanveer do whatever she wanted. It was all over anyways.

Humaira hadn't called. It had been nearly a day and a half since she'd heard her voice. 

She knew. Ayaan had told her by now. Raziya could feel it in her punctured gut.

Rashid had taken his family and left yesterday. No words, no note, just silence all around her. More servants than family in the house now.

A gilded, rotting mausoleum. A mausoleum she'd killed to protect. Lied and blackmailed to preserve. For what?

Another wave of nausea hit her and Raziya nearly passed out. Why wasn't she getting better? She had broken down and finally started a regimen of self-prescribed painkillers. But they were playing havoc with her mind. Or the pain was making her delirious. 

She just couldn't tell anymore.

 

When she had walked out of the cabin that day Raziya could barely hold herself upright. Thank god she was wearing red. The blood wouldn't show. She had worn it to camouflage Tanveer's blood on her clothing. 

But fate now just laughed at her and her plans.  

In their scuffle she hadn't taken into account the strength of a much younger woman. A much younger woman on a diabolical high. When Raziya had killed before, she was young herself. Eighteen years younger. A lavish lifestyle and lack of practice had obviously left her soft. 

She had pretended to fall in the bathroom and cried out in pain. She then waited behind the door. When Tanveer came to investigate Raziya had smugly slammed the door shut and pounced on her. 

But that wretched woman was like the lizard tail that grew back; always landed on her feet that one.

Somehow Tanveer had twisted her wrist and turned the knife into her side managing to slice through Raziya's skin. Partly injured herself, Tanveer had nearly filleted the older woman. She was that angry.

     "You thought you could kill me, dump me in that suitcase and roll me away to decompose somewhere?" She had panted while Raziya grovelled on the floor. "Oh you will pay for this, Bi! You will pay more than you ever imagined."

Opening a connecting door to the cabin next door, she had barked at Raziya, "clean up this mess and get the hell out of here. I'll give you a week. Get me that money or else. Next week, the price goes up by another crore."

And Tanveer had slunk away leaving her weakened nemesis in the dank room, impotent with fury. 

 

Zoya stretched awake in the early hours of the morning, replete. She could only think of how Asad had blotted the pain from her heart last night. The fresh aches and bruises had replaced that bone-deep agony which had felt unending. Blushing and requited, she turned to face the window and saw him sleeping with his head at an uncomfortable angle. She knew he must have kept vigil over her the whole night. 

Her eyes stung. And heart brimmed.

Thank you Allah miyan! I'll never complain again. I always fought with you for taking away so much from me. I will thank you everyday of my life for giving me so much more.

Zoya got up pulling the sheet snugly around her, and stroked his forehead.

     "Asad," she shook him awake gently.

He stirred. Dropping a kiss on his head she half-dragged him to the bed, pushed and tucked him in. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

As the sun climbed in the eastern sky, she rose to draw the curtains to preserve the darkness. More nap time for her warrior.

 

Freshly showered and fortified with coffee, Zoya decided to poke around on Asad's laptop hoping to hear the recording in his absence. This time she really was ready. She had her Jahanpanah's strength coursing through her blood like a jolt of caffeine. She wouldn't let something from 18 years ago even scratch the surface of what she had right now.

The recording was gone. 

She sighed. 

Mr. Khan, you tricky sonova—  

OK, you sweet, sweet over-protective Akdu!

She knew she could retrieve a deleted media file with no trouble at all, but that would still take some time. 

And Zoya was feeling too mellow and lazy.

 

When Asad came out almost three hours later he saw her perched on the sofa gazing moodily into space. 

     "Hey," he said softly, leaning against the door jamb.

Turning to him, her dimples deepened. She glided into his open arms.

     "Hey yourself," Zoya replied shyly. Eyes closed, she inhaled, "umm, you smell so good."

     "Are you OK?" he nuzzled her nose with his. 

     "Umm hmm," she answered, head still bowed, eyes still closed in prayer.

     "Look at me."

She covered her face with her hands. 

Asad grinned. 

Her not meeting his eyes was because of shyness, and not because she was hiding her pain. 

Thank god!

He wrapped her tighter against himself.

     "So?" he whispered hotly in her ear. "Last night? Great, or greatest?" 

     "Asad!" she hid her face in his shoulder.

     "Nine or a ten?" 

     "Mr. Khan! Behave yourself."

     "Funny, last night all you wanted me to do was misbehave."

Zoya's laughter bubbled over and warmed his soul. But she still wouldn't look at him.

     "Six or Goal?"

     "Touchdown! Game, set and match! Happy now?"

     "Very. Re-match?"   

     "Here, drink your coffee and give your lust a break." She broke away and sat down to pour his coffee. 

     "Sarey lust pe coffee phenk diya aapne."

     She rolled her eyes and muttered, "not for long I'm sure."

     "Lust lust na raha, pyaar pyaar na raha," he sang. 

She looked up with delight as she handed him the dainty Royal Doulton cup. 

Mashallah!

A singing, romantic Jahanpanah was simply irresistible. 

     In between sips he continued, "dillagi humein tera, aitbaar na raha" 

     Smitten, she inquired, "isn't it zindagi'?" 

Asad ignored her.

     "Lust lust na raha, pyaar pyaar—"

     "Oh what the hell!" Zoya snatched the cup from his hand, thumped it down on the table, and dragged him to the bedroom for a lusty re-match and some checkmating.

     "Wait,"he protested even as he allowed himself to be led away, "I'm not done with my coffee as yet."

She glared at him and pushed him on the bed with both hands.

     "You're done. Enough sipping. Start stripping."

     "Make me." 

     "Mr. Khan!" Zoya roared and stomped her foot.

He laughed softly, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at her with open challenge. But his smile vanished when he saw the expression change on her face.

     "Zoya? What's going on in that head of yours?" he asked warily. 

She pivoted on her heel and disappeared into the other room.

     "Zoya!" 

She walked back in carrying a writing pad, immersed in her iPad.

     Zoya was muttering to herself, "no, 'Tu Mera Hero' isn't Akdu-worthy." 

Asad was beginning to get alarmed. 

And aroused. 

Something was cooking, and he was going to be the main course. 

The heartlessness! 

     "Ahaa!" she pumped her fist in the air and looked up and down at him. Grabbing his hand she pulled him to his feet and made him stand in the center of the room. "Stay," she ordered purposefully.

He obeyed, hands at waist, eyes following her restlessly.

Zoya held up two pieces of paper from the stationery pad. One had a huge 9, and the other a 10, scrawled across.

     "You wanted to know whether you were a 9 or a 10, didn't you?"

He swallowed noisily, and his eyes narrowed in anticipation.

     "Remember, Mr. Khan, the 9 also works as a 6!" And she turned the sheet upside down.

     As he tried to grab her, she slapped his hands away, "patience!" 

Laying the iPad on the side table she grabbed her purse and pulled out her wallet. Zoya went to perch on the bed's edge with the hand-made score sheets and a fistful of rupees and dollars. The strains of music began, and the song "Hai Guzarish" from Ghajni floated over them. 

He dropped his head back and groaned.

     "Let the show begin, Jahanpanah," she purred. Fanning out the money bills in her hand, she leaned forward, eyes starry with the threat of future torments, "work it honey!" 

 

     "Occam's razor." Zoya said smugly, much later.

     His forehead scrunched. "Hunh?"

     "When there are two choices, go with the simpler one. When that doesn't work, then try the more complicated solution." 

     "And how does that relate to how you got the recording to work?"

     "Simple. I just texted Rakesh from your phone and asked him to re-send it to your account." 

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Asad looked at her in open admiration.

     "You, Mrs. Khan, are wicked dangerous." But he sobered. There was a reason he had tried to hide the recording from her. "Zoya? Are you OK? I wish you had waited for me." He wanted to be her shield against the terrors of that night.

     "I'm OK now, thanks to you." she assured him, interlacing her fingers with his. "It was hard. Not going to lie. But," Zoya rested her head on his chest. "the best part was hearing Ammi's voice." 

     He smiled and kissed the top of her head, "I loved hearing your voice as a kid. You must have been M.A." 

     She snickered in pleasure. "Still am?"

     "Koi shaq?"

     "Un-unh." 

     And they both said it together: "kyun ki Zoya Farooqui kucch bhi kar sakti hai!"

Laughing, he rolled them over to tuck her under him and kiss her breathless.

     "You know what? Zoya Farooqui ke Mr. Khan bhi bahut kuchh kar sakte hain," Zoya said. Tugging at his ear, she whispered, "you are my Jahanpanah Bond."

He beamed down at her.

 

They were in bed entangled in the sheets and each other's limbs. Once again they had missed the tour bus. The other passengers probably smirked, thinking the newly weds hadn't even bothered getting out of bed. Little did they know about the multi-tasking victories scored that morning. The 10 on the score sheet had been amended to a 100, and the other sheet sat propped on the bedside table: a proud 6 for her man of the match. 

His heady matinee debut was followed by an after-party fan #1 appreciation. The re-match victory laps had left her without a single bone in her body. 

She was mush.

     Zoya looked up at him, content and supple as a cat. And then she traced the scratches left on his chest and shoulders from the night before. Looking at her fingernails she mused, "do you think I still have your DNA under my nails?" 

     He looked down at her, devilry in his eyes, "DNA yes, but probably not under your nails." 

She hooted with delight. Pinching his cheeks she half-rose to plant a kiss on his mouth.

     "Did you always have such a fine sense of humor, ya humare saath ka assar hai?" 

     "Aapka kya khayal hai?" 

     Pushing him on his back, Zoya kissed him again. "And the best all-rounder award goes to," she proudly thumped his chest, "Asad Ahmed Khan!"

 

After all he had managed to earn every bill in her hand and then some. Moneyless in the end, she had to improvise with IOU promissory notes. The score sheets had been waved enthusiastically. The stationery pad was virtually sheetless. In the rip-roaring finale, the money and IOUs had rained down on the carpeted floor and her mouth had watered. 

     "Once more! Once more!" his biggest fan had cheered. The rockstar had then yanked his giddy fan onto the stage, and she had gyrated and pirouetted in accompaniment to the encore performance. This time they had pulsed to "Tu Mera Hero," from Desi Boyz.

     "Is this what all the twerking stuff is about?" he'd whispered in her ear, their bodies swaying in unison. She had just bent to pick up a folded 100 rupee note, expressly brushing herself against him.

     She rose and tucked it behind his ear. "Mr. Khan, I don't like that you know that word!" She'd huffed, scraping her fingernails across his chest. 

     "What? I read. I stay current." He had held her by her hips rolling them against his. 

     "Humph!" 

He moved her hair off her face and tucked a strand behind an ear. As she squirmed away from him, Asad wrenched her to him. Eyes locked with hers he slowly undid the top button of her shirt.

     "And now that I'm a paid entertainer, I need to know the latest fads and trends that the ladies are into."

     "Asad! Oh god, I've created a monster," Zoya lamented slapping her forehead.

     He laughed and snagging her hand, trailed a fiery path diagonally across his bare chest, "you reap what you sow Mrs. Khan." Dragging her to him he spun her till she crashed against him. "And you can bet the entire contents of your wallet," he grazed his nose across her cheek, "that I'm going to earn my keep."  With a flick of his thumb and forefinger he unsnapped her jeans.

Resisting his roving hands and greedy mouth, she had finally managed to shush his badtameez talk and deluded megalomania. He went ramrod still, as she whispered a heated IOU in his ear, and then wiggled down to perform some previously pledged hero worship.

 

Right after hearing the recording, Zoya had felt a deep urge to talk to Aapi and Dilshad. Even talking about inane and routine things restored her sense of balance and faith. The world hadn't come to an end after all. New beginnings were around the corner. Aapi's love now felt a natural continuation of Ammi's blessings. And Asad's Ammi was just the biggest jackpot of her life. 

Well, after her Jahanapanah of course.

Mother's day had just gone by, and she'd been doubly blessed.

As she finished offering prayer, Zoya grinned as she hugged herself.

     Asad had teased her one night, "I'll be wishing you 'Happy Mother's Day' next year Mrs. Khan!" 

She couldn't wait for him to wake up.

 

Back home, everyone was running around preparing for Najma and Omar's nikaah. Zoya harrumphed in frustration, feeling left out. She wanted to be there. But truth be told, she didn't want to leave here either. She didn't want to share Asad with anyone. Just wanted him all to herself. One more day.

Ammi was the one to tell her about Abbu moving the family out of the Siddiqui house. They had moved into one of the new high-rise luxury homes built by Asad's company. 

So Asad knew? She frowned. Why didn't he tell me?

Zoya grinned.

Because his mouth was too preoccupied doing other stuff!

She hid her face in her hands. 

     "Ammi, did they tell you why they moved?"

     "We haven't had a chance to discuss that as yet, beta. But something big's going on. They are coming in the evening and may be we'll find out more then. Tum dono apna khayal rakhna. Don't eat street food and group ke saath rehna. Take care, and ... tell Asad not to sleep so late."

      Zoya blushed furiously, "Um Ammi, voh actually ... aisi baat nahin hai ... voh raat ko der se ..." 

Dilshad burst out laughing. 

And so did Zoya, after an embarrassed second. Foot-in-mouth disease was too funny to pass up. 

 

She had decided to get all the social calls out of the way in the time he slept. Once Asad woke they could go to the Lake Palace on their own. She got the Khidmatgar to arrange the bookings for her. 

And then she called Omar.

     "So, did you do it?"

     "Done! But the strings I had to pull! And that Prasad fellow is a major pain in the butt. Only listens to his lord and master. Kept hemming and hawing and dragging his feet. Rashid uncle was the one who helped the most." 

     "Awesome! And yeah, Mr. Khan and Prasad have a special thing that even I don't get into," she kidded. 

     "Bromance!" Omar nyuk-nyukked. 

     "Batman and Alfred!" she countered. 

     "Dr. Frankenstein and Igor!" he retorted.

She had to step out in the corridor to laugh her heart out so as not to wake up her Batman.

     "STAAAHHP!" Zoya wheezed. "So future B-I-L, all set to be hitched? Can I call you Billa now?" 

     "Sure, as long as I can call you S-I-LLY?" 

     "OK baba, truce. And thanks for being my wingman."

     "You owe me your firstborn." 

     "Sure, whenever I need a babysitter, I'll call you first."

     "Dude, I'm already babysitting the family while mom and dad are on their honeymoon!"   

     "Bye Omar, be good. No smooching or making out on the couch, ya hear! Or big daddy'll whoop your ass." 

     "Who's your daddy!"

     "STFU!"

 

And now for Raabert, she mentally checked off her to-do list. He didn't pick up and neither did Humaira. Hmm, these kids better not be fooling around, Zoya frowned. 

And then she giggled. PG-13 guys, please keep it PG-13.

But she so was going to talk to Asad about putting Ayaan to work. No way was her sister going to be married to a wannabe hippie house-husband.   

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you? Send me a progress report, ASAP!" she texted her brother-in-law.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Kailash Kher Kailasa (2006): "Teri Diwani"


	62. Ishq Kije, Phir Samajhiye, Zindagi Kya Cheez Hai

 

 

Ayaan had shown Zoya's text to Humaira. She laughed. It had been ages since he'd heard her laugh. It had taken him all night and half the morning to make her understand that she was not her mother's daughter. She was, in fact, one of them, a Khan in spirit. He struggled to explain to her why he too was scared of what lay ahead of them. 

He gripped her hand tight about to spill his worst fears. 

     "Humaira, I hope I never ever ... look we will have fights. But I'm scared that I might say something mean and hurtful to you about your mother. I hope that never happens but ... that's pretty much the reason why it took me this long to come get you."

Ayaan looked away and tried to disengage his hand from hers. Humaira held on. Silently she urged him to look at her. When he did eventually, she smiled at him through her tears. 

     "Ayaan, you're thinking of our future together and are more worried about hurting me instead of hating me for what my mother did? I don't think you could ever say something like that. But if you do, I hope our love will be strong enough for me to hit you with something hard and get past it."

He started laughing. She joined in. Great! They would be fine; everything would be alright. 

     "I want to kiss you so bad," he whispered. She blushed. "But your Khala's been watching us for the past two hours from that window."

     She giggled and bowed her head. "I know. It's almost time for round 3 of send a grandchild to call Humaira inside." She got up and gave him her hand. He looked up at her and then at the window. "Come Ayaan, let me introduce Khala to the man I'm going to marry."

She led him up the steps.

     "Humaira, leave my hand. She's going to have a heart attack."

     "Nah! She's strong as an ox. And she should be thankful. I'm giving her masala to last the next few years of family functions." Humaira rose on her toes and pecked him on the cheek.

     Pulling her to him he smirked, "then let's really give her a show!" 

A glass smashed to the floor in the kitchen. 

 

The doctor was getting on her nerves. All this nonsense about informing the police because her wound was knife-inflicted and other rot. Raziya glared at him, but it had no effect. She didn't realize that the pain made any expression on her face look like a grimace. 

He was lecturing her about her age, taking better care of her health ... blah, blah, blah. Stop patronizing me, you pompous old fool! 

He went on about how busy he was. So many cases to see.  

Shut up old man and get on with your work, she silently begged. He had already ordered a battery of tests. The doctor yakked on about tetanus shots. Swear to god, if she had a gun she would have gladly popped him by now.

Namaqool! 

But Raziya sat demurely. The nurse dressed her wound. The doctor asked the same questions all over again. When did this happen? Why didn't you come sooner? What medications have you been taking? 

     "Doctor saheb," she couldn't take it anyore. "Why are you asking me this again?" 

     "Mrs. Siddiqui, I am worried that your wound not healing by now could mean infection or some other problem." 

     "Jaise ki?" 

     "Does your family have a history of diabetes?" 

     Her blood ran cold. "Yes, my father had it. One of my brothers has it too." 

     "Just what I suspected. I'm going to order extra tests to confirm." He turned away, this patient already forgotten. These women. Took no care of themselves and then were surprised at such diagnoses.

Raziya sat and stewed. Perfect, she thought. Just bloody perfect. Yahi baki reh gaya tha! 

 

     "Zoya!!!"

He was horrified. 

     "Please delete that!" Asad hollered. "Are you crazy?"

He paced. 

He couldn't believe it.

The woman had actually recorded their ... his performance ... and presumably everything else after. 

How and when had she even done that? He should've never married a tech-wizard. And now she was hounding him to watch along with her. Asad pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

Zoya was whooping and hooting and he turned fire-engine red thinking of what she must be looking at. She came up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

     "Asad? If it bothers you so much, I'll delete it. But you have to watch it with me at least once, please?"

     He lowered his hand and looked at those pouty lips. And sighed. "No. And if you bug me, I'm going on a sex strike." 

She gasped.

     "But Asad, it's so hot, you have to see it" she whined rubbing herself against him. Just watching the video made her want him so bad.

     "No!" 

     "OK, don't watch it. But can I still keep it, please?"

He glared at her. His nostrils flared and she knew exactly where he stood on the issue. Damn this prude of a man! 

Zoya huffed.

     "At least it'll keep me warm when you're on your high horse not having sex with me," she muttered under her breath as she detached herself from his rigid and unyielding frame. 

     "What?" 

     "Nothing!" 

He tried to reason with her.

     "What if Ayaan or the girls got into your iPad and saw it? Can you even imagine how embarrassing it would be? And if Omar found it, we'll be on youtube!" 

     "My iPad is password protected," Zoya snapped. Did he not even know her?

Damn woman should have been a lawyer. Had backchat for everything. He should have known that the exquisite purity of logic never worked on her. 

     "Oh brilliant! And how easy is it to crack a person's password!" 

It was her turn to shoot daggers at him.

Asad sighed. She clutched the offending gadget to her chest. That damned iPad of hers! Total aafat! He had playfully dubbed it her jigar ka tukda once. She had loved the moniker and stroking his cheek had said, "and Jahanpanah, you're my shahi tukda!" 

     Now she thrust the iPad into his hand, saying sweetly through gritted teeth, "be my guest. Crack the code."

Wait. What were they talking about?

Asad looked at her thunderous expression and shook his head. Oh the blasted selfie-video madam had clocked him with. 

     "Fine!" and he sat at the couch, ready to try. He cracked his knuckles; she rolled her eyes.

He could guess her password. Easy. It wouldn't be her name. 

     Allah Miyan? Nope.

He typed in the date of their wedding smugly. No. 

     Asad Ahmed Khan. No.

     MS Dhoni. Thank god! 

He ran out of tries and looked at Zoya. She grabbed the iPad, did something with her flying fingers and handed it back to him. 

Asad wasn't feeling as confident any more. What the hell had he landed himself in? He wanted to give up. He couldn't give up.

     Akdu Ahmed Khan. No.

Wait.

     Mahendra Singh Dhoni. No.

Yes! 

     Jahanpanah six packs. No. 

Damn. She had to unlock it for him again to retry and re-humiliate himself. 

     Jahanpanah Bond. Nahin.

     Shahi Tukda. Should have known.

     Zoya loves Asad. No. 

Like a cat with multiple lives the blasted iPad password lock had multiple lives too, apparently. And Zoya was being super patient in unlocking it each time. The line of her lips was getting smugger.

     Zoya heart Asad. No. 

     Zoya <3 Asad. Really? Now he was just getting desperate. 

     Asad loves Zoya. Nope.

     Zoya Asad forever. Nah. 

     Mr. and Mrs. Khan. No. 

     Mr. and Mrs. Jahanpanah. No. 

This was getting worse and worse. Not only wasn't he cracking the code, but he was finding out, much to his alarm, that her password had nothing to do with him. Asad tamped his disappointment and gritted his teeth.

     Salman Khan. No. Thank god.

OK, this was becoming ridiculous. He looked at her under his lashes. Earlier she had looked victorious, but now she was growing more wistful, disappointed even. Ouch, that hurt. Somehow she had more faith in her Jahanpanah's detective abilities and he was failing miserably.

It was as if she wanted him to know the password. 

And then he knew the password. 

Asad's heart melted.

Zaid Amna Nilofer, he typed in.

He was in. 

They looked at one another across the room.

     "Come here," he called her softly holding out his hand.

She smiled tremulously and snuggled into his lap.  

     "Do you even know how crazy you are?" 

Zoya shook her head no.

     "Do you know how much I love you?"

She nodded her head yes. 

     "Umm ... is it really that sexy?" 

He roared with laughter when he saw her eager head shake and flashing dimple.

     "Show me." 

 

Tanveer was having a bad day. For many days in a row now. Grasping at one more payout had made her careless. The encounter with Raziya had scared her more than she had let on to the old witch. One misstep, and she could have been rotting in a shiny suitcase somewhere. Her mind couldn't let go of that macabre image. She had seen enough crime shows to know what happened to such corpses. The leaking gases bloated the body if the maggots didn't get to it first. In a small sealed environment, the distended body exploded into human soup. She gagged and rushed to retch and throw up.

She'd been doing this for a few days too. 

Damn! How was it that sitting on such a big pile of money in the middle of the poshest address in town and she was still alone, puking her guts out and scared for her life? Maybe it was time to slink away to Kanpur. She had to think of the baby too. It had very nearly been killed even before being born. 

Imran? No. He was useless now. More a liability now that Asad had tied the family up in legal loopholes for the next two generations.

Asad? She shuddered. Now that was a fine piece of meat she'd let get away. Damn that Zoya Farooqui! But at least she had taken some revenge on that Miss New York. Who was now Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan! Shit! That still rankled. 

She had tried to hover and sneak around the Khan Villa. But had been thwarted by the extra security.

So Asad was being extra careful. Hmmph! 

Tanveer fumed. She rubbed her chest in anger and frustration. This pregnancy was beyond annoying. For the first time in her life she could feel the burn from acidity. She felt tired, cranky and her feet were growing. Her face had filled out as had her body. More time and she'd be waddling unattractively. What new game or bakra could she find to amuse herself with in the meantime?

 

Omar was getting the shit beaten out of him.

And he was loving it.

He had snuck into Najma's room that night and scared the living daylights out of her. She had nearly shrieked out loud but he clamped his hand on her mouth. He had tried to nuzzle her, but she pushed him violently on the bed and pummeled him for scaring her to death.

She had to. 

If she didn't beat him up, then she would have melted in his arms, and both god and she knew what would have happened next. He captured her wrists in his hands and pulled her on top of him. 

She wouldn't meet his gaze.

     "Omar, please leave me," she protested feebly, trying to struggle out of his arms.

     "One kiss," he pleaded.

     "No! Are you mad?" 

     "Mad about you."

Oh god! He always knew what to say to get her to soften into a gooey molten mess. One more intent gaze or hot whisper and she would be putty. He knew it too. He rolled her over and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead.

     "I'll wait," and he reluctantly dragged himself off.

She felt a pang of loss. Omar gave her his hand to pull her up. When he let her hand go she resented the lost contact. She wanted him to hold her hand in his longer, even kiss it. But he removed himself behind the invisible wall she had erected between them to give her space and more time. 

For days now they had been playing this game. Nama felt too shy to let him kiss her and if she resisted then he backed off. 

He would smile down at her or wink at her roguishly, silently reminding her that they would be married soon. At the dinner table he would raise an eyebrow if their hands brushed against each other.

But today there was a brooding intensity about him that scared her. His playfulness had evaporated. He wasn't looking at her. He had shoved his hands in his pockets and wasn't his usual bantering or teasing self. 

     "Omar? Is everything OK?" she asked tentatively. He didn't answer immediately. 

     "Yes," he whispered softly. "I just wanted to see you and couldn't help myself. I'm sorry for scaring you." He turned to the window about to let himself out the same way he'd come in. 

     She pulled at his sleeve. "Omar?" 

He stilled but wouldn't look at her.

     "You're scaring me more now." She said, heart beating painfully. 

     He sighed deeply. "I'm sorry Najma. I shouldn't have come. It was just a crazy impulse. Good night."

She felt the crazy bubble and bloom in her.

     "Omar, kiss me." 

     He pulled his arm away from her grasp and hunched his shoulders. "No! Stop it! You don't have to do this."

     "Please," her voice brimmed with tears and his heart wrenched.

     He grabbed her face in his hands. "Please Najma, you're hurting me. I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with just because you think I want it." 

She kickboxed that invisible wall down. And blindly pressed her lips to his. How could she tell him that she wanted to kiss him just as bad? It was just that she was embarrassed and terrified that she'd be bad at it. What if he felt nothing? Even now, if he pushed her away, she would die. 

     His arms came around her to gently hold her against him. He rubbed his thumb over her lips to give her the distance and time to back away. And then he whispered against her lips. "Najma? Are you sure?" 

A tear trickled down and he felt it on his cheek. He licked it away and felt her cling to him. 

     "Yes," he felt her lips curl under his thumb.

She kissed his thumb and he shuddered. Omar lowered his thumb to stroke her chin and Najma boldly licked his lips.

     "God!" he swore and swooped to really feel her lips with his. For so long he'd waited. He nearly lifted her off her feet as he crushed her to him sucking her lips and thrusting his tongue in to feel her mouth on his. Neither knew when he backed her into the real wall behind her. 

     When they broke free, he looked into her flushed face and whispered. "Oh god, that was so worth the wait!"  

     Najma's heart soared, her twinkling eyes lifted to meet his. "Really?" 

She went in for seconds.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Sarfarosh (1999): "Hoshwalon Ko Khabar Kya Bekhudi Kya Cheez Hai" 


	63. Jitne Paas Paas, Khwaabon Ke Nazar, Utni Paas Tu Rehna Hamsafar

 

 

  

     "Oh god!" Asad groaned, red-hot lust pulsing to harden him.

Barely a few minutes into the home-made video, and the sight of her going down on him nearly undid him. The iPad was flung aside and she was hauled into his arms. Their lips frantically sought each other's, tongues jousted, heated bodies rocked and limbs knotted. 

     Later, stroking her arm, Asad breathed roughly, "what's the point of the video if we'll never get through watching the whole thing?" 

     "We can keep working on it."

Cheek resting in his palm, he watched her dimple undulate and widen, mesmerized.

     "... taking long breaks in between, perfecting our technique," Zoya continued. Still lying under him she traced a line from his brow to lip.

     "Huh?" 

     "Focus!" Zoya shook his head by his ears, stroking them with her thumbs.

     He grinned down wickedly and leaned in to suck and whisper in her ear, "sorry Mrs. Khan, did I hear you say, 'fuckus'!"    

     "As—ad!" she cried out in mock horror. And then Zoya laughed contentedly. Jahanpanah was becoming incorrigible. Her seedha-saadha "voh ... actually ... main" brahmachari had now been Zoyafied. 

Nice!

And then Zoya really laughed. A deep belly laugh.

Asad frowned. This couldn't be good. 

     "What? What did your remember?" he demanded, tickling her. Nuzzling her.

     "Remember what I said to you when you ran me over the second time we met?"

     "I didn't run you over. You were walking in the middle of the street!" Asad huffed and then grinned, "how can I forget? No one had ever said such a thing to me!" 

     And shaking his head, he repeated her words from that day: " 'aap shakal se hi lecherous lagte hain!' How could you have said that?" He'd been knocked out by that verdict. No one could've even thought that about him let alone say the words. Only Zoya.

     "I was kinda right though, wasn't I? Who knew you'd turn out to be so lecherous!" Zoya giggled as she escaped from under him. 

     "Zoya! Come back here," he ordered as he rolled over on his back on the floor. Because once again, they had only made it half-way to the bed before tearing into each other. "And you are 100% responsible for making me lecherous!" he accused, arms under his head now. 

     "Kya karate?" She returned, snuggling up next to him and covering them up with a pilfered bedcover. "So many years of a tight-assed Jahanpanah had to be undone after all." 

     She bit his bicep. "A crash course in lechery was exactly what the doctor ordered!"

His eyebrows waggled and lips curled into a sinful grin.

     "What?" she demanded warily. These days Jahanpanah had become unpredictable. Or rather, too predictable.

     "When we come back today I'll be the doctor and you can be the nurse." 

     "Oh really? How conveniently sexist of you. I'll be the doctor and you can be the ward boy."

     "Done! As long as I can take your temperature!" And he bit down on her neck. It took her a second longer to get his drift since she was distracted by the afterplay.

     "You wish!"

     He crushed her to him and buried his face in her neck, "I wish, I want! I can't get enough of you, Dr. Zoya!" 

     "And why will I let a ward boy check my temperature when there will be other hot docs around?"

     "Because I am also Jahanpanah and can order their hands and other body parts chopped off," Asad snapped.

     "Mr. Khan, you are becoming more and more outrageous and lecherous din par din!" she sputtered, but the ward boy silenced her.

 

This was their last day on the Palace on Wheels fantasy tour. And they were back in Agra with the group. Asad had wanted to break away and go back to their hotel before they caught a flight back home. But Zoya had begged to see the Taj one last time.

     "Zoya, it's hot, and I've had too many historical monuments to last me a lifetime." How could she still be so enthusiastic about more sightseeing? And supposedly, he was the architect.

     "OK, we won't do the fort or Fatehpur Sikri, but c'mon we have to go see the Taj one last time. please!"

He crossed his arms and planted his feet wide, scowling, unmoving.

     "Mr. Khan," Zoya batted her eyelashes at him and stuck out her lower lip, "we have to erase the last bad memory we have of the Taj."  

Oh god, why did he even bother disagreeing with her! He always gave in anyways like one love-sick puppy trotting behind his master's cute butt.

  


     "Mrs. Khan!" Asad thundered a half hour later as they walked down the cobbled path to the Taj, "you're manipulative and think you can make me do anything with those eyes and lips!" He felt her elbow stab his side. "What?" he growled and looked down at her, "I'm here, aren't I? Even though it's baking hot. Let me at least grumble in peace." 

Hand on his arm, she looked up into his face. Pushing her sunglasses on her head she pointed to something behind him with her chin.

He looked in that direction and came to a halt. Asad smiled. And he shook his head.

Mashallah!

Of course, trust this woman's instincts to always be right! 

There, just a few yards from them was evidence of a heightened police presence. A spanking new police booth! Behind the command post was a large banner proclaiming in both Hindi and English: The Security of Women in our City is our Top Priority. Eve-teasers will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law!

Nice! But where were these clowns that night?

A women's group had put up a Wall of Shame poster board. It already had enlarged photos of the three men who had attacked them that night. And some others had been tacked on too. 

And then Asad noticed what he had missed due to his grumpiness: other city government public service announcements and signs posted along the street up to the monument. There was even some fresh hand-scrawled graffiti: "Taj is a monument to love not lust." "Meri sandal bhi sexy, mera thappad phi sexy." "No is not just a word. It's a statement."

Posters hung by non-profits such as "Freeze the Tease" fluttered in the muggy breeze. There was even a poster by "Safecity.in" that encouraged the public to report incidents to help map unsafe areas in cities all across the country. 

Asad turned around, reaching out to hold his superhero's hand. But she was busy with her iPad taking pictures of a newly awakened public conscience.

     "Here, let me," he took the iPad from her and posed her in front of one of the banners. Done, Asad looked down at the photo. She looked exhilarated, sporting a cheeky smile and the deepest dimple. 

His phone rang. Prasad. 

Asad looked around for Zoya. Buying souvenirs. Keeping an eye on her and tucking her iPad under his arm, he took the call.

     Prasad sounded frantic and mortified. "Sorry to disturb you sir," he stuttered nervously. "But there's a slight problem."

     "Are Ammi and Najma OK?" Asad panicked. 

     "No sir! I mean yes sir, they are fine. Nothing bad has happened. But sir, Omar sir called and was asking about the same tickets you booked."

     "What! Prasad I told you not to tell anyone." 

     "But sir, I didn't! And I tried my best to dissuade him. But I think Rashid sir intervened."

Asad listened to the details and then laughed heartily. Great minds do think alike, he thought.

     After hanging up he grabbed Zoya's arm. "Hurry up and finish."

     "But why? We still have to go inside." 

     "One hour. Then we have to talk ... and there's a certain video to catch up on too." 

 

Humaira had talked to her father to let him know that she would be staying on longer at Khala's. Ayaan wasn't happy about that decision but he had reluctantly come to accept it. She could have moved in with them at their new place, but it would raise more questions. And he didn't want to push the issue right now. He would follow Abbu's lead. If Abbu chose to expose Mumani's deeds then Ayaan would add his voice to their crusade. But for now, it was best to lay low. It was good enough for him that he had managed to convince Humaira to give their love a chance.

Now he bowed his covered head in gratitude at the Dargah. Ayaan missed her terribly. But he was thrilled that Abbu had moved them all out of that house. And soon, Humaira would be permanently out of that dungeon of evil guarded by hooded vipers.

He joined the others in the courtyard.

     "Coffee, ladies?" Omar asked the girls.

     "Yes!" they chorused.

     "No," grumbled Ayaan. "Let's do something else. Movie?"

     "Which one?" asked Nikhat. She knew Bhaijaan was missing Humaira. So were they.

     "Aurangzeb, ya Yeh Jawaani Hai Diwani?" The guys would have preferred Aurangzeb, but the girls ruled them over. 

     "But raat ka show, parents will do choon-choon and badd-badd," pouted Nuzzhat. 

     "We can ask them to join us," teased Nikhat. 

     "NO!" said Najma and Omar.

Najma blushed. Once upon a time, Ayaan would have said no too; except in Humaira's absence, it really didn't matter who went. Or didn't. 

Omar had to take over the party planning since Raabert was being a cantankerous and useless Majnu.

     "OK, here's what we'll do. Ayaan, get the tickets. I'll ask my cousin and his wife to join us too. They've returned from their honeymoon and keep making googly eyes at each other. Everyone's sick of them. This will make the parents worry less because we'll be a bigger group. Safety in numbers and all that."

     "Great! But Zoya will kill us for watching the film without her," said Najma wistfully. "We'd talked so much about watching the film together. She's a big Ranbir fan."

     Putting his arm around her shoulders Omar teased, "Babes, Zoya is diwani for a new Ranbir now, and their jawani is—"

     "Omar! You are so besharam!" she kicked him in his shins before he could finish being obnoxious.   

     "Dammit Najma, the old bruises haven't healed as yet!" he complained rubbing his shins. 

     Ayaan's ears pricked. "Old bruises? What the hell have you guys been up to?"

     "Shut up, Ayaan! It's not what you think." yelled Omar. Najma went red and fled even as everyone else snorted.

     "It better not be," mumbled Ayaan. "Not fair that everyone gets some sugar except for me." He violently kicked a stone off the street. He wanted to make google eyes too, whatever that was.

     "I'm missing you like hell," he texted Humaira. "And these idiots are driving me insane. Love you." 

     The idiots surrounded him. "Aww, missing Humaira begum!"

     "No shayari Bhaijaan? Ishq mein toh acchhi shayri seekhiye kum se kum!" teased Nuzzhat.

     "Pyaar tumhe kis mod pe le aaya!" belted Omar. Ayaan punched his shoulder. 

     Omar grabbed him in a headlock. "Kyun saale miyan, why are you being such a killjoy? Aish kar, before she puts you on a leash."

He was rewarded with more bruising kicks and punches. This time from his saalis as well. 

 

Badi Bi had given Dilshad the highlights for why they had left that house. She'd put her hand on Dilshad's shoulder as she saw her expression of pain and horror. So much misery inflicted by a few vicious people who did wrong, and then did more damage to cover their tracks.

Badi Bi's heart had wrenched. 

She knew how her son and his first wife had suffered due to the Siddiquis' senseless manipulation of their lives. Her biggest regret would be not doing enough to mend the breach which had alienated Asad and Najma the most. Tears in their eyes, both women held hands and whispered a prayer that at least good things were happening now, and that the younger generation would be spared the pain.

     "Bachhon par isski aanch bhi nahin aane denge," they pledged.

     "Mujhe maaf kar dena, Dilshad," her ex-mother-in-law had pled later. "Main kuchh nahin kar payee. Half the things I only found out now." She sniffed in regret, "bahut raaz mere bete ne apne seene mein dafnaye rakhe. I wish I knew then, and may be we could have stopped some, if not all of this from spiraling into disaster."

Dilshad nodded, her throat tight. She wouldn't crack open a door she had locked firmly so many years ago. Her life had been dedicated to her children and nothing would change that. There were marriages and grandchildren to look forward to. Her fiercely proud and protective son had reconciled with his father. That was more than she could have asked for in this lifetime. 

 

When Raziya met Tanu at the appointed spot to hand over part of the money, they had armed company. While a part of her felt elated that finally she had managed to scare Tanveer enough, there was another part that was more scared for herself. Why hadn't she thought of keeping her own driver close by? What if Tanu tried to have her killed? 

Stiffly, she handed the bag over. Her wound still hadn't healed enough. 

In taking the bag from her, Tanveer raked her nails into the unhealed wound and Razia screamed in pain as she fell to her knees, nearly passing out. 

     Tanu looked at her spitefully. "Bi, I am not done with you as yet. I hear your daughter is no longer living with you."

Raziya paled. How did this woman know so much? Did she have spies in her own house now? 

     "How dare yo—?" She choked in fear when one of the burly men by Tanu's side moved closer. The butt of a gun was clearly visible in his waistband.

     "Be really careful Bi," Tanu gloated. "What is that saying? People who live in glasshouses...?" 

Raziya quailed. She knew that Tanu would exact some form of revenge on her.

     "Stay away from my daughter," she begged through gritted teeth. 

     Tanu laughed maniacally. "I'll see. No promises. Make sure you pay up!"

When Raziya reached home that evening she hired a body guard for herself and dispatched one to protect Humaira at her sister's. And then she fired all the servants. 

 

     "Asad?" she leaned into him as they bid farewell to the Taj and she looked longingly at the marble beauty for one last time.

     "Hmm?" 

     "Thank you."  

     "For?"

     "For bringing me back here and re-doing the memories with me." 

     "Any time." He promised. "So, Mrs. Khan, I hear you plan to take me to see more historical monuments?" She looked up at him quizzically? What was he talking about? He looked down at her and teased, "Big Ben, Westminster Abbey?"

     She gasped and slapped his shoulder. "How do you know? I'll kill Omar!"

     "No, not him. I'll tell you when we get back." 

Since his mood had obviously improved so much, Zoya tried exerting a little more manipulation. 

     "Jahanpanah?" 

Asad alerted to the tone of her voice and rolled his eyes. 

     "Hokum kariye," he sighed, ever the martyr to his wife's escalating demands. 

     "Fatehpur Sikri?" 

     "No!" he groaned.

     "I want to tie a thread for us at the dargah."

He was beginning to relent. Just another nudge.

     "You can be the doctor, I'll be the nurse." 

     "Zoya! Don't push it. It's too damn sultry and hot," he complained, wiping his brow.

     She went on, as if he hadn't said a word, "and then in our hot hamaam tonight I'll be your sultry siren and wash away all the sweat and grime of Agra. We can even play Buckingham Palace." 

Oh, what the hell! Except. It wasn't Buckingham he was thinking!

     His eyes narrowed and the corruption peeked. "Oh, you mean—-!"

     Nearly doubling over with laughter, Zoya pointed an accusatory finger at him and mock-glared, "Don't say it!"

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Fanaa (2006): "Mere Haath Mein, Tera Haath Ho"

 


	64. Jisme Duaayein Rahen, Har Dum Wafaayein Rahen, Doon Tujhko Aisa Ik Jahan

 

 

 

 

     "Asad, I've been thinking," Zoya said on the flight back home. 

Eyes closed and head against the seat back, he laced his fingers with hers. 

     "What?"

     "The recent floods in Uttarakhand? Now that we have duplicate tickets for the Champion's Trophy, why not donate one set to raise money for that." 

     His eyes jerked open. "Genius idea, go on."

     Excited, she twisted around in her seat and went on, "we can go on the ones I booked. I know you'll have to downgrade to business class and do some slumming. But, your package we can donate to some celebrity auction where a rich cricket fan can bid on it, and the money can go to rescue work at Uttarakhand." 

     "People will bid on my package?" 

     "Asad, behave!" she whispered loudly, completely mortified. But she giggled; the man had taken lightening up to bawdy new levels. Slapping his shoulder she scolded, "you have got to be put on a sex fast, mister. I can't trust you not to blurt out anything any more." 

     "And what makes you think that a sex fast will make me less besharam?" he teased, eyes still closed. 

     "Allah miyan, pyaar ke side effects!" she lamented. 

     "And x-rated benefits," he countered. 

     "True," she sighed with satisfaction. "Absolutely LOVE the benefits! They're M.A.!"

     Gripping her fingers tighter he said softly, and more seriously, "If you want to research the charity, I'll tell Prasad to finalize the details."

     "As soon as we get home." 

     "And Zoya? Remind me to thank Jeeju and Aapi." 

     "Kyun?" 

     "For you."

She knew he was reassuring her about other unsaid things between them. See? You're not your father's daughter, he was telling her. 

I know now.

Zoya rested her head on her husband's shoulder and dozed.

 

When they landed, Asad was surprised to find a text message from Rakesh asking him to call. 

     "Mr. Khan, there's been a new development." Rakesh reported abruptly, without any exchange of pleasantries. "My people are still following the Siddiquis." He hesitated. "And yesterday, Mrs. Siddiqui went for another rendezvous with yet another bag."

Asad listened, his breath quickening, anticipating some strange new piece of the puzzle. 

     "She met Miss Tanveer."

That wasn't what he expected.  

Zoya saw the expression on his face and became alarmed. She gripped his arm with her hands. Oh god, let everyone at home be OK, please. 

     "Find out what happened since that day," Asad spoke tersely and hung up. 

     "Asad?" she asked fearfully. "Are Ammi and Najma OK?" 

     "Hmm? Yes, yes. Everyone's OK, thank god." He wiped his brow.

     "Then what happened? Why do you look so grim?"

He called for additional security details for both residences first.

     Taking her elbow, he promised, "I'll tell you on the way."

 

     "So Humaira's ... mom sent Tanveer to our house? And she's still blackmailing her. My goodness, who are these people?" She couldn't fathom such malignancy. But both of them had breathed easier, for Humaira's sake, that Tanveer was still alive. Looking out of the car window Zoya firmly tamped down the thought of Raziya's other, bigger offense. 

Asad looked pensive too and gripped her cold hand.

     "I don't care if they bleed each other dry for the rest of their lives. They deserve each other. But that woman's continued presence in Bhopal means that we have to be on full alert. With the wedding coming up, she could try any new trick to get back at us."

     "May be it's a good thing that they've turned against each other and will keep busy trying to outmaneuver each other." She took a deep breath and blurted, "oh god, Asad, it's not fair that we have to come back to this stress and ugliness." 

     "I know." He squeezed her hand reassuringly and smiled. "But we did have the most wonderful time, didn't we Mrs. Khan?" 

     Her lips too curved into a grateful smile. "The best. Impeccable planning as usual, Jahanpanah. Just M.A.!"

Asad's thumb continued to draw comforting circles on her hand. Zoya took a deep breath and exhaled.

 

     They disembarked and gathered their luggage. Pointing his chin to the familiar bikes parked in the driveway, he teased, "ready to face the naatak mandli?"

     "Unnhh! I want to go back to Agra and the Palace on Wheels!" 

     "I don't want to share you with anyone. Just want you to myself," he murmured. 

     "That's exactly what I was thinking a couple of days ago," Zoya moaned. 

     "I think we've proven time and again that great minds like us, think alike," he leaned in for one last cuddle, reluctant to go inside.

     "And fools don't differ, Mr. Khan. Fools don't differ." She let out an exaggerated sigh as they lingered more at the door. "We would have been getting ready for dinner at this time." She snuggled into him. 

     "And ... called room service instead." He tucked her hair behind her ear and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. "I'd be taking off your saree and blouse just about now," he whispered hotly reminding her of their last night on the Palace on Wheels.

     "With your teeth," she breathed, eyes drooping and heavy with desire.

     "Hmmm," he flicked his tongue out to lick her ear. Zoya shuddered.

     "You spoilt me rotten. It's going to be so hard to come down to earth now!" she complained. 

     "Andar chalen?" 

     "No! Let's run away before anyone realizes we're back. One bonus honeymoon night, Asad. Please!"

The door swung open. They sprang apart guiltily and regretfully.

The honeymoon was officially over.

 

But another honeymoon was being planned too. 

     "Bali?" Omar persisted. 

     Najma glared at him. "Stop showing off your US citizenship, Mr. no-visa-needed for most of the world!"

     "OK so desi honeymoon. Kerala? Houseboats and rasam? Or Kashmir? Houseboats and rogan josh?

     "Why houseboats? It's making me seasick just thinking of them. And how can you even think of food? I'm still stuffed from the late lunch." 

     "I'm going to miss all this great Indian food," he murmured tragically. Her face fell. "OK, whatever place you decide. But let me know soon." He pulled her to him. "And once you join me in the US I'll take you on a second honeymoon to Italy." 

She gasped with delight but sobered quickly. It would be hell waiting out the separation. 

     "Five to six whole months, Omar! How'm I going to survive?" 

     "Shh, I know. Facetime zindabad." 

     "We had a friend, and we used to call her a US visa widow. And now I'm going to be one," Najma wailed.

He hushed her by kissing away future tears, at least temporarily.

Transnational immigration issues were a total pyaar ka dushman. Worse than Tayyab Ali. It would take anywhere from four to six months for her paperwork to be processed once the legal documents of the wedding went through. Besides the official paperwork, photos of the wedding ceremony and guests would be sent, along with invitation cards, to prove to the hyper-suspicious US government that this was not a marriage of convenience for the much-sought-after green card. 

Meanwhile, she would dutifully slog on her college applications for US universities, beg for letters of recommendation, prepare for TOEFL and GRE, and do other mind-numbing stuff to twiddle away 182-3 days of virginal loneliness. 

     She kicked his shin, "why did you have to be born in America, ABCD kahin ke?"

     "You stop that right now, or I'm calling the US Embassy to report unlawful assault on an American citizen!" Omar got kicked in the other shin. "CIA will send drone, I'm warning you!"

     "OMAR! Shut up! That's a horrible thing to say." 

They heard some commotion from the living room. The honeymooners were back. 

     Najma perked up, "Bhaijaan and Zoya are back!"

She was off to greet them but was yanked again to a hard chest and kissed senseless by her pardesi boy.

 

     "Tomorrow's the mehendi and then the next day's the wedding," Dilshad had to shout to get everyone's attention like some Mother Superior at a convent school. If she had a ruler, she'd rap it on the table. Her eyes met Zeenat's and they sighed. Happily. 

This generation just didn't listen, and now even her son—the last holdout to all this pyaar-vyaar, ishq-vishq—was a gone case. The point of a honeymoon was to get each other out of your system, not become even more besotted and useless. 

And clumsy.

Making eyes at his wife, her son had absently knocked over his coffee and not even flinched. This after, she had taken these two aside and told them in no clear terms: family would be coming. Elders, cousins and Maulvis would be thronging the place. Keep away from each other and hands where I can see them! One had blushed and the other had giggled, but there was no evidence of them having heeded her warning. 

And then the couple to be married was just as bad. Allah! Her house was just an inch away from becoming like some cheesy American film where randy teenagers could be found making out in closets and under the stairs, or behind shower curtains. She dared not look under the table when her napkin fell to the ground. Handsies and footsies for sure, if all their faces were any indication. Earlier she had even dispatched Zoya to give Najma a talking-to about the birds and the bees, the beaks and the stingers.

But Dilshad had missed her daughter-in-law's sheepish grin.

Ammi, I have no right to give her that talk! How can I preach when your son and I didn't practice?   

Dilshad smiled contentedly now. Sab manzur hai mere Maula! Just keep my kids happy. And some grandchildren would be sone pe suhaga. 

Then she saw Ayaan's mutinous face. Bechara mera bachcha. She stroked his head, and he looked up.

     "Badi Ammi, tell them to stop being so annoying!" 

     "Kya karoon beta. I already did. Koi meri sunta kahan hai?" But she teased him, "lekin agar Humaira yahan hoti, you would have been just as annoying, hai na?"

He grinned. True dat. And thank goodness, Humaira would be here for the mehendi tomorrow. She had convinced her father that Ayaan would pick her up and she would be staying at the Khans' till the wedding. 

 

Gaffoor Siddiqui was coming closer to making quite a momentous decision. After all these days of soul searching he had come to the conclusion that this was the right thing to do. After twenty years of cowardice, it was time to face his sins and make amends before he met his maker. Rashid had moved out with his family and now stood strong and proud with all his children by his side. This boldness had both shamed and inspired Siddiqui.

But before doing anything, he had to talk to Raziya. Thank goodness, Humaira was away. 

     "I want to discuss something with you," he told her that morning.

Raziya stilled in the act of pouring his tea. His tone made chills run down her spine. Now what? She was convinced, given her recent string of bad luck, that more bad news was coming. 

     "Kahiye," she said demurely, offering him the delicate bone china cup and saucer, her pride and joy once. Now, the pattern of red flowers with yellow centers reminded her of blood and pus. 

     "I was recently re-united with my long lost daughter." 

Raziya choked on her tea. No! No! No! 

     "I tried to keep it from all of you, but I have decided that it's time to do the right thing. I will be bringing her to live with us this evening." 

Her cup and saucer shattered to the marble floor. Shards of white and red stabbed the milky mess. He knew? He had met Zoya? Of course Asad Ahmed Khan must have twisted her husband's arm! The whole town knew about his punishing revenge against the now bankrupted and disgraced Qureshis. But why would Zoya come to live with them? She was married now.

     "How? When?" she whispered in horror.

     "She came to me some time ago. I tried to bring her then, but she convinced me that it would be too disruptive for my family. Such good upbringing! Putting away her needs and rights so that her father may continue to be respectable in society! I am so ashamed Raziya." He had tears in his eyes. He didn't see her's. 

But the little bastard has respectability now, why would she even want to come here? What about my daughter and her rights?

The silent screams knocked about in her pounding head.

Her husband cleared his throat.

     "But there's something else. It's a little ... unsavory. I am not condoning her actions, but I have decided to stand by her. She's had a rough life. ... She's unmarried, but pregnant. I've decided that I want to take care of my daughter and grandchild to make up for all the years of neglect." 

He didn't see Raziya sway and crash onto the bone china shards swimming in the sugarless tea. 

 

When Zoya brought in their morning coffee, he was in the shower. Damn he'd locked the door or she'd have joined him. She sipped her coffee and smiled thinking of the evening before. Coming back home and being with everyone had been great. But it was pure torture not being able to hold or touch each other, or sit in his lap whenever she wished, or just walk around in his shirt and nothing else.

For all of 20 minutes they'd listened to Ammi and not looked; or even peeked at each other. But soon, their molten gazes had furtively and hungrily tugged at one another and played tag. Their fasting eyes had messaged and sexted each other.

     When she had gone to the bedroom to get everyone's gifts he had grabbed her from behind whispering, "and my gift?" 

     "Later." 

     "Now!" he'd growled making her blood electric.

     "Asad," she'd moaned melting against him. Reluctantly she'd struggled out of his arms to return to the living room. But only after long drugging kisses, and threats, and promises of later delights. At the door, she'd come back for a quick peck.

     "What was that for?" he asked.

     "A thank you. For taking care of me and making me feel so special." 

     "Even though I couldn't bring our khidmatgar with us?" he teased. 

     "Jayiye, maaf kiya!" she'd chuckled as she left laden with trinkets and souvenirs from their honeymoon travels. But at the door, she couldn't resist a parting shot, "and Mr. Khan, even if you couldn't, I did bring my khidmatgar back with me!" 

The woman was irrepressible!

 

Their lovemaking that night had been slow and long, but quieter. A lot of lip-biting and knuckle-stuffing, muffling and swallowing of screams. And that had been erotic in its own way. Her body had quivered and thrashed more intensely to compensate for choked vocal expression. Her heels had dragged at the silken sheets and kicked the reshmi covers off in the moment of crowning arched release. His thumb had dragged across the skin of her slick throat and she hadn't been able to stop herself from screaming his name. Chuckling softly, he'd covered her mouth. He gazed deep into her eyes as he moved more urgently inside her.

How was it that having the house overrun by so many relatives was pure agony, but also exquisite ecstasy when in each other's heated arms, breaths fusing, under the cover of perfumed darkness? 

 

When Asad opened the bathroom door to step out with just a towel around his waist, he knew his wife was ready for him even without looking into her smoky, dilated pupils. 

Pheromones beckoned. 

A raised eyebrow and the tiniest of head shakes, and she was already hurriedly unbuttoning her shirt.

Her bra landed on his face and slid down his bare chest.

Great minds! 

 

And here she was finally. A victim of her own ingenuity.

Maybe her luck had run out after all. Idiot! Did you have to stay in this town long? Should have known to quit when she was ahead!

Her "Abbu," in a crisis of self-loathing and martyrdom had insisted that he would be taking care of her from now on. Every noble refusal of hers had made him feel guiltier and more determined to do the right thing. 

I am not your daughter you blind, blithering fool, she had wanted to scream.

But lately, fear was settling coldly in her heart. She already had Asad Ahmed Khan out for her blood. There were the mandatory haazaris at the local thana, thanks to his lawyers. Raziya had made her realize her mortality that fateful day and she could never feel safe anymore. And if Tanveer made an enemy out of yet another powerful man in Bhopal, her goose would surely be cooked. 

Welcome to the Siddiqui Mansion, she told herself as she and Raziya spitefully glared at one another.

Home Sweet Home.

     "Yeh, tumhari Ammi," her jackass Abbu said piously.

She would have choked with laughter if she didn't have the urge to hurl her guts out at her new Ammi's feet. But one look at Raziya's ashen face and Tanu's mouth couldn't resist twisting into a victorious smirk. 

     "I'm baaack!" she wanted to crow in her enemy's face. 

Tanveer bent her covered head and Siddiqui's chest puffed out.

Raziya's skin crawled and her blood sugar dipped.

The arsenic-fed chickens had come home to roost. 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Blood Money (2012): "Chaahat"


	65. Na Koi Hai, Na Koi Tha, Zindagi Mein Tumhaare Siva

 

 

  

Raziya's phone buzzed even as she was shooting daggers at her new viper of a daughter.

That smug impostor!

She wished she could drag her out, kicking and screaming, by her hair. Allah, give me patience!

She glanced at the screen. It was Humaira's bodyguard. Her pulse jumped in anxiety. 

Raziya turned away from her husband and his precious guilt trap.

You moron!

But she didn't know whether she was calling him that, or herself.

     "Bibiji, there's some bad news."

Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!

     "Kya hua?" Raziya clutched her racing heart. The doctor had told her to avoid all stress.

     "Voh ... bibiji ... kaise kahun ..." 

     Her blood curdled. "Chup chap batate ho, ya tumhara bhi wahi hashra karoon jo tumhare bhai ka?" she hissed.

     "Ji sorry, madam. She was on the bike with this boy and … there were shots—" 

The phone slipped from her lifeless hands.

She turned around slowly.

Tanveer's gloating face swam before her eyes. Thankfully, Siddiqui saheb had stepped into his study. Raziya sprang to choke her throat.

     "I told you to stay away from my daughter!"

     "Stop! You're hurting me!"

     "Don't even think that I'll let you get away with this!" Her fingers spasmed, and her nails dug mercilessly into the soft flesh. Raziya would have killed her but had somewhere else to be. 

Before Tanveer could scratch her injured arm, Raziya shook her hard with a mother's superhuman strength and threw her across the floor. Tanveer's head slammed against the coffee table. She cried out in pain.

     "If anything happens to my daughter, I will kill you! And rest assured, this time, I won't fail." Calling her driver on the phone, Razia raced out of the house. 

 

They grinned at each other as they put their clothes on. He wanted to cuddle but she had to be outside, ASAP. Voices rose and fell in the kitchen. 

The breakfast rush was here. 

The Khan diner was open for business.

Asad inhaled her scent as he came up behind Zoya to hold her by the waist.

     Holding her palms out, he whispered, "your mehendi is beginning to fade." He traced the hennaed filigree with his thumbs and she quivered. He dropped a slow deliberate kiss on her palm. 

     "I'll get a second coat tonight," she quipped. "And," Zoya turned in the circle of his arms to link her arms behind his neck, "tonight you get lucky only if you can find your name in my mehendi." Rising on her toes she planted a kiss on his curling lips.

     "I'll find it if it takes all night, with detours in between," he bragged, tipping her head back and thumbing her lips. "But, it's my name on your lips that sets my blood on fire." He whispered seductively in her ear, and swung her up in his arms. 

     "Asaadd," she cooed languorously. Zoya hadn't cooled down yet and was still throbbing and ticking from an intense afterglow. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she squeezed him to her. "Oh god! I can't get enough of you," she moaned.

     "Stay," he pleaded.

     "No, I have to help Ammi," she whined.

     "Afternoon delight?" he queried roguishly.

     "Oh yes!"

Asad's phone rang. He groaned. They disengaged reluctantly after a quick peck. It was Ayaan.

     "What!" he half-shouted a second later.

Zoya nearly dropped the coffee mugs she was carrying back to the kitchen. Putting them on the side table she rushed to hover near him. This was not good. Something was very wrong. She clutched his arm in panic and rubbed his back comfortingly as he listened. 

     "What?" she asked fearfully as he hung up and dashed to retrieve his car keys.  

He looked at her darkly and swallowed. "That was Ayaan. Someone fired shots at them."

The blood drained from her face and she staggered. Supporting Zoya, he walked to the bed where both sat heavily. 

     "Tell me they're OK? Humaira?"

     "They're at a nearby clinic. A bullet grazed her arm." 

She swayed, nearly fainting. 

     "Zoya, she's fine. It's a flesh wound with lots of blood loss though. She's in a lot of pain but conscious." He held her, massaging her back, head tucked in the crook of his neck. "I'll get them home."

     "Asad," she said softly. "What if she needs ...? Let me come, please."

She has her murderous parents if she needs anything, he wanted to shout.

     "OK," he ground out, not pleased, but knowing that he'd be unable to talk her out of this one.

     "Don't tell anyone here right now," Zoya begged.

     "Just Ammi. Let's go." 

 

Raziya knew who was behind the attack. And also why Humaira's life had been spared. This was a warning from her nemesis whose ass was now parked in her own home. From the car she had called her doctors and threatened and bullied them to drive down to the nondescript clinic in some podunk town to evaluate her daughter's injuries, and, if possible, transfer her to the best medical facility closer to home.

But her daughter had refused to meet with her. 

Ayaan scowled at her, gritting his teeth, but not saying a word. After lashing out at her mother, calling her the vilest of names, Humaira had dropped into a dead stupor and her vitals had crashed. The doctors had rushed to resuscitate her and bleated about the necessity of a blood transfusion and keeping the patient stress-free.

     "Take my blood! I'm her mother." She had cried out in vain.

     Her own doctor had frowned at her and shook his head. "Mrs. Siddiqui, you have diabetes. And although some diabetics can donate blood, the kind of insulin regimen you're on prevents you from being a blood donor."

She had screamed and screamed and screamed then. 

Orderlies and security guards were brought to calm her down or throw her out. She screamed more as they tried to restrain her. It didn't even occur to her to call her husband.

Struggling to break free from restraining arms she had suddenly stiffened. Through streaming eyes Raziya saw Zoya's pale and stricken face and Asad's thunderous visage. She fell to her knees and sobbed in shame and gratitude.

Thank you for being here. Thank you. Thank you.

The orderlies released her.

     "Please calm down madam, or we will have to ask you to leave." 

With her nails Raziya raked and tore through the barely healed flesh of her arm. 

She knew.

They both knew. They knew the awful truth from all those years ago. Asad would have killed her and Raziya knew that too. Ayaan's anger was nothing compared to what she had seen in his brother's eyes. She had seen his clenched fists and teeth set on edge as he heard his wife offer to donate blood. Ayaan had looked up, surprised and humbled. Asad had crossed his arms stiffly across his chest and bowed his head in mute acceptance. 

 

The blood had roared in his ears when he saw a distraught Raziya Siddiqui sniveling in the hallway. Asad's arm around Zoya had tightened and a vision of her scarred arm had made him blind with rage and loathing. 

But he tamped his fury. 

Because having to stand by, watching Zoya do what he knew she would volunteer to do, was more important. He hated it. But, Asad understood. Had it been Ayaan he would have done the same thing. When Ayaan had looked at him quizzically, he'd shaken his head. Later, he implied.

Asad had stood guard mulishly to monitor the cleanliness of the instruments and equipment. He gave clipped instructions and had stared the doctors and nurses down not taking any no's for an answer. They scrambled to make his wife comfortable. Zoya had even let out a half-giggle sympathetic to their plight. The clinic's owner and department heads had stood at nervous attention and wrung their hands uselessly. They whispered among themselves, terrified that something would go horribly wrong with even a simple procedure as this.

And then they'd have to face this man's full-blown wrath.

Through all of this, in the background Asad kept hearing that miserable hag's whimpers and sobs. 

     "My baby, save my baby please," she was whispering brokenly and his blood boiled.

He re-lived the piercing screams in the recording, and his fists wanted to smash through the window overlooking the room where the transfusion was taking place. He saw Zoya turn her face away from the needles and tubing. Asad knew she was crying. He felt pure, raw revulsion churn up inside him.

You keep taking from her, you blood sucking leeches, he silently roared.

He wanted to drag the woman by her hair and slam her into the window. See that covered arm? He wanted to shout, you did that to my wife. She was a baby, crying for help and you—  

Unable to breathe, Asad stalked away to pace by the nurses' station. 

He felt her creep up behind him. 

     "Thank you," she said hoarsely as if the words were forcibly being extracted from her throat. 

He spun around to face her, breathing hard. 

     "Thank her! Say it to Zoya's face!" He spoke in a harsh undertone with barely suppressed outrage. The veins in his forehead were close to popping and his fists ached to do some serious damage. He didn't want Ayaan to overhear them. He nearly blurted out: it's only for Zoya and Ayaan that I'm glad Humaira will be fine. 

     "I can't!" she broke down completely then.

Asad looked away in disgust.

     She tried her best to compose herself. "Please, you have to listen to me..."

     He rounded on her in blazing fury. "She wouldn't let me report you murdering fiends to the police even though we have the evidence that will send you away for a lifetime." 

     He pushed his hair off his forehead violently. "She thinks it would shatter Humaira."

     His voice fell to a bitter whisper. "All her life she didn't even know where her mother was buried. She came to India only to find her father. But, even though she knew Tanveer was posing as his daughter, she didn't want him shamed by paternity tests."

He spat bullets. 

     Asad pointed an accusing finger in her face, "every moment of luxury you enjoyed with your family intact, was off her mother's bones and ashes and Zoya's scars! I may forgive you for ruining my childhood but I'll never forgive you for what you took away from my wife! Get out of my sight before I do something that I know I won't regret." 

She fell back as if he'd punched her. 

     "It was Tanveer who did this." She finally whispered. 

     "I don't care," he answered grimly.

     "She could have gotten Ayaan too ... and then with the wedding coming up ..." 

He turned around to face her. 

     "How do you know?" he growled, still not sure he would be able to restrain himself from strangling her.

     "Because I know. She wants revenge against me and is in my house pretending to be my husband's daughter even as we speak," she spat. 

     Asad laughed humorlessly. "Poetic justice," he murmured. On their way here, Rakesh had updated him about Tanveer's latest whereabouts. He hadn't told Zoya about it, yet. 

Raziya lowered her eyes, ashamed.

     Woodenly, she rattled off her offenses to make him take her seriously. "I brought that woman here. You already know why. I know I deserve to be punished. Humaira not speaking to me is punishment that I deserve too. But please, please make sure that you stay alert. She is capable of anything." 

     "Like you?" Asad sneered.

     "She has reason to hate you now more than ever." Raziya went on, not being able to stop herself from confessing her sins. But she needed to convince this man at any cost. He may be her only hope of keeping Humaira safe. After all, he was related to her by marriage now. She had to find a way to make him listen. "She is a ruthless mercenary. When I first sent her to your house, she nearly burnt the house down by tampering with the gas cylinder. I never told her to do any such thing." 

The breath was knocked out of Asad's chest. That gas leak had been Tanveer's doing? 

     Raziya saw his eyes widen in horror and pressed her advantage. "She gloated to me later that she even set up your allergy attack to get you all out of the house. She said that it was easy. You would blame ... Zoya."

She knew her job was done when she saw him stagger backwards.

     "Please, watch your back, and ... and Humaira ... I'm sorry." Covering her face, she fled. She had seen the doctor come out and reassure Ayaan. Ayaan had lifted his head heaven-ward in gratitude.

Humaira was going to be OK. 

But Asad was not OK. 

He reeled. 

Horrifed by the new revelations, Asad couldn't help but think that he may have given Zoya scars too. Just like his father. Like that woman! Oh god, what else had he done, that he didn't know about? Ayaan was walking toward him with a relieved smile on his face. Blindly, Asad dashed past him into the room and crushed his wife to his chest.

Later, he had nearly cried out in anguish when he heard Ayaan fussing over a conscious Humaira.

     "There's going to be a big scar on your arm now. You can tell our kids that you got it in a gun battle when we were fighting bad guys."

Wrapped up in each other, the crime fighting lovebirds hadn't even noticed their departure. Quietly Asad had led her out and held Zoya while she sobbed. She was still unsteady on her feet, even after the weak tea and glucose biscuits the nurse had handed her after the procedure. 

 

He had called Ammi ahead. She told everyone and updated them on the good news: Humaira was going to be fine. She wouldn't be able to attend the mehendi but would be at the wedding tomorrow. Ayaan would stay on, and Shireen would join them to fuss over them to her heart's content. Asad had left his car with Ayaan so that Humaira would be comfortable on the way home.

They had taken his bike home. Ten minutes into the trip, and he felt exposed. While Asad had made sure that there was security at the clinic, he hadn't thought of their own safety. Raziya's words of caution etched and echoed in his brain. What if the assassins returned? They were a wide-open target.

Twice he pulled over.

Zoya had heaved hollow retches by the side of the road. With a pang he realized that she'd hardly eaten all day. He shielded her body with his from any crack shooters out there. Each second, he had been vigilant as a hawk, weaving through traffic and steering clear of vehicles that came too close. 

 

Dilshad had felt a stab of fear when she saw Zoya's tear-streaked face. She looked too pale and was leaning heavily on Asad. He would have carried her in but didn't want to alarm everyone. Of course, at Zoya's insistence. Zeenat rushed over to fuss over her, cupping her face in her hands, feeling her forehead.

     "Asad?" His mother had asked, hand on her heart. 

"She's just upset Ammi. After some rest she'll be fine."

Back in their room, he had made her sit on the settee while he ran the hot water in the tub. He didn't want her to go into shock; Zoya looked too dazed and wrung out. He helped undress her and climb into the tub. Gently, he tied her hair back to tie it up and sat on the edge with a towel on his thigh. She buried her face in the towel and he stroked her back, massaging her neck. With his other hand Asad brushed the hair from her face. 

     "She'll be fine," he soothed. 

     "Thank god," she sighed, eyes closed. 

Thanks to you, he thought.

     Zoya gripped his hand and looked up into his face smiling wanly. "Asad, thank you."

     Stroking her dewy cheek he asked in disbelief and shame, "what for?"

     "Your strength, for being there. For being my super hero every time." 

     "Shh, you're exhausted ... and crazy."

She looked too weak and vulnerable. May be he'd get the doctor to check her out. Asad helped her out and gently wiped her dry. Slipping on an old, soft t-shirt of his on her, he lifted her in his arms and tucked her in bed.

     Kissing her forehead he ordered, "rest. I'll help Ammi."

Her eyes drooped and closed. He drew the curtains and dropped another kiss on her forehead, then tiptoed out. 

 

Gaffoor Siddiqui was very proud of his wife. And even more ashamed of himself. She hadn't made a fuss about the new family member. Maybe she was more worried about Humaira's fall than he gave her credit for. Thank god he had talked to Humaira. 

     "Apna khayaal rakhna beta. How many times have I told you to not run up and down the stairs?" 

     "I am fine Abbu. Please don't worry. Phuphi is taking good care of me." 

     Her father sighed. "When you come back home I have something important to discuss with you."

     "Ji Abbu," she had said quietly, crossing her fingers behind her back.

But he wondered distractedly after dinner, why all the servants had been replaced. He didn't like the look of some of the new ones. Siddiqui shrugged. It wasn't his problem. The women would handle it. They looked calm enough. A little pale, but it was their first day together. It was understandable. What he didn't know was that his wife and new daughter had hired a slew of bodyguards and food-tasters in the guise of hired help. Siddiqui Mansion had morphed into gang war turf. And later he mentally kicked himself. He had forgotten to ask his newly-found daughter about the dark bruise on her forehead. What was wrong with kids these days? First Humaira. Now Tanveer. Can't walk straight or take care of themselves. That's why women needed men to look after them.

 

In less than a month's time, old and new guests assembled to shower blessings on a new joda at the Khan home.

Everyone missed Ayaan and Humaira terribly. Dilshad looked anxiously at Zoya. She was making an effort to tease Najma but her heart wasn't in it. Omar noticed too and took her aside.

     "You promised me you would sing those gaalis. We're all missing the old batty Zoya. C'mon, make my day. It'll be your gift to us."

Her chin lifted dangerously. Her nostrils quivered. 

     "Batty? Zoya Farooqui and batty? Teri maa ki—!"

     Omar barked with laughter. "And she's back!" 

He dragged her back to the settee where Najma was having her mehendi applied, supervised by her sisters. Grabbing a dholak from one of the women on the dhurrie, Omar shoved it into Zoya's hands. Dilshad smiled warmly and covered her ears in jest.

Zeenat laughed and came to sit by Zoya. She kissed her forehead and tugged the dholak away from her. No one trusted Zoya with the dholak, much to Asad's amusement and relief. Nikhat and Nuzzhat gleefully sidled up to their Bhabhi as well. Anwar pinched the bridge of his nose. Their gentle friends from America had no idea what was going to hit them upside the head. He grinned in anticipation.

     "Hana Aunty, this one's for you."

Asad's heart warmed hearing the familiar bubbling of a million giggles in her voice. Thank you, Allah Miyan!

     "Main angrezi padhi likhi ..." she sang, winking at Humaira.

The fun had just begun. 

 

Humaira, Ayaan and Shireen watched on Skype and laughed at the offensive lyrics.

Shireen kissed the top of Humaira's head. Although she was saddened by the details of her parents' ill will, she still loved this girl as her own. She hoped that they would be able to have a similar ceremony for the two of them soon. Now she beamed in pride at her daughters' dance performance to "Mehendi hai rachne wali." 

This was followed by Omar's cousins' dance. Shireen looked closely to identify any potential sons-in-law. One of the boys had potential. He danced self-consciously but valiantly soldiered on. So perfect for my shy Nikhat. She made a mental note to talk to Zeenat and demand a full profile.

Ayaan was supposed to perform with his sisters on "Thug Le." At Humaira and Shireen's gleeful insistence and rhythmic claps, he danced in accompaniment for their eyes only. Some orderlies and nurses peeped from the window.

Shireen lovingly circled his head with money in her hand and stepped out to distribute it among the unintended spectators.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Jurm (1990): "Jab Koi Baat Bigad Jaaye"


	66. Hai Wafa Kya, Is Jahaan Ko, Ek Din Dikhla Doonga Main Deewana

 

 

 

That night Asad held her to him. Seeing Humaira be more herself had lifted Zoya's gloom, but she was still drained. 

Asad kissed her hand and inhaled the Eucalyptus oil from the freshly scrubbed mehendi. "I wish I could take you far away from all this," he whispered, and smiled. 

She was already fast asleep. 

 

He couldn't sleep. Turning on his back, arms under his head, Asad stared at the ceiling.

Maybe the Siddiquis were no longer a physical threat, but Tanveer had to be neutralized before she did more serious harm. He couldn't dismiss Raziya's words from his head. The shots aimed at Humaira and Ayaan had been an unflinching warning. And they weren't just meant for Raziya. The woman had declared open season on his family too. A few inches off, and Ayaan could have been the marked one. And with him driving on a congested highway, the toll could have been much worse. 

Asad shuddered.

He got up and carried his laptop to the living room. But he couldn't sit still. Asad paced restlessly. He checked and double-checked all locks on the doors and windows. He even peeked into Ammi's and Najma's room to assure himself that they were fine. Soon however, an uneasy idea began to take root in his mind.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

It made him cringe. He was not a man who fudged the means to an end. But he would do anything to keep his family safe. 

Anything.

Mind made up, he worked long into the night.

He first reviewed all the reports that Rakesh and his team had compiled. Only after many spreadsheets, SWOT, and means and ends analyses, reports, emails and messages later, was he mildly satisfied enough to turn in. 

 

But when Asad crawled into bed hours later, he was still wired. He pressed himself around Zoya's warmth and softness. 

He wanted her. 

Now.

He switched on the bedside lamp and flung the thick sheet off. She tucked her legs under, reacting to the AC's cool air. Her skin goosebumped. Turning Zoya on her back he lazily ran the back of his fingers against her face and brushed the lashes fanning her cheek. She sighed in her sleep and curled into his body heat. Kissing her forehead, he trailed his fingers lower and traced her curves through the diaphanous kurta. On some nights, that's all she wore. Never for too long though, he grinned to himself. And tonight was his lucky night. She stirred and shivered. Taut with anticipation, he kissed her down her throat and over her kurta. 

     "Asad?" she breathed and stretched, still half-asleep.

His breath caught as he saw the kurta tantalizingly drag up her creamy thighs. His blood pounded gazing at her body through the translucent fabric. He wanted it off, but then he also wanted to touch her through it too.

With his thumb he circled and teased, and then bent his head to clamp his mouth over a pebbled peak. Her hands blindly clutched his head. Her blood warmed and toes curled. When he lifted his head, the sight of the wet circle over the sheer cotton aroused him even more. He could just make out the dusky areola. His fingers slipped under the kurta's side slit to touch her more intimately and her thighs clenched around his hand. She arched and moaned. Flipping the fabric aside, he moved his mouth lower to join his fingers. 

She was so ready for him.

     "Zoya!" he intoned gruffly.

Her back and head surged off the bed to heed his primal mating call. 

     "Oh god please, Asaaddd!" she moaned desperately.

He nibbled on her upper thighs and returned his tongue to swirl and tease her. He made figure eights, pushed and parted, dipped and nipped; his tongue danced with her heated flesh. Her hips wiggled and swayed. Lava coursed through her veins. Lifting his head, he blew hotly on her charged and swollen skin and flicked his tongue out one last time; she jerked uncontrollably.

Zoya arced and keened. 

He didn't care if anyone heard them.

Shedding his clothes he entered her deep and hard, much to her relief.

But he wasn't done with her yet; he set a relentlessly slow-paced rhythm. She complained. Accusing him of torturing her, she flailed and scratched, and begged and sobbed for faster release. He chuckled softly, without mercy, and swallowed the rest of her refrains. Her fists pounded his shoulders first, and then loosened to cling to them as he drove them headlong over the cliff. 

     "I love you!"

 

Someone had come to meet her. The new servant said it was a message from Humairaji. Raziya ran all the way to the main door and looked at the slim middle-aged woman. She was dressed demurely, and had a suitcase behind her. The woman greeted her respectfully and handed Raziya a heavy manila envelope, sealed and titled, URGENT.

Her heart jammed. 

Telling the woman to wait, she went to her room, locked it and sat down to stare at the package. Raziya shook it like a child trying to identify the contents of its Christmas gift. Or a bomb expert examining an unclaimed package. Curiosity got the better of her. She slit it open. A generic phone slid out, along with new sim cards and a typed letter.

She flipped to the last page and her heart stopped.

Asad Ahmed Khan. 

Was this some legal notice?

But it didn't look official enough. 

She began reading. 

     Mrs. Siddiqui, it read. Although I don't trust you, and still hold you responsible for a lot of grief to the people I love, I have decided to work with you to beat our common enemy. Keep this phone with you, it'll be our means of emergency contact. It already has some numbers in the contact list. My alternate number is under Humaira's name. The lead investigator, Rakesh's number is under chhoti Ammi's name. 

The woman who brought you this (Mrs. Mansur), is a trained investigator with martial arts skills. She will be armed 24/7. Employ her as your housekeeper or nurse, and keep her close. She has medical training.

The sim card needs to be inserted into Tanveer's phone—I trust you to figure out the best way to do it with Mrs. M's help. She will take the original card to duplicate its contents and then it will be switched back so that we can track her every move and call. You will have the time. At around 2pm Tanveer will have some visitors. Make sure she is unable to contact your husband. 

Humaira has arrived safely and will be staying with us for a few days. She has asked for her blue and pink lehengas, and matching jewelry to be sent to her by this afternoon. Mrs. M. will handle the delivery.

Memorise the contents of this letter and then destroy it.

Asad Ahmed Khan 

Raziya's breath expelled in amazement and hope.

 

     "If you go to Kashmir then you have to accept some kind of an armed escort." He said with finality.

Omar was pissed at Asad.

     "Are you shitting me man?" he bellowed. He just couldn't freaking believe it. 

     "Look, I know things are much calmer there now, but still, you're an American citizen. You could be kidnapped or god knows what else. There's enough trouble at home as it is. If you want me off your back, go somewhere else."

     "Asad, you're being paranoid and mental."

     "Maybe. But I'm not budging on this."

     Omar sighed. He tried to reason with his future brother-in-law. "Hey, I know that this Tanveer thing has you freaked out. I get it. But, we can't give up living normal lives. And this is a once in a lifetime thing for god's sake!" 

     "Think about it. Armed escort, or," Asad held up a manila envelope, "Kerala, God's own country? Beaches, houseboats, mountains, spices." He paused for effect, "on me."

All his dedicated plans and work from last night were paying off.

A flurry of couriers and despatches had been unleashed since the morning, and results were beginning to trickle in. 

     Omar glared at him stubbornly. "I don't trust you man. You might have an army of security personnel hot on our trail there too." 

Asad looked at him blankly.

     Omar paced restlessly. "God's own country, or heaven on earth? Tough call. What's that quote, 'it is here, it is here, it is here' ?"

     " _Gar Firdaus bar-rue zamin ast, hami asto, hami asto, hami asto_."

Asad waved the envelope in front of him. 

     "Fine!" Omar let out a martyred sigh. "But, one day we will go to Kashmir, and that will be on you too." 

     "Done! We'll join you. In fact, we'll take everybody with us. Just like everybody wanted to come with us on my honeymoon!"

     Omar smirked. "So, this is revenge? OK, you got me." 

Zoya came to call them inside for lunch. 

     "Zo, I hate your husband." Omar groused stomping ahead of them.

     She grinned shamelessly. "Aww, that's too bad. I love him," she whispered softly. 

     Asad grabbed her arm and tugged her to him. "And that's all that matters," he said. They lingered and nuzzled and then arm in arm, heads together, they walked in from the backyard.

 

     "Ahhemm!" Dilshad cleared her throat in warning. 

They looked at her and grinned cheekily. 

Her eyes popped. Asad pulled in Zoya tighter to him and they snuggled closer.

Dilshad's jaw fell. Her own son? She gave them the stink eye. 

Shameless brats! 

Now they didn't even bother to blush and guiltily jump apart. Behaya kahin ke! 

Wordlessly, she pointed an imperious finger to the kitchen and they marched at her silent orders. At the counter she pulled out her evil-eye remedy paraphernalia, and utaaroed their nazar. Dilshad chanted holy words and blew the air around their heads to ward off all evil. And since she was already at it, Najma and Omar were roped in for some motherly fussing too. She decided to ignore Omar giving Asad the evil eye. Since the bride and groom-to-be weren't meant to see each other, her giggling sisters carried a veil to shield a blushing Najma from Omar's nazar.

Ayaan and Humaira, and Nuzzhat and Nikhat were up next. 

After blessing all the children, Dilshad used her tried and tested choomantar "mother knows best" trick.

     She clapped her hands giddily and sighed, "Bas, ab khoob saare grandkids for me to play with!"

Besotted lovers quickly scattered in different corners with alarmed and embarrassed cries of "Ammi!" "Badi Ammi!" "Aunty!"

There. That should give her at least half an hour of peace from having to play the pyaar police. Dilshad sighed morosely. At one time she could have trusted her son to be the bad cop but, alas, he had changed and become basically useless. 

     Nuzzhat and Nikhat were still around, and they squealed, "babies!" 

     "Yay! Little half-American babas to spoil!" cried a delighted Nuzzhat.

     "Half-desi golu molus," sighed Nikhat. 

Two couples blushed. But one couple stole hopeful glances. Zoya protectively hugged her stomach with a prayer, as she curled up on the couch snuggling into Jeeju's shoulder. He put an arm around her and Asad's eyes softened from across the room.

     "I'm not changing any diapers!" declared the youngest future aunt. 

     "Aww, I don't mind changing a few," said Nikhat with her hands clasped wistfully.

The vision of little hands and feet painted by the girls was enough to tug at Dilshad's heart. She had half a mind to tell her son and daughter-in-law: go make me some babies. Now!

No.

She had promised herself that she wouldn't be one of those mothers-in-law.

     "So cute, their little hands and tiny feet," gushed Nikhat. Her eyes twinkled. 

     "I have an idea," piped up Nuzzhat. "Badi Ammi, let's look at Bhaijaan and Najma's baby pictures!" 

     "No!" yelled a mortified Najma from Zoya's former room.

     "Yes!" clamored Zoya. She had already seen them a hundred times but could never get enough. She ran to their room to get the well-thumbed albums. 

     "Allah," moaned Dilshad. "I want grandbabies. Now!" 

 

Tanveer moped. She'd been feeling fuzzy and wooly all day long. The nausea had returned and along with it came the usual tiredness and dizzy spells. Damn this baby! While she was thrilled at her latest victory, she still felt dissatisfied. Being cooped in his house was murder. What was the point of all this gilded luxury if one still felt like shit? Then there were the Siddiquis. Her supposed father was stilted with her, uncertain how to behave. And her "step-mother"?

Ugh. Tanveer made a face. To have so much money and to be so trapped with these faux parents? What a bummer. There was no joy in tormenting Raziya either. If only she didn't feel so sick all day long.

     "Bibiji, there are some people asking for you," her maid came and informed her. 

Now what? Who knew she was here? She hardly knew anyone in the city. The ones she knew either had no roof over their heads, or hated her guts.

Tanu quailed when she saw her guests. It was the same police officer who had arrested her earlier.

     "Madam, we have some questions for you. You need to come with us to the station."

     "But what have I done? Please! I'm sure you are mistaken," she pleaded pathetically—some real pathos blended with her need to seem fragile and guiltless.

     "There was an attack reported this morning and two assailants were caught fleeing from the area. When questioned, they gave us your name as the person who had ordered the hit." 

Tanveer stumbled.

What? But how? And since when had the Indian police become so efficient? 

     "You can't do this. I've done nothing," she shouted in outrage. "Do you even know who my father is?" 

Confusion engulfed her. Her phone slid from her shaking fingers. She could find no words to defend herself and was unceremoniously escorted by two policewomen into a rickety government issue van. It clattered and shook and made her insides rumble.

     "Please, slow down," she cried. "I am pregnant and this could harm the baby." 

     The heftier of the two policewomen sniggered and snarled at her, "should have thought about that sooner. This is standard procedure. We aren't going to change it just because you may be some rich man's daughter." They cackled among themselves.

     "Or pregnant with a bastard!" the other one snapped.

     "Please, I need to call my lawyer," she decided to mollify them by being more charming. 

     "Later," the other officer said in a clipped tone. 

 

Humaira had been set up in Zoya's old room. Shireen and Ayaan had wanted her with them in their house, but Asad had put his foot down.

There was better security here. And as it is the kids spent all day at the Khan villa. It would be easier for Humaira to get rest every few hours and still be with everyone. At least till the wedding. His grateful wife was the only one who knew why he'd insisted so adamantly. If they were alone she would have given him a bear hug and rained a thousand kisses on his face. She had fussed over Humaira, doing her best to make her comfortable. Zoya had plied her with haldi milk, taken over the medication schedule and shooed everyone out to let her get some rest.

Asad was in their room on the phone when he felt her arms hug him from the back. Smiling, he turned around and saw tears in her eyes. 

     "Rakesh, I'll call you back," he said hurriedly and hung up. "Zoya? What happened?" 

She crashed into his chest.

     "She keeps calling me Zoya Bhabhi all the time, and thinks she's imposing on us," she hiccupped. 

     He wiped her tears and rocked her in his arms. "She's a shy kid, give her some time. Not everyone can be as adaptable and bindaas as you." 

She brightened. 

     "I'm adaptable? But you used to think I was stubborn and spoilt." 

     "You never complain like I thought an NRI would, though you always fought with me. You are modern, but value traditions." He leaned his forehead against hers. "But I still think you're stubborn," he teased.

She bit his neck. He laughed. 

     "And I love spoiling you," he crooked his finger under her chin and lifted her face to brush his nose with hers.

     Rising on her toes, Zoya hooked her arms behind his neck. "And you have! Without a wish list, you completed every single wish and fantasy of mine. Even the ones that I didn't know I'd wished for. Thank you, for letting Humaira stay with us, even if it's for just a few days."

     "Un unh. Just a thank you won't do." 

     "Oh really? Then how can I show my appreciation, Jahanpanah?" 

     "I'll make a list and you can start tonight."

     "Jo hukum, mere aaka." She snapped her fingers as if remembering something important. "Ooh! Tonight's Najma's suhaag raat!" 

Asad covered his ears and closed his eyes and shook his head violently.

     "No! That's my sister you're talking about. Why did you have to say that!"

     Zoya laughed. "Mr. Khan, you're such a baby. She'll be a married woman tonight."

He shuddered in despair. 

     "OK, OK. Here's what we'll do," she covered his eyes with her hands. "Trust me. Now think about our suhaag raat." 

     He grinned, "which one?" 

     She slapped his shoulder, "Allah miyan! What's wrong with you Mr. Khan! The official one, OK!"

     "But I think of our first time together as our suhaag raat too."

     "Not fair. You always know what to say to make me melt. But think. The first time was great, but the real one was sensational." 

     Asad gripped her by her waist. "Go on," he prompted. 

     Her voice dropped to a breathy whisper. "Multiply that night with ... umm ..." 

     "That night on the train when you put on a show for me. You were gorgeous!" he declared; he brushed his lips at her neck as his arms tightened around her. 

     "Hmm, I was thinking more of your show for me, but that'll do too," Zoya purred. "And may be I can make a new video?" Framing his face in her hands, she kissed him on the lips and skipped away. 

     "Zoya! No!" 

     "Please!" 

     Fists planted on his waist, he glared at her. "Fine! This time at least you'll be in the spotlight!" 

She gulped. She hadn't thought of that. 

     "No!" 

     "Oh yes! In fact that'll be on my wish list, Mrs. Khan." 

     She got serious all of a sudden. "Asad?" 

     "Hmm?" 

     "Can we make a baby tonight?"

     He opened his arms and she rushed in. "That's number one on the list," he promised. 

 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Yaadon Ki Baaraat (1973): "Chura Liya Hai Tumne"


	67. Apni Khuda Se Hai Ye Dua, Manzil Lagale Humko Galey

 

 

The Khan tradition of halting the nikaah rituals midway to demand a bridal ransom was effectively consolidated that night. In fact, it became more elaborate under Zoya's manic charge. As if in a court of law, the groom's words about a nanad troll tax were used against him. For his parents and family's benefit, a clip from Zoya and Asad's wedding was played where Omar had taunted the sisters about Bhabhis exploiting nanads as unpaid maids. 

His family cheered; Omar groaned.

In a short skit that followed, the new Bhabhi refused to let her sister-in-law get married and go so far away from her. Who would she watch films and drool over Ranbir Kapoor with? What if her nanad's in-laws mistreated her overseas, or her husband neglected her? The siblings had to convince her that Najma would be fine because her husband would take good care of her. 

     "How?" Zoya'd demanded. 

     "Bed tea every morning!"

     "Hummph!" she'd retorted, unconvinced.

     "Romantic dates every week," gushed Nuzzhat.

Bhabhi had rolled her eyes.

     "He'll cook and clean for her."

     "Go on," she said, mildly interested. She winked at Omar vengefully. Now who'll be the maid!

     "He'll bring her to India every six months."

Zoya looked at her fingernails and frowned, still dissatisfied. 

     "No," piped up Ayaan. "He'll fly in all of us to the US to be with her."

     "And serve us tea in bed and cook and clean for us?" asked Zoya. 

     "Yay!" yelled the Khan brigade.

     "Perfect," said a mollified Bhabhi, finally giving the nuptials an A-OK sign.

But the saali troll tax still had to be paid.

This time Omar was left cooling his heels while Asad and Ayaan supported their sisters in the blockade. Some shoving and rough housing between Ayaan, and Najma's future devars led to Asad having to step in to broker a fragile truce. 

All this while Shireen had clutched her head in despair.

What would Omar's family think about her out of control children? No amount of shushing and glowering at them had helped. Here she had tentatively asked Zeenat to inquire about one of the boys for Nikhat's rishta, and what does her son do? Glare and lock horns with exactly that one. She breathed a sigh of relief as Asad separated the men, finally letting go of Badi Bi's arm that she had unconsciously gripped in panic. 

Omar must have already prepared his family for this ambush because the girls once again walked away with a dupatta heavy with loot. His cousins booed and hooted. Ayaan puffed out his chest and lunged; Asad pulled him back by his collar.

Shireen could have wept with frustration. Ya Allah! Yeh ladka!

 

The tradition of a twofer wedding and engagement bonanza too was retained.

After the nikaah and blessings, Ayaan had surprised Humaira with a proposal as he and Zoya had performed a hurriedly improvised dance to "Mujhse Shaadi Karogi." Mostly unsynchronized, the two had bungled through their imperfect Laurel and Hardy routine. Humaira had laughed and cried. So had Zoya. Shireen had beamed proudly. Finally, her son was doing something right and not making them all look bad. He was just so perfect. And such a good dancer too.

When Rashid had put his hand on her head to offer blessings, Humaira had hidden her face in her dupatta and sobbed, "I'm sorry," repeatedly. Zoya hovered around protectively, wringing her hands. 

     "Beta, you have nothing to be sorry about," he'd said, patting her head. "We are very happy for both of you."

Asad had walked up behind Zoya and put a comforting hand on her waist to draw her close to him. Dilshad gave him a death stare. Move away, she seemed to say. He didn't. He pulled his wife in even closer. 

Uff! Her eyes locked with Zeenat's. Kya karoon main inka, she seemed to say.

Zeenat laughed and raised her eyes and palms heaven-ward.

Allah miyan, don't jinx this. 

 

Raziya was in excruciating pain. Her feet were killing her. The doctor had casually warned her about this. Peripheral neuropathy he'd called it. He'd also carelessly tossed her a brochure that explained the symptoms: she'd feel as if she were walking on pins and needles, ocassional numbness, or even prolonged burning sensation. Hota hai, aisa, he'd said. As if implying that she was responsible for inviting this disease on herself. 

Intellectually Raziya knew that the burning sensation was part of the documented symptoms of the diagnosis. But in her heart she knew, this was karma. It was only fitting that she'd feel the flames of the fires she had set decades ago, lick at the soles of her feet. At nights, those flames burned knee-high. She prayed for numbness and pins and needles instead. But her body refused to cooperate. 

It remembered. It punished. 

As she climbed up the stairs to her room, she saw a sliver of light under Tanveer's door.

Trouble sleeping? She smirked.

As Tanveer had been led away by the police, Mrs. Mansur had switched the sim card back and everything was now in place to track this woman's conversations and movements. How dare you try to hurt my daughter! But regret stained Raziya's soul. She had brought this vile woman here. And now Tanu was under her roof while her own flesh and blood was a refugee in another's home? 

Raziya's lips thinned. 

Not for long. This woman had signed her own death warrant by targeting Humaira. 

But the ghosts of the past refused to acquit her. They fanned the flames of remorse. Raziya's nightmares recurred on a daily loop. Many a night, she woke up clammy, her heart racing a mile a minute. Zoya's face from yesterday swam before her eyes, and Asad's bitterly angry words echoed in her head. Her daughter was now at the mercy of those two? She was safer at her step-sister's house than her own father's? 

It was all her doing. 

A child's contorted face, screaming in pain and grief stabbed her heart.

Unmindful of the pain in her feet, Razia trotted to her room as if chased by devils. She slammed her door shut and leaned heavily against it.

That girl's blood was now coursing through Humaira's veins, detoxing her heredity.

That girl knew everything and still ...

Raziya couldn't bear to complete the thought. Her conscience stubbornly skittered away in denial and self-pity. 

 

Omar and Najma were going to spend their first night at the Palace Hotel and fly to Cochin the next day. When the guests departed, Dilshad and Zoya had cried copious tears in each other's arms already missing their Tamatar. Asad had disappeared into the bedroom. 

     "It's the first time she's been away from me since she was born," lamented Dilshad. "Why do we raise daughters only to send them so far away from us?" 

     "Exactly! It's just wrong. Boys should have to stay in their sasural."

They trooped to Najma's room and laughed through their tears at the mess.

     "Allah! Kya haal bana rakha hai kamre ka," Dilshad remarked fondly. Her hands fluttered over Najma's things. She lovingly caressed the carelessly-strewn clothes on the bed and started to fold a lehenga.

     "Ammi, it's too late to do this now. Promise, I'll take care of it tomorrow."

     Dilshad sighed. "You're right. I'm exhausted."

She left, already planning tomorrow's breakfast menu.

Zoya went to check in on a sleeping Humaira. She sat by her side and gazed at her, not daring to touch her. But she couldn't stop herself. She gently brushed her hair from her face and patted her cheek. Tucking her in more securely Zoya tiptoed out of her room. 

  


Asad was sitting on the settee in the dark. Elbows on his knees, hands interlaced under his chin, he stared sightlessly at nothing. Aww. It couldn't be easy to have your baby sister leave you when you'd had her underfoot all of her life. Zoya snuggled next to him and pulled his hand into hers.

     "How old was she when you moved into this house?" she asked softly.

     "About sixteen," he whispered. 

     "What's the best part about having a little sister?"

     Wrapping his arm around her tightly, Asad tried to answer the painful curiosity behind her question, "everything. She looks up to you and wants to do everything you do when she's a baby. It's different as a brother I guess. I wasn't allowed to bring friends over. As a teenager, you are her banker, police, bodyguard, bouncer, and chauffer. Her friends giggle when you come home, and she shoos you out before you embarrass her."  

     "I don't believe it," Zoya teased. "I'm sure she shooed you out because they all had crushes on you." 

He butted his head against hers playfully. 

     "Did you give her the talk about boys?" 

     "What boys? What talk?" Asad asked in alarm. 

     "Mr. Khan! Growing up, girls have to be told how bad boys are. That they're only after one thing, and the lines they will maro to get you to fall for them." She grinned recalling Jeeju trying to bumble his way through this rite of passage.

     "Oh my god! I should have told her all this!" he whispered in horror. "May be, if she had an older sister ... I don't even know if Ammi talked to her about ... you know ..." 

     "Don't worry, Ammi already delegated me to do that. But I'm pretty sure Omar had already enlightened her about some of the stuff!" Zoya giggled. 

He gulped.

     Asad kissed her knuckles, "make sure you give that talk about boys to Amna and Nilofer." 

     "It'll be better coming from their Abbu having been a boy himself," Zoya said deicisively.

They sat in companionable silence thinking about sisters and daughters. 

     She nudged his shoulder with hers, "so, were you?"

     "Huh? Was I what?"

     "Mr. Khan! Were you one of those boys who pataoed girls?" 

He looked at her, an eyebrow raised.

     "No? Knowing you, you probably had a crush on your teacher, right?"

He blushed. 

     Zoya giggled, "ooh! Next time I'll have to play the teacher then. Biology or chemistry teacher?"

     "Shut up," he said softly, covering his face in embarrassment.

     "I had a crush on my history teacher," she mused. "Mr. James. He was so cute, and so hot at the same time!"

     "Oh really! He's history now!" growled Asad.

     "Jealous Mr. Khan?"

     "Like hell!"

  


     "I miss her already," Zoya sighed a little later. She squeezed his hand and continued reminiscing. "Najma really made me feel welcome, you know. Unlike someone else I know."

He laughed and dropped a kiss on her temple. 

     "She's the friendliest of us all."

Asad sighed with dissatisfaction and fell back on the settee with his hands clasped behind his head.

     "She's too young. We should have waited at least another year to get her married."

     "Asad," Zoya leaned over resting her face on his chest. One of his arms came down to loosely embrace her. "She's old enough and didn't want to wait. And she'll be back with us in no time. We'll have her all to ourselves for at least another five or six months."

     "Till she goes 12,000 kilometers away!" he groused miserably. 

She really had nothing to say to that. So she just rubbed his chest in comfort.

     Pulling his face to her, Zoya kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry, baby. I wish we could keep her with us forever too."

His phone rang. They sat up. He looked at her in alarm already imagining the worst. Who could it be at this hour? 

     "Hello?" Asad listened, hung up, and muttered under his breath, "idiot!" 

     "What?" 

He looked at her and shook his head.

     "That's the security outside. They caught Ayaan." 

     "Outside Humaira's window right?" She asked already knowing the answer. "Allah miyan, what's wrong with him! At this hour? But so cute!" 

     She giggled when she saw her husband frown. "Not fair, Mr. Khan! How come you never tried to sneak into my room?" And then she laughed and answered her own question. "Oh, but you did. You just boldly used my bedroom door!"

Asad grinned, remembering those days.

     "Come let's figure out what to do with Ranjha Romeo. And Mrs. Khan?" 

She looked at him, already knowing exactly what was on his mind.

     "Fine!" she harrumphed. "I'll be the teacher who stays back for extra classes to tutor a student falling behind in his studies."

     "No, I was a topper! I'll be the student falling ... for his teacher!" 

     "A topper hunh?" she rubbed herself against him, already turned on by all this verbal foreplay. "I'll be the judge of that, and may even let you top if you're a good boy!"

     "Oh honey, I'm better than good!" 

 

They let a sheepish Ayaan in.

Asad slapped him upside the head as Zoya scolded him.

     "Raabert, she's still recovering and needs all the rest she can get. It was a long day for her. Let her get well before romancing her." 

     "I just wanted to make sure she was OK," Ayaan mumbled. 

     Asad stood with his arms folded across his chest and looked at his brother crossly. "Go home, Ayaan."

     "Mr. Khan, it's too late for him to be on the streets at this hour. He can stay here." 

He frowned. Asad didn't like where this was going but he also knew that she had a point. He hated it. It was depressing enough that he was joining work tomorrow, and now this. 

Don't say it, babe. 

But she did. He groaned aloud.

     "I can sleep with Humaira and he can sleep with you," Zoya said. 

     Asad sighed, very disgruntled with the teacher's homework assignment, "Fine."

     Ayaan hung his head in shame. "I'm sorry, Bhaijaan. I can sleep on the couch." 

His brother glared at him and stalked off to his room. He flung a t-shirt and track bottoms at his face.

     While Ayaan changed, Asad kissed his wife and grumbled in disappointment. "We were supposed to make a baby tonight."

     "I know," Zoya sighed. "But baby's Chachu had different plans." 

     He swore, "tell me again why he can't sleep in Najma's room?"

     "Because it'll take an hour to unearth the bed from under her lehengas and blouses and sarees and dupattas. Would you like to help me do that? No. Cancel that. If you helped me it would take five hours." 

     "Women!" he complained. "But at least in those five hours we could have had some fun." 

     "True. But if we did let him stay in Najma's room, he'd just sneak back into Humaira's room. This is the only way," Zoya sighed unhappily.

The bathroom door unlatched and they moved apart. 

     "Mr. Khan, give Ayaan that talk and tell him no sneaking into Humaira's room," she hissed and grabbed her night things to run from the room.

     "Yes ma'am!" he muttered in dismay.

 

Giving him the stink eye, Asad shoved a pillow and sheet into Ayaan's hands and pointed to the settee. With a martyred sigh he got into bed. Automatically his hand groped for Zoya's and then he remembered. 

     "Moron!" he spoke aloud in the darkness and flung a cushion in his direction. 

     Ayaan snorted. "Sorry Bhaijaan, I'm really sorry."

     "Shut up Ayaan and go to sleep."

     "Good night, Bhai."

But Asad could hear him shuffling and shifting restlessly. He grunted. 

     "What?" Asad yelled irritably. 

     "Remember, when we shared a room on our trip to Ajmer? We were really miserable then, right?" 

     Asad folded his arms behind his head, "hmm."

     "You never told me then that you loved Zoya. Why? I always shared my likes and crushes with you." 

     Asad sighed. "Ayaan," he warned. 

     "No really, Bhai, why didn't you tell me?" 

     "It was complicated. I ...," Asad cleared his throat "... I was supposed to marry someone else then." 

     "And you probably weren't sure if Zoya liked you or not." 

No, I knew. She'd told me. 

His heart constricted thinking of those godawful days when the idea of marriage had felt like a death sentence. His anger at Tanveer grew deeper. He recalled how she had baited Zoya mercilessly. It galled him that Tanveer had been framing Zoya of minor crimes, absolutely confident about his prejudices and biases. The events of those long months played a leaden montage in his head. Since day one, that woman had been working against them.

Asad tamped his self-loathing.

Thank god Ammi and Najma had stood by Zoya in those days. He certainly hadn't. And he hadn't yet told Zoya about the latest developments at the Siddiqui house either. He hated that he had joined hands with Raziya: the same woman who had hurt Ammi, threatened to kill Najma, and traumatized Zoya. 

It ate him up inside. 

Wasn't he betraying the most important people in his life? 

No!

His resolve became steelier. This was for a greater good. And, in any case, he did have incriminating evidence against the Siddiquis which combined with what Abbu had uncovered, could put them away for a long time. Working with her didn't mean Asad was going to let her get away with murder. It just meant that he was taking care of business for now: Tanveer. He had gone too easy on her earlier because of her pregnancy. No more. 

Never again.  

He debated whether he should tell Ayaan that Tanveer was pretending to be Humaira's sister. But that may expose the truth about Zoya's ... 

Asad sighed. He turned restlessly on his side once again missing Zoya by his side.

Ayaan was snoring softly.  

  


The night was hard on Tanveer too. She still recalled the humiliating ride over to the police station and the endless wait in a dimly lit room to be questioned. They gave her room temperature water to drink in a cloudy, chipped glass. The lawyer sent by her fake father's office had proven to be a stuttering buffoon. Was this what all that money could conjure up? Little did she know that the lawyer had been a decoy sent by Asad's investigator. Many hours and hoarsely delivered threats later, she was deposited back at the Siddiqui mansion. Only to be told that her father would be out of town for at least the next ten days. Great. And now the lawyer was asking for a retainer and had handed her a long bill of charges for paperwork and affidavits and stamp paper notarizations and other rot. She'd have to dig into her stash to shut him up.

Her phone too was acting up. She couldn't contact the duffers whom she'd deployed to scare Humaira and Ayaan. What she didn't know was that one digit in their numbers from her Contacts had been altered, so that she couldn't reach them. They had been rounded up by Rakesh's team and were being interrogated about fellow henchmen. They would be handed over to the police after spilling their guts, to solidify the case against Tanveer. 

Her eyes were gritty and her head still pounded. And thanks to the pregnancy she couldn't take a powerful painkiller. Tanveer knew the wedding at the Khan home was today. All this nonsense and delay had prevented her from executing a dramatic surprise. Damn. A missed opportunity. This pretending to be a rich man's daughter was turning out to be a bigger pain in the neck than she had planned for.

She'd have to devise ways of extracting herself from this cloying and pointless relationship. It really was serving no purpose.

  


Zoya was restless too.

Her conversation with Asad about growing up with a younger sister tugged at her heart. For the longest time she gazed at Humaira in the darkness, her face illuminated by the faintest moonlight. She wanted to think about what it would be like to grow up with a sister and a mother and father. Asad had talked about teaching Ayaan and Najma to walk for the first time. She could have done that too. She'd feel her sister's little fingers grip hers tightly as a tiny Humaira put one wobbly foot in front of the other. She too would have helped her sister learn to ride a bike, bandaged her skinned knees and painted her nails. Her hand crept toward Humaira's. She touched her fingertips and froze. 

Each time she let her mind wander down that path of sisterly longing, she blundered onto the dark road that led to the burning factory and a lost mother. And it all led back to this girl's mother. 

Humaira.

Unbidden, flames and smoke rose before her eyes. Her eyes burned. Zoya tried to sweep away the broken images of countless nightmares from her mind. But the flames chased her. 

She flung back the covers and ran out of the room. Zoya leaned against the wall in the darkened living room. Her chest hurt from holding the screams and sobs in. She sank to her knees. 

Oh god, please don't make me hate her. Please make it stop hurting. 

Just make me forget. 

Hot tears fell. She tried to choke back the sobs. Not wanting to disturb anyone she fled upstairs to Najma's room, fell to the floor, and wept by the bed laden with silks, brocade, zardozi, tissue and organza.

 

And that's where Asad found her. 

     "Zoya, why didn't you come to me?"

He held her as her body was racked by sobs. He should have known that being that close to Humaira was still too soon, and too raw for her. Just last night she'd woken up screaming from those familiar nightmares. He had thought that it was because she'd seen Raziya Siddiqui yesterday. He should have realized that although she didn't blame Humaira for the past, Humaira was a living reminder of that night when her world had come crashing around her. 

     "Why did she do it?" Zoya wept. "Why didn't she kill me too?"

     "Zoya, no! Don't ever say that." Asad felt helpless, unable to erase her pain.

     "Ammi ..." she whimpered.  

Asad's throat felt tight. His eyes blurred. He rocked her to him.

He loathed himself even more.

     Desperately he vowed, "I'll kill her." 

     "No!" Zoya covered his mouth with her palm in horror. "What would happen to Humaira then? I wouldn't wish this on anyone."

     He nearly sobbed along with her. "I'll send her to rot in prison then. I won't let her get away with doing this to you."

     "No, Asad, please don't." She dropped kisses on his face pleading with him to reconsider.

     "Oh god Zoya, how do you do it? How do you forgive?"

     "Nothing else matters. I would bear a thousand more scars if it could only bring her back! I'd walk through fire."

     "Shh, I know. I know," he soothed. "You're my Jhansi ki rani. I'm sure you'd have done it too. But don't. For me." 

     Zoya smiled gratefully through her tears. Burrowing in his chest she asked sometime later, "how'd you find me here?"

Wiping her tears he told her how he'd heard muffled sobs and footsteps up the stairs. 

     "Are you just a light sleeper, or am I such a loud crier and stair climber?" she sniffed.

     "I couldn't sleep without you by my side." 

     "Oh thank god!" she whispered as she flung her arms around him once again. 

 

Later he helped her up so that she could wash up in the restroom. When she came back out, she saw all of Najma's fineries piled messily on her desk and chair. Zoya chuckled. It must have been hard for him to not neatly fold each item of clothing. Holding out his hand he led her to the bed and pulled back the covers for her to slide in. As he tried to tuck her in she tugged him by his hand insisting that he join her.

     "Not in my sister's bed," Asad muttered in embarrassed horror.

     "Just hold me, no hanky panky I promise," she enticed.

As he got in with her to hold her, they sighed in contentment. It felt so good to be in each other's arms. So right. A second later they heard the silks and sequins on the desk rustle to the floor with a soft plop. 

     Zoya giggled, "nice job, Jahanpanah!"

She pulled him back when he tried to get out to re-stack the jeweled and studded clothes.

     "Let it be," she whispered. "They can wait. I don't want to."

He lay back and they re-settled into a familiar comforting embrace.

     "Tell me about that time you thrashed those gundas who were beating up Ayaan." 

     She giggled when he muttered, "I should have let them beat him longer!" 

     "Tell me," she implored.

She loved hearing stories of their childhood and often begged for reruns. Listening to the steady rhythm of his voice and the cadence of his heartbeat in her ear, she fell asleep, content.

And not much later, so did he, equally replete.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Dor (2006): "Yeh Hausla"


	68. Katra Katra Jeene Do, Zindagi Hai, Behne Do, Pyaasi Hoon Main Pyaasi Rehne Do

 

  

Raziya's heart twisted. 

She had begged Asad to send her photographs and videos of Najma's wedding so that she could catch a glimpse of her daughter. He had curtly brushed her off with barely repressed anger. This was not why he had given her that phone, he told her brusquely. 

But eventually he had relented. 

     "Tell Mrs. M. to handle this."

And Mrs. M. sure had come through. She had stayed back after delivering Humaira's things. She'd taken exclusive pictures and film of the events last night and now set it up for Raziya on her laptop.

Raziya drank in the sight of her daughter, beautifully dressed, laughing at the antics of the Khan siblings, amazed at the proposal.

Engaged? Without her parents there?

She couldn't shake off the bitter irony: Raziya had rendered a helpless Zoya an orphan, made her homeless. And today her daughter was at Zoya's mercy, accepted by her in-laws only because she had cast away own parents and their cruel legacy and … was homeless.

No rancor from Rashid? And Dilshad? She was actually letting Humaira stay under her roof?

The sight of her daughter sobbing in guilt made her wince and cry too. Raziya's hand jerked, and hot tea spilled, scalding her lap. Watching Zoya around Humaira made her flinch more.

What had she done? What would happen to her child when everyone found out about Zoya?

Her heart raced and pounded. Everyone would hate Humaira. Would they break off the engagement?

Raziya gasped. Her clammy hands tingled and knotted. Suddenly she couldn't breathe. Pain shot up her chest. Was she having a heart attack? She swayed and sank to her knees. 

And broke yet another cup and saucer from her favorite tea set. 

 

Zoya puttered around, listlessly neatening Najma's room.

After breakfast she, Aapi and Ammi had deftly tackled the mountain of clothes to stack and hang them in the closet. They had chatted about the weddings, engagements, mehendi and sangeet ceremonies. The albums from Zoya and Asad's wedding had just come in, and everyone poured over them. Upcoming functions were rehashed and discussed.

Zoya and Dilshad tried to convince Zeenat to stay back. Jeeju was leaving for the US tomorrow. 

But now she missed her husband terribly. After so many days of blissful togetherness, being without him even for some hours was intolerable. She didn't want to bother him at work and so had texted him only once. 

OK, twice. 

     "I'm NOT missing you" she'd texted the first time, an hour after he left.

 

Zoya had already checked her email, Facebook, Instagram and Snapchat pages, uploaded pictures from the trip and wedding celebrations. Even Humaira was resting now. She had fussed over her, changed her dressing and brushed her hair. They'd gabbed non-stop, rehashing all the excitement from last night. She'd teased Humaira about Ayaan's proposal and oohed and aahed over the ring. She remembered that Humaira was fond of Shah Rukh Khan movies, and they planned to watch Kuch Kuch Hota Hai after lunch. 

But now there was nothing to do. She missed Najma and then felt guilty for wishing she was here. 

     "Dying here," Zoya texted again. 

Asad called two minutes later. 

     "Me too. How have I let you become such an addiction? I can't get any work done," he sighed. 

     "Come home early?"

He sighed again and she could picture him tiredly running his hand over his forehead and pinching the bridge of his nose.

     "Can't. Two site visits."

     "Asad!" she complained. 

     "I know. Hate it too." 

     "Put Ayaan to some good use. Make him do the legwork," Zoya urged.

She had been dropping hints about Ayaan being gainfully employed and Asad had finally given in and drafted Ayaan to be a high-profile gopher. It was mostly eclectic non-specified gruntwork, but at least it kept him out of everyone's way. And it allowed Humaira some much-needed rest. 

     "I have. But unfortunately, I'll still have to go and show my face," Asad said unhappily as he dragged a hand through his hair.

She let him off. But only after telling him what she would do to him when he returned. 

A blow by blow account. 

In slow and graphic detail. 

His tiredness evaporated. Visions of promised seductions gave him wings. He was charged like a manic energizer bunny all through the hated post-lunch meetings, much to his associates' dismay. Every now and then he would stop midway to grab a legal pad and jot down project design ideas or proposals. He made to-do and checklists, drew up plans and placed orders. Conjugal phone sex could make such a difference in productivity and project management. Who knew! 

 

Humaira rested but couldn't fall asleep for the nap that had been mandated by Zoya Bhabhi. She tossed and turned as much as her bandaged arm would allow. Her heart was full, and yet heavy. She traced the ring on her finger. It brought comfort and hope. 

At last. 

She had her heart's wish: Ayaan. And permanent official membership into a family she had loved all her life.

But she felt isolated. Guilt raked at her. Shame shredded her nerves. How could they possibly accept her knowing all that her mother had put them through? Humaira just knew it in her gut. She knew that her mother's schemes were only the tip of the iceberg. What if there were worse things lurking under the murky surface? She shuddered and tensed; pain shot up her arm.

She took a deep steadying breath. 

A part of her gratefully sensed that Asad Bhaijaan had deliberately engineered her stay here. Did he know that she would somehow feel too raw to face Ayaan's family so soon after finding the truth about her mother? Did he and Zoya Bhabhi bring her here to decompress, and mend her bruised spirit? 

Humaira turned again and sighed miserably.

How could you hate your mother and still miss her? Ammi would have fussed over her right now, her soft hands pressing into her forehead would be a balm more soothing than any painkiller. She would have scolded her for not being more careful, or not heeding her motherly nagging to take her vitamins regularly, or eat heartily. She would have ordered the servants to cut up fruits, make soup, rub her feet, or get her hot chocolate or flavoured coffee from her favorite café. 

Humaira suddenly smiled. 

Funny how Zoya Bhabhi had been doing all that stuff lately, as if she knew instinctively that she missed a mother's healing touch. She ran her hand down the braid that Zoya Bhabhi made for her after oiling her hair. Humaira felt so embarrassed being here, in the way of their domestic bliss. A reminder of the blight her mother had wrought. How could a near stranger do so much for you? Give you blood, dote on you day and night, and laugh and chat with you while painting your nails? When she got married would she be able to have someone come live with her new husband and family, and still be as kind and generous? And not at all resent the intrusion? 

She finally fell asleep looking forward to watching her favorite film. Zoya Bhabhi had promised her pasta salad and garlic bread for lunch, and Nuzzhat and Nikhat would be there too. 

When Zoya peeked in on her sometime later, armed with fresh laundry, she smiled looking at Humaira's cheeks resting against her hand, her lips brushing her engagement ring.

 

Ayaan was bored out of his mind and so darn tired.

Since the morning, he'd been despatched to three different clients to deliver contracts or paperwork, or whatever. He was only here because Bhai had insisted. And after last night, he felt that he owed him big time. 

But he hated this. 

He'd been guilted into thinking about future responsibilities now that he was to be married. And he didn't even get his own office, just a measly desk and computer on which most of the sites he usually visited were blocked. 

Damn! This sucked balls.

Bhai had even dictated that he dress appropriately, shave and make himself presentable. 

What the hell, man! 

 

Raziya scowled at Tanveer on the dining table.

How dare she sit in Humaira's chair?

But she swallowed the rising bile. Deep breaths, she coached herself. Just this morning Mrs. M had rushed over to lift her into bed after her collapse. 

     "Take slow deep breaths," she'd advised. 

     Hand on her belly, Mrs. Mansur coached her through the breathing. "Fill your stomach and feel it inflate. Good." 

Next she had her flex and loosen the muscles of her arms and legs.

     "Think happy thoughts."

Raziya closed her eyes and tried to focus on the image of Humaira's smiling face. She instantly felt calmer.  

     "What happened? Was I having a heart attack?" She had asked later.

     "Panic attack," said Mrs. M. "Have you experienced this before?" 

     "Not this bad," whispered Raziya. She was being strangled in her own body. It too had taken sides against her. This terrified her even more. Was she dying? If she died who would look out for Humaira? 

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. She brought her attention back to what her husband was saying to his fake daughter. 

     "... together. I'll talk to Humaira and when she comes back I want you to become friends. May be you both can go away to Indore and stay at my brother's resort so that you can get to know one another better. Haan, yeh achcha rahega. I'll tell my secretary to arrange things."

He didn't see his wife blanch.

Never!

Deep breaths. Deep breaths, she repeated the litany in her head. Thank god her daughter was safe ... 

Raziya squeezed her eyes shut. ... with her real sister. She bit her lower lip to restrain a sob from escaping. 

 

Shit! Shit! Shit! 

Ayaan groaned. This was turning out to be the worst day of his life.

He wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole! It was bad enough to be stuck in Bhai's office and turn down an invitation from his friends at the clubhouse. But then what does he see looking up? Wajid waddling his way with a three-foot tall steel lunch box. 

Ammi why do you do this to me? 

Ayaan looked on in horror as Wajid neared. He wasn't sure, but he heard some titters and snorts around him. He squeezed his eyes shut. Why me? Is this what his life had come to? Engaged and suddenly you became a lame ass loser whose mom sent bucketfuls of desi food at your workplace? 

But he was also Ayaan Ahmed Khan. 

And he knew how to turn the tables and make himself look good anytime life threw him a wussifying curve ball. 

He wasn't a charmer for nothing.

     "Great!" he yelled loud and clear. He stood up, rubbed his hands in glee, and addressed the room: "Hey guys, my mom sent homemade food. Wajid, what did Ammi send?"

Wajid blushed, shy and thrilled to be the center of attention.

     "Mutton biryani, matar paneer, koftey, rumali roti, ras malai ..."

     "Awesome!" gushed Ayaan, happily lapping up the jealous sighs he heard around him. "C'mon, let's all go to the break room and dig in," he herded the eager officemates and breathed a sigh of relief at a crisis averted, his coolness factor still intact. 

But tomorrow he's make sure that Ammi didn't repeat this humiliation. Or maybe … His eyes gleamed. Maybe he could bully Nuzzhat into making pasta. Then his street cred would really pop.

 

The girls were here and all of them, along with Aapi and Ammi, were sprawled around watching Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. When the doorbell rang, Zoya insisted on getting it. It was too depressing anyways. Anjali's heartache reminded her of those dark days when she thought Asad hated her for lacking tehzeeb and was instead marrying someone who seemed to be a paragon of piety and virtue.

She sniffed and wiped her tears. On opening the door she gasped aloud. 

     "What happened? Zoya, are you OK?" called a worried Aapi.

Someone paused the film and everyone ran to the door. To find Zoya's face buried in the largest bouquet of the reddest roses.

     "Oh! My! God! Bhaijaan is too romantic! That must be at least three dozen roses there," gushed Nuzzhat. 

     The delivery boy cleared his throat, "four," he said, and held aloft a small gift bag and more plastic bags.

The girls fell on them. 

     "Here, Bhabhi, this is for you," Nikhat handed her the small gift bag.

Nuzzhat already had her face buried in the other bags. 

     "Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! Garam-garam kachoris and pastries. Bhaijaan is too good!"

     "But Nuzzhat, we just had lunch, like an hour and half ago," protested Humaira.

     "Baji! Kachoris and black forest pastries! How can you resist?" tempted Nuzzhat.

Everyone looked at Zoya when she yelped at the name of black forest pastries. 

     "Everything OK, beta?" asked Dilshad. She didn't undersand why her bahu was as red as the roses. 

 

Zoya fled to her room with the flowers and gift bag.

Oh my god was right! Thank you, Mr. Khan for spoiling me and nearly getting me into trouble with Ammi right now! She'd never be able to look at black forest pastries the same way again. She opened the gift bag expecting a jewelry box, but pulled out a DVD instead. Intrigued, she skipped over to insert it into her laptop. Before hitting play, she read the card.

     A plain white card with Asad's handwriting scrawled across: I can't bring her back, but hope her voice and pictures will bring out that dimple I love so much.

As the DVD began to play her eyes teared up. He must have sneaked away her small photo album with just a handful of her childhood pictures. The slideshow of her old photos was accompanied by the recovered audio recording from the doll. She heard her mother's voice clear as a bell and her own, happy and cherished. 

Her phone rang.

     "Are you OK?" Asad asked, worried.

He had asked Rakesh to just isolate the initial part of the recording with Zoya and her mom. But only later had he realized that she may fall apart with the emotional overload of listening and watching it by herself. He kicked himself for not giving it to her in person when he could have held her in his arms.

     "Asad, I love you so much." Her voice sounded soft and feathery.

     "You're not crying, right? I should have been there."

     "I'm so blown away by this. When did you even think of this?"

     "The first time I heard it. I knew I wanted you to have happier memories of her." 

     "I wish you were here right now too. I would have kissed you and hugged you so tight!"

     "You're sure you're fine?" 

     "Better than fine. Just mushy and all gooey. Like a chocolate bar left out in the sun."

     "Mmm," his voice rumbled.

     "You're too good to me, you know."

     "I know."

     "Mr. Khan!" she giggled. "Always so full of yourself!"

     "Mrs. Khan, tonight you'll be full of me too!"

     "ASAD!" 

     "Unh-hmm," he gloated.

She laughed, outraged and smitten. 

 

Ayaan's phone pinged. And the texts started coming in. 

With pictures. 

His sisters and Humaira were going on and on about about how romantic Bhaijaan was, how he'd sent over a whole florist's shop full of flowers for Zoya and goodies for everyone else. 

He felt something alien bloom inside of him. Envy? 

Ayaan wanted to be that dashing hero too. He wanted everyone to gush over how he had bought a whole store worth of flowers and food. Wouldn't it be nice if he could do that for Humaira? He'd buy her jewelry, dresses— 

He flushed. He had money, but he'd often have to beg Abbu for extra to cover costs by the third week of the month. 

He sulked. 

The logical side of him knew that it was time for him to get his act together if he hoped to be a fun-loving husband. But the stubborn playful side of him felt betrayed and oppressed. Why did he have to work stuffed in a soulless cubicle like a robotic yesman? He wanted to listen to and make music, ride on the open road, hang out with friends and family, sweep Humaira off her feet ... 

He looked up and swore under his breath.

Here we go again.

Prasad had another bunch of documents for him to hand-deliver.

Brilliant! All his life he'd dreamed of being a glorified messenger boy. Was Bhai taking revenge for last night?

 

As Zoya arranged the flowers in their room she knew exactly how she'd welcome her husband from his long first day at work as a married man.

When Asad walked in he'd hoped to be greeted by a smiling Zoya. Instead there were only Ammi, Humaira, Aapi and Jeeju in the living room. He gave them a desultory greeting and eagerly leaped toward their room. Empty. He saw the flowers arranged in a place of honor at the console table by the settee. She wasn't in the closet or the restroom.

     "Where are you?" he texted anxiously. 

     "Freshen up and come outside," she texted back. 

     "I wanted a hug and kiss after a long day. And a mouthful of melted chocolate," he responded. 

     "All in good time," came the reply. 

After a quick shower and change, he stepped out hoping to catch an eyeful of his wife.

And he did.

She took his breath away. Zoya was wearing a saree tonight. And a saree that he'd got her. Simple and radiant. She was setting the table. The others were in the living room watching the news. Her eyes met his and color stained her cheeks. Getting a glass of ice water gave him an excuse to brush against her. 

     "Hey gorgeous!" he whispered as he walked past her to the refrigerator. His heart beat faster as he heard her gasp in heightened awareness.

She watched him tilt his head back and gulp the water down. Her eyes were riveted to the corded muscles in his neck. He knew she was watching from across the kitchen. Eyes locked with hers he swiped the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. Slowly. And she moaned softly.

Asad grinned and began humming. She strained to hear the song. And then grinned too. Their favorite. Mr. Khan certainly hummed better than he whistled! She bent to straighten a fork and her pallu slid down. 

He stopped humming, making a choking sound. 

     "Asad? Come sit with us and tell us about Ayaan's day at work," Dilshad called. Humaira blushed. 

Asad groaned and dragged himself over.

  


Dinner was a slow dance of sweet torture.

She wouldn't sit so he couldn't feast his eyes on her. Zoya glided back and forth between the table and kitchen. She and Jeeju bantered merrily. She fussed over Humaira. Each time she came to him to refill his plate her pallu brushed against his knuckles and elbow. He wanted to wrap it around his hand and tug her into his lap.

Half way through dinner, Ayaan popped in.

Zoya got busy serving him. Everyone wanted to know how his day went. No one noticed a silently fuming Asad. His fist balled. He wanted so bad to throw his chair back, scoop his wife into his arms and march into their room to sink his teeth into her neck as she threw her head back in surrender.

     "Bhaijaan, he didn't bother you, no?" asked Humaira timidly.

He looked at her blankly not having heard her question.

     "Of course he did!" piped in Zoya, rescuing his butt. "Raabert must not have let anyone else in the office work either. He must have played his guitar, made paper airplanes and jammed the copier."

     Asad bravely defended Ayaan, "no, he was really good today. A client called to tell me about my charming brother and demanded why he hadn't seen more of him. I was impressed. But there was some noisy lunch party in the break room." 

His wife looked at him gratefully. Humaira was glowing. 

     "Oh my god, don't remind me," groaned Ayaan. "Can you believe that Ammi sent this humungous lunch box? I had to do something!" 

     "What did Chhoti Ammi send?" asked Zoya as she finally settled down to eat.

Asad squeezed his eyes shut and blew his breath out in frustration. Now that she was sitting, he couldn't admire that sliver of creamy flesh at her waist each time she adjusted that slippery-slidey pallu of hers. Had they been in their room, he'd have grabbed her by her hips, traced the contour of her waist with his tongue and sunk his teeth into that soft skin of hers. 

Zoya's eyes shone as Ayaan rattled off the menu.

     "Ras malai! It's been ages since I had ras malai," and she looked at her husband archly. 

He blushed furiously remembering the night on the train when there was ras malai on the menu but he had dragged her away before dessert could be served. And now she blushed too, suddenly recalling what he'd seductively breathed in her ear about just desserts and which one she'd be treated to. And how. She stole a look at him and her breath snagged. He was openly surveying her under drooping lids. 

     "Hey, I know, let's go out for kulfi!" suggested Ayaan.

     "Yes!" squealed Humaira and Zoya. 

No! groaned Asad.

     "Tum log jao," Dilshad assured them. "Zeenat and I will clean up."

 

They went out for kulfi and Asad went nearly cross-eyed each time his wife licked and swallowed the melting treat on a stick. And she knew it too. In the car, as Ayaan yammered on by his side, he'd stolen looks at her in the rearview mirror. Ah, Mrs. Khan, he promised her silently, you're so going to be punished for tormenting me like this. 

     Back home, he supervised Ayaan's mounting his bike. "And you better not come back. I only want to see your face in the office tomorrow," he threatened showing him his clenched fist.

Humaira blushed. 

So did Zoya. Yeah, Raabert, stay the hell away so that I can seduce my husband tonight. 

The parents had turned in for the night. Asad's phone rang and he took the call walking into the backyard.

Zoya walked Humaira to her room.

     "I'll help you wash your hair tomorrow, hmm?"

     "Thanks Zoya bhabhi! I'm sorry to be so much trouble." 

     "No!" protested Zoya, hugging her sideways minding her injured arm. "Stop saying that! It's no trouble at all. I love having you here." 

     "You do?" 

     "You bet! Now get a good night's rest."

 

On her way to the bedroom, she saw Asad still on the phone in the backyard. Perfect! 

She flitted into their room eager to set up before he finished with his call.

When Asad walked in, the room was dimly lit with dozens of scented tealights. She'd deheaded some roses from the bouquet he's sent earlier, and their petals were strewn across the bed. When he first entered, he didn't see her behind the roses. She was standing by the window gazing out. She'd pulled her hair to one side over her shoulder and it hid her face.

Locking the door behind him and drawing a long-stemmed rose from the vase, he went to stand behind her. He trailed the rose down her bare back and she shivered.

     "Asad," she moaned. 

Pulling her closer to him he now trailed the rose up from her wrist to her shoulder. Her head fell back to rest against his shoulder and he continued to brush the flower from one shoulder, over her heaving chest to the next. With his free hand he pushed her deliberately unpinned palla off her shoulder. It slid down and he moved the rose to trail it over her exposed stomach.

Soft sighs and hisses escaped her lips.

Unable to bear the torment any longer Zoya turned and buried her face in his chest. She heard his soft laugh rumble up against her ear. Asad lifted her chin and next brushed the rose on her closed eyelids and cheek. 

     "Enough!" she whispered urgently, and grabbing the stem from him, she tore off the petals and flung them in his face.

His eyes widened and he threw his head back and laughed.

     Wrapping her saree around her he teased, "is this too much?" Rubbing his thumb over her parted lips he breathed in her ear, "how do you think I felt all evening with you parading around gift-wrapped in a saree and me not being able to touch you?"

He bent to nip her throat and she melted into him. Their bodies twined and snaked together urgently. Their lips clung and fingers explored.

A crack of lightning streaked across the night sky and they twisted their heads to watch the drama unfold. Fat raindrops slashed the window pane. 

Zoya's eyes gleamed. Her dimple flashed. Dragging her palla over her shoulder she ran toward the door. 

     "Zoya!" 

     "It's the first rains, Mr. Khan! Make love to me in the rain. Under the stars." She held out her hand. 

     He expelled his breath. "What stars? There'll be clouds." 

     "Then you put the stars in my eyes," she challenged him.

He looked down at himself. How much more torture was she going to put him through?

     "Mrs. Khan, you're mad," Asad said, and took her hand to be pulled into the storm.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Ijaazat (1987) "Katra Katra Milti Hai"


	69. Rone De Aaj Humko, Do Aankhen Sujaane De, Baahon Mein Lene De, Aur Khud Ko Bheeg Jaane De

 

  

She had nearly run into the backyard first, but Asad pulled her back.

     "Security!" he hissed, and she'd giggled.   

Zoya raced up the stairs.

Fingers crossed, Asad hoped she wouldn't make a sound that would make Ammi come out to check. It would be hard to explain their half-undone clothes. He tried to button his shirt but his wife kept tugging at his arm. Her anklets tinkled softly and he nearly groaned aloud. All evening he hadn't heard them. But in the quiet of the night and in the unlit house, the sound magnified and echoed. He hoped that the ACs running in everyone's rooms and the rain on the windows would be able to mask their sound.

Once on the terrace, she ran with her arms outspread into the pouring rain. 

Zoya twirled with her head thrown back and palms open to the sky. Her palla fluttered in the balmy breeze. Asad locked the door behind him from the outside and turned to drink in the sight before him. Zoya danced with her face lifted to the heavens, a broad joyous smile flashing like a beacon. She pushed her wet hair off her face and looked around for him.

Zoya shook her head in disbelief.

     "Asad," she called. "Come out from under there. Feel this on your face. It's so good!"

Asad let himself be yanked by his elbow. He too lifted his face to the sky and let the cleansing rain wash over him. Zoya pushed his arms out to his side and opened his palms. She spun in circles from one outstretched palm to the other, planting kisses on both. 

     "See?" she skipped and danced around him in circles. "Isn't it just the best?" She hummed, and then soflty broke into song, "raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens. Bright copper kettles—" 

     "Enough!" he growled and crushed her to him to kiss her.

Pushing her dripping hair over her shoulder he bent to lick the streaming drops off her wet back. Her blouse strings had already come loose in the room. Asad pushed the fabric off her shoulders to her elbows trapping her arms by her side. With open-mouthed kisses on her neck he sucked a trail of raindrops.

Goosebumps erupted over her bare skin and Zoya shivered deliciously. He let his hands run up and down her bare sides. Soft purrs escaped her mouth. Zoya struggled out of the clinging blouse and turned in his arms. Her palla was plastered to her upper body and he peeled it off. Her back arched as he touched and feasted on her. Her hips wiggled and undulated against him rhythmically.  

     "Please Asad," she moaned, desperately clutching his wide shoulders.

He let her go and she blinked. Zoya's dazed eyes registered him tugging his shirt loose and unbuttoning it hurriedly. She moved forward to assist. He wrestled her hands away. She gasped, outraged. He walked over to the covered porch to grab the chair pads and cushions from the chairs and chaise lounge. Zoya watched, fascinated as he arranged them on the floor. Flinging his shirt to the ground he held out his hand to her. She glided into his arms. Her hands explored the steel beneath his wet skin. She let her nails rake and mark him. He hissed. With her fingertips she felt his collar bone and fluttered her fingers down to test the hard planes of his body. Her mouth followed. 

     "Oh god, Zoya, that mouth of yours!" He swore under his breath as his fingers dug into her waist to haul her closer, and his pelvis ground into her.

Her live-wire tongue flicked lower and Asad jolted. His fingers touched her face and he slid his thumb into her hot mouth. She sucked on it and his body jerked. He dragged her mouth to his and bit her lips only to suck on them later. She pushed him back forcefully avenging his pushing her away earlier. Tripping, he fell on the cushions. As he lifted himself on his elbow, she raised her saree a few inches and firmly planted her toes on his chest pushing him down deeper into the cushions. 

     "Not so fast, Jahanpanah," she threatened. 

     "No?" he teased.

His fingers snaked to stroke the arch of her foot. Zoya's body bowed back. With his fingertip he slowly and treacherously outlined the shape of her foot. He caressed her ankle encased by the payal. It tinkled. Lifting her foot off his chest he nipped her toes and continued to trace the studded toe ring with a lazy finger. One yank and she came crashing down on him. 

Kissing her, he rolled her under him. The rain laved and steamed. Electricity crackled above, in the skies, and between them as they unwrapped each other from the confining clothes. She bucked under him; her heated flesh tingled, further stoked by the pelting drops. His fingers deftly kneaded the rivulets of rain into her and strummed to whip up her body into a sexual frenzy. Her blood thrummed.

     "All evening long, you were prancing around, commando?" he growled, shocked and inflamed.

All she wore now were the silver anklets. They chimed softly clasped behind his hitching waist. The rain drummed a drunken tempo on his muscled back. Asad grabbed her wet hair and pulled her head back to sink his teeth into her writhing neck. He swirled his tongue, further scorching her wet skin. Her mouth wrenched open as a powerful orgasm ripped through her. 

And then him. 

Thunder and lightning rippled above, illuminating each drop of rain into a shower of diamonds.

She saw stars.

 

     "For once I am thankful for your OCD!" Zoya remarked later, when she got her breath and voice back.  She patted her hair dry with the towels he had grabbed on the way as she dragged him up to the terrace. Now as she readjusted her clothing heavy with the season's first rains, she grinned. Her OCD Khan was meticulously replacing the cushions on the patio furniture and taking his sweet time doing it too.

     As he unlatched the door to go inside, she melted into him once more, "you've really never done it before?" 

     "Done what?" he wondered. 

     "Danced in the rain?"

     "No." 

     "Aw, Mr. Khan, a rain virgin," Zoya snickered and ran ahead of him. 

     "Zoya!" he whispered urgently. "Either take off those payals or don't run. Please, I beg of you."

Hands on her hips she bent her knee and smashed down her toes. On his foot. Chhamm, chhamm, chhamm, tapped her sassy toes like a kathak dancer's. 

     "Zoya!" he hissed in exasperation and pleasure. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to their room. She just couldn't be trusted to behave herself. 

But just for him, she did behave, and didn't swing her legs too much.  

 

The next day Zoya couldn't resist listening to her Ammi's recording over and over again after Asad left for work. She watched the slideshow of pictures of herself. The sound of Ammi humming "Jaane wala pal" was enough to fill her with a deep sense of well-being. She smiled through tears. Ammi sang, "mere ghar aayi ek nanhi pari," and she heard herself repeat with a lisp: "nanni pawi." Toward the end, there was even a scratchy section with her father's voice and the faint strains of her cherished gift from him. Zoya got up to retrieve her music box. Thank god Tanveer hadn't gotten her hands on that as she stole her patrimony. Her palms hugged the globe, shiny from millions of times of rubbing and cradling.

Like always, her fingers caressed the top and then opened it gently. 

The entwined figures danced slowly and the familiar melody floated out. Zoya willed away thoughts of where her father would be right now. She pushed the image of Tanveer off the brink of her consciousness. 

She had Humaira. 

So what if no one knew. Unconsciously her finger traced the tulle edge of the ballerina's skirt. Her eyes filled. Zoya saw a flash of movement from the corner of her eye and looked up. Humaira stood at the door, her eyes wide as saucers and mouth hanging open.

     "Humaira, is everything OK?" Zoya discreetly swiped at her eyes. She rushed to pull her down on the bed and feel her forehead. "Do you want anything? Why didn't you call me?" 

     "Zoya Bhabhi! Where did you get that music box?" Humaira asked in wonder. 

     "Umm ... it was a gift from a long time ago," Zoya spoke softly, her heart nearly tipping over. One hand squeezed the other painfully. 

     "Can I see it?" 

     "Sure!" and Zoya carefully transferred her legacy into Humaira's waiting palms.

Humaira's fingers traced the delicate design and her thumb stroked the contoured edges. She was almost too scared to open it. Her own eyes blurred. 

     "I bet there's a dancing couple inside and the girl is wearing a pink tutu."

     "White," said Zoya softly. 

Gently, Humaira lifted the top and the music replayed.

     She gasped and turned to Zoya. "Bhabhi, I have the exact same one and it plays the same tune! Abbu gave it to me. How weird is that!" 

Zoya ducked her head and pretended to rearrange the cushions on the settee. She didn't know what to say: how nice!

No, it's not weird at all.

Or, my Abbu too. 

Thank god Aapi called out to her at that exact time. She darted out. 

 

Asad roughly dragged his hands through his hair.

He'd just been on the phone with the Police Commisioner who'd told him that the local police were going to be disposing the unclaimed remains from the factory. Making up his mind, he grabbed his car keys to fetch Zoya from home. On the way, he made several calls to his lawyers that would blast the red tape away within next few hours. But for now, he was more concerned about Zoya. Should he tell Ammi? After all how long could they keep this to themselves?  

      He took the plunge and called Dilshad, "Ammi, I'm outside. I need you to come out right now. Don't ask any questions, please. I'll explain." 

Dilshad's heart drummed in her ears. She leaped toward the main door. Luckily, she'd been alone in the kitchen just about to get lunch started. Zeenat was helping Anwar with his packing, Humaira was resting, and Zoya was in her room glued to her laptop.

     "Asad! Kya hua beta? You scared me." 

     "Ammi, get in, I'll explain everything. Just trust me." 

He kept reassuring her that everything was all right, but what he had to tell her was important. He drove up to the Dargah for courage and privacy. After they offered prayers, he opened up as cautiously as possible. After all Ammi was also connected to this. But this was such a twisted nightmare.

Asad spoke haltingly in an urgent undertone. As Dilshad held his forearm, he gathered more strength.

     "Ammi this is about all that mess from the factory eighteen years ago. Do you remember the remains found there?" His throat choked. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

     "Yes, of course I remember!" Dilshad began to fear the worst. What if there was new evidence to implicate Rashid? Things had only just gotten better and brighter, and suddenly everything would be turned upside down again? 

     "That was Zoya's Ammi."

     "WHAT?!"

 

Hot tears fell from her eyes as Asad told her most of the rest: the Siddiquis, Zoya's parentage, her mother's murder. But he didn't have the courage to tell her how Abbu had been forced to set fire to the factory, the threat to Najma, or that Zoya had been present there. Why make things more complicated? Amma was already sobbing hysterically. 

They sat in the car for a long time. Silent and miserable.

     "Does she know?" Dilshad asked finally.

     "Yes," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

     "Allah! Take me to her right now, Asad."

 

On the way he told her about claiming the remains and giving her mother a proper burial.

And Dilshad understood with a pang why her son had told her this. Had this official notice not come up, both of them would have taken this secret with them to the grave. Her heart ached for Zoya. She always knew that her daughter-in-law had a heart of gold. She had come seeking her father, only to find out that he was dead. Now, he was alive, and she knew who he really was, and yet held her silence? How must she pull herself together each day looking at Humaira? Loving her? Fresh tears fell and she sobbed harder. To know all this, and to still go on normally as if nothing terrible had happened? She must have a spirit of steel. Dilshad looked over at Asad and the grim set of his mouth. Wiping her tears, she patted his arm. 

     "I always knew she was brave. But I'm so happy she has you."

He looked up at her in surprise.

     "Haan Asad, I just know it. You must've been her rock during all this. I'm so proud of both of you and blessed that you have each other." 

     "Do you think we should tell Jeeju and Aapi?"

Dilshad looked away and tried to put herself in Zoya's shoes. She knew that Zoya would resist this, just to spare everyone pain, but at this time she needed everyone who loved her by her side.

     "I know her first instinct will be to say no, but I think it would be the right thing to do. Zoya has to share this grief with all of us who love her, or it'll eat her up alive. "

     "Thank god you feel the same way. But how do we do this? Jeeju is leaving tonight." 

     "You tell Zoya, and I'll speak with Zeenat and Anwar. Call Ayaan and tell him to take Humaira out for an hour or two." 

     "Umm, Ammi, I don't know if Zoya would want them to know about the Siddiquis as yet." 

     "Don't worry about it. Just take care of Zoya. You both have kept this long enough to yourselves. I'll take care of everything now."

 

Zoya looked up in surprise when Asad walked in quietly. His expression made her freeze in terror. Putting the laptop aside she rushed to him.

     "Asad, what is it? Najma?" 

     He held her tight. "Najma is fine."

Kissing her head, he led her to the bed. Taking her hands in his, he pulled her in his lap.

     He pushed her hair behind her ear and said softly, "Zoya, it's your Ammi... The Police Commissioner called me today. They are releasing your mother's ..." His eyes too teared when he saw her shattered expression as her face began to crumple. Asad pressed her face into his chest, "I'm sorry baby, I'm so sorry."

He cradled her head against his shoulder and kept murmuring soothing words till her sobs subsided.

     "Zoya!" Aapi knocked on the door.

Asad slid her off his lap and rose to open the door. They rushed in and surrounded Zoya, hugging her and fussing over her. 

     "Mera baccha," sobbed Zeenat, caressing and kissing her face.

Dilshad held her on the other side and Anwar knelt in front of her holding her hands. Heads together they cried for her, and she with them. Though surprised at first, she just let her grief and their love wash over her. 

Asad's phone rang. He cleared his throat several times before taking it.

     "We should go," he announced after hanging up.

Aapi and Dilshad wiped her tears with their dupattas. Jeeju rose and folded her in his arms.

They filed out to let her change. 

     "Asad?" Zoya asked through a raw throat. 

     He wrapped her in his arms, "I've arranged for us to go to the masjid and have a proper service for your mother. Why don't you change and then we'll go?" 

 

In the car Dilshad and Zeenat bookended her between them and stroked her hands, ocassionally dropping kisses on her head. Her heart brimmed. Her eyes met Asad's concerned gaze in the rear view mirror and she smiled wanly at him. 

And he knew he'd done the right thing. 

Heads covered, they walked toward the mosque courtyard for the prayers led by the Imam before going to the cemetery.

Zoya bowed her head and said a silent prayer of peace and gratitude. Sandwiched between Aapi and Ammi she looked up at Asad and Jeeju standing in front of them. Surrounded by people who loved her, she whispered the duas for a mother who had brought her here and led her to happiness and love. 

When Jeeju and Asad walked ahead to the cemetery for the burial, Zoya collapsed in Aapi's arms.

      Voice already hoarse, she could only manage to whisper a broken, "Ammi ..." 

When Asad returned, she kissed his dusty hands and buried her face in them. He tucked her covered head into his shoulder and held her tight; they sighed, completely wrung out. 

Asad held her, fiercely cushioning her quaking body in the last throes of grief and despair. 

 

Zeenat was just as distraught and fell in Anwar's arms. 

     "My baby," she kept repeating brokenly. 

     On the way to the car, Anwar comforted her, "look at her, Zeenat. She couldn't have found finer people to take care of her." 

He pointed to the tableau before their eyes: Zoya walking in between her mother-in-law and husband. Dilshad had her arm around her shoulders, and Asad an arm around her waist. The sun broke through the dense layer of dark clouds and Zeenat sniffed.

     "You're right. She'll be fine." 

 

Humaira and Ayaan parted reluctantly at the door. 

     "Go back to work now," she said softly, ruffling his hair.

     "Unnhh," he groaned. 

     "You know Ayaan, I'm really proud of you."

     He beamed. "Why?" 

     "Because you are really trying. I know that both my Abbu and yours had constantly nagged you about working. And you hated the idea. But now you are giving this a real shot. That's why!"

     "Humaira begum, if I'd known you'd be so proud of me, I'd have joined work a long time ago!" 

She rolled her eyes. Yeah right! Those days he was not even into her, just friends, bikes and girls. 

     "So, what's your favorite part about going to work?"

     He scowled. "Absolutely nothing! I'm only doing this for you. And I have a sneaking suspicion that Mona darling put Bhaijaan up to this." 

Humaira giggled. Her thoughts exactly. 

     "You really hate it that much?" 

     "Nah! Truth be told, I don't mind it that much. Most of the other people are not much older than me. They're terrified of Bhai, but really respect him. They're cool with me even though I'm the boss' kid brother. But the best part is that they don't treat me as the boss' brother who needs special attention. We hang out. They laugh when bhai makes me do some mindless cr*ap. Better you than us,' they joke with me."

     "Aw Ayaan, that's great."

     "Well, it ain't great, but it's OK. There's this bindaas woman, Gita, who tells me, Ayaan miyan, if it doesn't kill you, it only makes you stronger. Now go get strong and build some character.' " 

     "Oh really? And how old is this Gita?" Humaira asked archly.

     "Relax! She's married and has a young kid."

     "Good. Now tell me about the other unmarried women you're hanging out with." She glowered at him. 

     "Hmm, there are two. Monica and Shabana. And they're really cute." 

     "Ayaan Ahmed Khan! Get lost! I never want to talk to you or see your face again."

She stomped off to go inside and he grabbed her uninjured arm as gently as possible. 

     "Arre, Humaira begum. I was just messing with you. They've already seen your picture and their hearts are broken because I'm taken."

     "Oh shut up!" But she smiled. "And go now. Bhaijaan must be wondering where you are." 

     "No worries. He's the one who told me to take you out to cheer you up."

Her eyes shone. She would be forever grateful to Bhaijaan and Zoya Bhabhi for looking out for her like an older brother and sister. As she bid him goodbye and walked dreamily to her room, she thought about this morning.

So strange that Zoya Bhabhi had the same music box as hers.

Humaira tried to remember what Abbu had said when he had handed her the music box on her birthday. 

     "I made it myself. I had made two but ..."

She couldn't recall what he'd said about the other one because she'd been so taken up with it and the music had started playing. How can there be an exact replica of something handmade? She'd ask him about it again when she went home. 

Her heart stopped. 

She would never go home. 

 

At the airport, Jeeju had hugged Zoya and kissed her forehead.

     "Zoya, I know it's been a hard day, but I am proud of you and so happy for you at the same time." 

     She understood him perfectly. "I know, Jeeju." 

     "Apna khayaal rakhna beta. I'm going to miss my little girl." 

They walked arm in arm to the terminal. Asad and Zeenat hung back and watched her say good bye. 

     "Jeeju?" 

     "Haan beta, bolo." 

     "You've always been my Abbu to me. I'm sorry I never said so earlier." 

And this time it was Anwar who cried like a baby. 

 

Late at night, wide awake, Humaira wondered about the thickly tragic undercurrents at home. Something heavy was afoot. Everyone looked drained and emotionally bereft. Yes, Jeeju was leaving for the US. But this felt deeper and more melancholy. 

And it all seemed to center around Zoya Bhabhi. Since the morning, there had been a somberness that clung to her. Humaira hadn't been fooled by the surreptitious brushing away of her tears that morning. And now? 

Even before they left for the airport her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. She barely seemed to have energy to support herself upright. Bhaijaan had hovered protectively. 

And it all seemed to weirdly coincide with his instructions to Ayaan. Was she meant to be lured away? Did something bad happen?

Humaira's breath caught and her throat went dry.

Was Zoya Bhabhi pregnant and did they lose the baby? She felt tears spring to her eyes. Oh god no! Don't let something like that happen. That would be horrible.

No, that can't be right. If that had happened, she would have been in bed. Bhaijaan wouldn't let her step a foot off the bed, let alone go to the airport. She breathed a sigh of relief. 

Thank god, Allah Miyan!

She pulled out her prayer mat, covered her head, and sank to the floor. 

 

The rain fell softly that night. Not the downpour of last night, it was gentler and mistier. Zoya watched the raindrops drip and splash across the glistening leaves, perched on her husband's lap. She sighed and leaned back into him. They were sitting on the terrace under the covered portico, protected from the rain, but still able to enjoy the 180-degree view of it. 

Asad hadn't even complained about the cushions being damp. 

She was all cried out and emotionally fragile. But listening to the tapping of the raindrops combined with Asad's steady heartbeat under her ear calmed and centered her. Is this how babies felt in the womb? A watery cocoon of safety and circle of warmth that makes your heart whole and toes toasty? She placed his hand on her heart and looked up to see him fast asleep.

She had thought herself too worn out to move, but now a new energy crackled through her. She got up and walked into the misty rain to quietly gaze at the blurred horizon. Her lifeblood pulsed at her fingertips and pounded in her ears. Zoya let her head fall back and opened her arms wide to embrace the night sky. 

Ammi was at peace now. 

She swiveled to look back at Asad, sleeping from exhaustion. But she couldn't let him sleep here all night. He'd be stiff and achy tomorrow. 

     She bent to kiss him awake. "Asad?" she tugged on his hand. "Come on, sleeping beauty, let's get you into bed." 

     "I'm not sleeping beauty," he complained, still groggy. "I'm prince charming."

     "Yes you are. You're my Jahanpanah charming. My shahi tukda."

She let herself melt against his warmth. His arms came up around her, strong. She breathed in his familiar scent. Everything was going to be all right.

     "Come on, let's get you a good night's rest." Zoya held on to him as they staggered down the stairs to their bedroom. She thought of last night and smiled. 

     He noted her damp clothing, "Zoya! Stop going out in the rain every night. You'll get sick," he admonished lightly. 

     "No, I won't," she retorted, with supreme self-confidence. 

They clung to each other in bed after he'd made her change into dry clothes.

     Sometime later he asked, "are you OK with everyone knowing? I'm sorry, I didn't ask you." 

She kissed him lightly on the lips.

     "You did absolutely the most perfect thing. It wouldn't have been right any other way."   

     "I'm going to work from home tomorrow."

     "Even more perfect," she whispered softly, kissing his cheek. 

Turning her back on him she snuggled against his chest and tugged his palm to rest on her stomach. Asad tried to cover her with the light Jaipuri rajai, but she kicked it off. 

She was feeling just right, just warm enough. 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Fanaa (2006): "Mere Haath Mein"


	70. Zindagi Ne Pehni Hai Muskaan, Karne Lagi Hai, Itna Karam Kyun Na Jaane

 

 

     "Phuphi? What's happened to Zoya Bhabhi?" An anxious Humaira inquired of Dilshad the next morning.

Dilshad looked at her apprehensively.

Her heart wrenched as she remembered how, not so long ago, she had pledged with Badi Bi that they wouldn't let the evils of the past haunt the kids' lives. The children had shown the grown-ups the road to redemption and reconciliation. Why then, were they meant to bear fate's cruelest jabs? Why was the past rearing its head to smother new-founds joys and blessings?

But Dilshad also dreaded the truth coming out for Rashid's sake. It would crush him when he found out about the identity of the corpse found in the factory. But at the same time, she couldn't be grateful enough for Asad and Zoya's magnanimity. How could neither resent Rashid or Humaira?

Her eyes teared.

By Allah's infinite grace, they had become each other's strength and inspiration. And couldn't we all learn from their example? 

     "Is everything OK?" Humaira continued worriedly. 

With Phuphi taking so long to respond, Humaira's blood curdled even more. Her hand rose to clutch at her heart. Oh god, don't let anything be wrong with Zoya Bhabhi! What if it was all her fault? What if something had happened to Bhabhi when she was donating blood that day? An infected needle? What if it was the baby?

     "Kyun beta? Why do you ask?" Dilshad hedged, as she handed her the plates and cutlery.

Humaira frowned in concentration, her hands gripping the silverware tightly. She was almost in tears. 

     "Something has happened. I just know it," she whispered bleakly, dying to know what was wrong, but terrified of hearing the answer.

She was helping set the table for breakfast.

     "Usually she's up and about by now. And then since yesterday she's been so down. I know she's been crying. She's OK na, Phuphi?"

     "She must be missing Anwar," said Aapi, coming down the stairs. 

     "Yes. But I also know that it's something else. Please tell me. I can't bear to see her like this." By now tears had begun to fall from her frightened eyes.

Dilshad and Zeenat looked at one another. Then Dilshad cleared her throat as she made an instant decision. Humaira's tears confirmed her resolve. The grown-ups had done the damage. It was time to let the children take over and blaze the path to healing. Zeenat didn't even know about this girl's relation to Zoya. But blood was talking and making its own way. She would let it.

     Dilshad wiped Humaira's tears, and stroked her face gently, "umm ... beta ... actually she lost a very dear relative ... that's why."

     Humaira gasped. "Who?" she whispered, aghast.

     "Her mother's ..." Zeenat wiped her eyes, and taking the cue from Dilshad, whispered, " her sister." 

Dilshad embraced Zeenat sideways.

Asad came out from their room just then. Humaira leaped toward him. 

     "Bhaijaan, how's Zoya Bhabhi doing now?" Her eyes were wide with worry.

With a pang he realized that when she wrung her hands like that, she looked so much like Zoya.

He looked up from Humaira to his mother, thrown off-balance by her moist eyes and deep concern. Dilshad nodded reassuringly. Don't push her away, she telegraphed to him.

     "Ah ...  umm ... she's just a little tired."

     "Is she up? I'll get her some coffee," Humaira offered, and dashed to the kitchen when he nodded yes.

     "Can I get some herbal tea instead?" piped up Zoya, her voice buoyant and animated.

Dilshad's heart sloshed with maternal pride. Everyone turned to look at her in surprise. Fresh from a shower, Zoya glowed and beamed. Humaira couldn't help herself. She ran and hugged her with one arm. 

     "Are you OK Bhabhi?" she asked anxiously. "I'm so sorry about your aunt." 

Zeenat nearly staggered, blinded by pain. Dilshad held and patted her arm. They looked in alarm at Zoya. Asad sprang behind her, ready to take her in his arms, if she flew apart. 

Zoya's eyes teared and smile dipped, but she gratefully enveloped Humaira in a bear hug.

     "I'm fine, thank you," she said softly. 

Humaira led her to the couch.

     "You sit here and don't move. I'll get you tea and whatever else you need." She fussed. 

And everyone let her. Trust them, Dilshad seemed to signal Zeenat.

     "I can whip up an omelet for you if you want? With spinach and capsicum," Humaira continued.

     Zoya paled and made a moue. "Not now. Just some plain toast, thanks." 

     Humaira skipped to the kitchen, while Zeenat came to feel Zoya's forehead and pulse. "Tum theek ho?" 

Asad looked on indulgently. He had already done a similar panicky inspection earlier in their room.

     "Haan Aapi. Hundred percent! I promise." 

     He grinned. He'd been rewarded with a much more amorous response. She had wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her head back coquettishly, "I'm fine. But I'd be finer if ..."

     "If?" 

     "Oh really,Mr. Khan? I've to spell it out for you now?"

     "You'll rest today!"

     "Fine, I'll spell it out for you: F-U—"

     "ZOYAA!" he hollered in alarm.

     "What? I was going to say, F-U-N, fun! You have a one-track mind Jahanpanah!"

     "R-E-S-T! Doctor's orders," Asad said in exasperation. 

     "What doctor?"

     "Dr. Asad Ahmed Khan!" he teased, reminding her of their last evening in Agra. 

     "Asad!" she'd protested at his tormenting of her and wiggled against him. 

     "Are you sure?"

     "Humph! Here I am offering myself to you on a platter, aur aap hain ki haan-na kar rahen hain. Forget about it!"

And she stood up in bed ready to leap off in a huff.

     "Zoya! Always the drama queen! I'm just worried about you," he said gently, trying to pacify her as he pulled her back. Her head landed on her pillow and he stroked her jaw and lips with his thumb. "I don't want you to fake being cheerful for all of us. Just rest and take it easy."

     "I'm not faking, and I don't feel like taking it easy!" she'd exclaimed stubbornly, plump lips pouting. 

     "Zoya, please! It was a rough day for you yesterday. Why do you think I've taken the day off? You're not leaving this bed. You'll rest even if I have to stand guard over you." 

     "Asad, I promise I'm fine. And I'd rather have my body made love to, than have you stand guard over me. What a waste! You may as well go to work then!" 

     "Always arguing! Why do you never listen to me?" he'd growled.

     "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was such a pain!" she slid back into bed and covered her face with the rajai.

And sniffed. 

     "Annhhh! I give up!" he'd roared and stomped off toward the bathroom. And then she sniffed some more. 

His head fell back and he groaned. The woman had him completely wrapped around her little finger.

     "Zoya, don't cry." He sat by the bed's side. "The whole point was to take care of you and keep you happy!"

He had sneaked into the rajai and tickled her till she giggled. The tickling and giggling had soon turned to kissing and sighing, and much more. The covers were kicked off and she emerged later, cheeks rosy and eyes radiant. 

     "If you had listened to me at the start, we wouldn't have wasted so much time," she had pouted after a vigorous, albeit muffled session of make-up sex. 

     "I'm always wrong, it looks like," he'd grumbled as he got out to go shower.

Zoya had clutched his hand.

     "No, Asad! Don't you see, I really am fine? Everything's fine. Because you made it right." She patted the bed next to her, "hold me." 

He sat back and leaned against the headboard. She snuggled into his lap. Asad had nuzzled her neck as she played with his fingers.

     "You know what? I realized this yesterday. Yes, it was a rough day, probably one of the hardest days in my life, but you were there for me, you took care of me. Ammi, Aapi and Jeeju were with me, thanks to you." Her eyes filled. "And finally Ammi has a resting place that I can visit and offer chaadars, flowers and prayers at." Zoya kissed his knuckles. 

Asad crushed her in his arms and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

     "Oh god Zoya! I keep thinking of my terrible words to you about your Ammi! How can you ever forgive me?" 

     "Asad! Stop it, you stop it right now!" She kissed his temple and hugged him fiercely. "That was a lifetime ago. Look at your actions now! Don't actions speak louder than words?" She sat back and kissed him hard to punish him for even thinking such thoughts. "I have you! Jeeju understood this too. He said so to me at the airport. So please stop torturing yourself about what you may have said, hmm?" She held his face and gazed steadily at him. "OK?"

"OK."

 

And she went back to talking about her recent epiphanies and his rightness, as though nothing had happened. Asad brushed her hair back and tucked it behind an ear. He loved how she rode the roller coaster of her life squealing with joy, and avidly anticipating every giddy turn, arms open wide, head thrown back. Sure, there were tears along the way. But in her book, they just made the dips and crests that much more fun! 

     "You know, I was listening to the recording again." Zoya thumbed his stubble. "Ammi was humming that song, 'Aane wala pal, jaane wala hai,' and it felt like a sign." 

     "I loved it when you sang that song that day in the car. But it also broke my heart." Asad breathed in her ear.

     "Shh," she put her finger on his lips to shush him, and smiled contentedly. "I love that you'll be home with me today, but please stop worrying about me. I really am fine." 

Asad recalled that yesterday Ammi had said the same thing as Jeeju. Zoya really was going to be OK. 

     "You're sure?" When she nodded eagerly, he'd hugged her tight, "then let me spoil you today. At least listen to me on that." 

     "Allah miyan, what is wrong you Mr. Khan? What else have I been trying to tell you to do since this morning!" 

 

Humaira brought him his coffee and Zoya's toast, and Asad snapped back to the present. 

     "Bhaijaan, Phuphi's asking if you'll take lunch from home today." 

     "I won't be going Ammi," said Asad, taking a sip of his coffee. "I've moved my meetings and site visits. Most of the other work I can take care of from home." he elaborated, as he settled down to read the newspaper. 

     "Great," said Dilshad. "In fact you should do that once every week."

     "And here's your tea Bhabhi. What should we do today? Watch a movie? Bake a cake? With chocolate icing?" 

     "Yes!" squealed Zoya, and recited a sher that had made Mr. Khan roll his eyes a long time ago:

     Baaton mein ho mithas, toh lagta hai banda nek,

     Baaton mein ho mithas toh lagta hai banda nek,

     Karvi baatein bhool jayen, have some chocolate cake! 

Asad nearly choked on his coffee. He did remember that sher. And he also remembered what had happened after. 

Zoya was right. As always, of course. That was a lifetime ago when he thought he hated her and everything about her. That last time his wife had attempted a cake with chocolate icing, she had misplaced the sauce, and he had ended up knuckle-deep in it. And been mad as hell about it too.

Zoya grinned smugly as he coughed.

Oh really, Mr. Khan? So you do remember! May be she should make some extra chocolate sauce today? Just for some Jahanpanah loving. She nodded excitedly to Humaira as she took a sip of her tea.

     Humaira was suggesting more activities, "would you like me to paint your toenails? Nail art?"

     "Umh-hmm ..." Zoya took another sip. "But make sure you leave the smallest ones unpainted."

     "Why?" 

     "Because, I'm going to do them later," said Zoya with a sly look at her husband, an eyebrow arched.

Asad blushed, face behind the paper. He had said that he'd spoil her after all. Just yesterday those toes had tortured him. Payback would be sweet. Just like that chocolate sauce.

He saw Aapi furtively wipe an eye. Setting the paper aside, he went up to her and put a comforting arm around her.

     "Aapi?"

She looked up.

     "It'll be OK. After all, you've known her longer, and must have heard 'Zoya Farooqui kuchh bhi kar sakti hai,' at least a thousand times more than me!"

Zeenat smiled fully for the first time today.

     Asad squeezed her shoulder, "she's really going to be fine." 

 

After lunch and wrapping up most of his work, Asad contacted Rakesh. Things had been a little too quiet on the Tanveer front. He didn't trust her. What if she was planning something major? After all she was still in town. He mentally scanned down his checklist:

-They'd constantly been in touch with Najma and Omar.

-Humaira was safe at home.

-Ayaan under his watchful eye at work.

-Everyone else fine at the other house.

So far there was nothing to worry about. But knowing her, he didn't want to sit back and wait for Tanveer's next diabolical move. And it would come. Of that he was dead sure. He'd been played a sucker once. Never again.

     "What has she been up to? What information have you been able to squeeze out from those men who shot at Humaira?"

He was pleased to hear about the added details for the charge sheet being prepared on her. 

     "But she's not going out much," reported Rakesh. "Just to her doctor and then back to the Siddiqui house." 

Asad listened, his mind restlessly anticipating all possibilities of attack from her. 

     "It may be because there are some issues with her health. We were able to peek into her medical records at the clinic. Besides some other recent injuries, the doctor has noted higher than normal levels of Plasma protein A in her bloodwork. Our research shows that this may complicate her pregnancy." 

Asad sucked in his breath.

He felt terrible. Although Tanveer had been a thorn in their flesh and had endangered many loved one's lives, he didn't wish the baby any ill. In fact, he had been a lot more merciful to her precisely because she was pregnant. After her vengeful attack on Zoya, he had come very close to having her hauled away for permanent jail time where she'd rot away for the rest of her life. That she'd been let off with just a slap on her wrist, was due to his steely self-restraint. And Zoya's unparalleled spirit. Only her pregnancy had saved her.

He prayed. 

 

Tanveer was reeling. The doctor had called her to come in for more tests. Dr. Jain had seemed somber when she'd gone for her check-up earlier in the week. Something was wrong. She was sure of it. The doctor had already scolded her for her carelessness in not attending to the head injury. She had shown concussion-like symptoms over the past few days: nausea, headaches, blurred vision, fuzzy mental faculties. It could be bad for the baby, she had reprimanded.

     "Do you know that recent studies show that victims of head trauma have higher chances of Alzheimer's later in life? Tanveer, you have to be more careful about your health," she had said. "I'm ordering some tests to check your Amyloid levels. High levels will mean bad news." 

Tanveer came out of the bathroom wiping her face in a towel. Hatred for Raziya bloomed up in her. If anything happened to the baby, that woman would be responsible, and she would kill her with her bare hands. She flung the towel away and tried the numbers of those hired men again.

And again.

She paced up and down. She had instructed them to deliberately miss that time. Now, if anything happened to her baby, she would make sure that the daughter paid for her mother's sins. As gruesomely as possible. 

Tanu tossed the phone away in frustration. Damn idiots! Where were they? Had the police really nabbed them? She better find new lackeys, and soon. But it was getting harder day by day. Her back and feet hurt. And now these concussion-induced signs made her want to stay in bed all day long.

The house was feeling oppressive too. Her self-righteous prig of a father had supposedly returned early from his out-of-town trip. But she was reluctant to talk to him about all that had transpired in his absence. It would mean bringing up the attack on Humaira. The old man obviously didn't know anything about that. Raziya Bi had hidden that detail from her husband. And here the old man was eagerly planning family outings for some sisterly bonding! Hah! She just needed to find out where her precious little sister was holed up. She knew that Humaira was not with Rashid and family despite what Mr. Siddiqui thought. She had called under the pretense of being a college friend. Then where was she? Back with that Aunt in Indore? Everyone was being too tight-lipped about sister dear.

Never mind!

She'd gnaw it out somehow. She always did land on her feet.

 

Nikhat and Nuzzhat were here too. They were all caught up with the honeymooners. The reception at the houseboat had been fuzzy. Or so Najma claimed! 

Omar had been AWOL.

     "He's in the loo," gasped Najma.

Yeah right!

 

The cake was half demolished. Pizzas delivered and devoured. Ayaan had put in a surprise appearance. He strutted in, flirted outrageously with Humaira, pulled Nuzzhat's hair, was swatted by Zoya and begged Nikhat for a champi. He had left very reluctantly, only when Bhaijaan had crossed his arms and glared at him. 

     "But Bhai, why can't I work from home like you?"

     "Sure! Go work from your home." 

The girls had guffawed, and Ayaan had gone red in the face. But Zoya had felt bad for him and Humaira. 

     "Mr. Khan!" she'd chided her husband. Don't make him look bad in front of Humaira, she begged silently. Please!

But Akdu Ahmed Khan didn't budge. Ayaan was seen off at the door by the all the women.

Asad had rolled his eyes.

That's exactly why Ayaan would never grow up, he muttered. Even in the office, he was managing to charm his way out of hard work. Too much giggling and nonsense shaayari bounced off the walls. Now homemade food was being shipped in by the truckloads. The whole place reeked after lunch. 

 

Nails were painted and re-painted, nail art practiced. Najma's supplies had been raided to add more flair. Zoya was even dispatched to beguile Mr. Khan out of his collection of fine-tipped sharpies and whitening pens. Dilshad and Zeenat too had succumbed to forced manis and pedis. 

Next up, it was rounds of Antakshari and Charades. Dilshad and Aapi had been dragged in to participate in this too. It was as if the melancholy from yesterday had to be laughed and sung out of the house.

The girls raucously bellowed when Aapi struggled with enacting a movie that was making her blush with embarrassment. 

Zeenat frowned and scowled at the girls.

     "Tum ladkiyaan bahut badtameez ho!" she scolded.

     "Bhabhi, you show her how to do it," crowed Nuzzhat, and Zoya turned a dull shade of pomegranate red.

But never one to bow out of a challenge, she dragged Nuzzhat by her hand and made her stand in the center of the room. Then Zoya amorously wrapped a leg around her and embraced her, pressing her body against hers.

     "Khajuraho," someone yelled.

Nuzzhat was apopletic with laughter.

     "There's no such movie," giggled Humaira.

Zoya had continued to wiggle and tighten her leg around a now mortified Nuzzhat. Zoya waggled her brows and shook her head side to side like a demented Bharatnatyam dancer. 

     "Kamasutra!" everyone yelled. And they all broke into peals of bawdy laughter.

Nuzzhat was on floor, snorting and wheezing. 

And as if that reminded them of the next wedding to plan, everyone began teasing Nikhat about Omar's cousin. He was as serious as Omar was incorrigible. What a perfect jodi! 

     "Aankhon hi aankhon mein baatein hongi," Zoya teased.

     "Aankhon hi aankhon mein ishara ho gaya, baithe, baithe jeene ka sahara ho gaya," sang Dilshad. 

     "Chup-chup khade ho, zaroor koi baat hai," rapped Aapi.

     "Pehli mulakaat hai ji pehli mulakaat hai," they sang together.

The girls were mesmerized. They had never heard these songs. But Dilshad and Zeenat's oldies dance to them looked so charming and cute! 

     "Another sister lost to the US? Not fair!" groused Nuzzhat later. 

     "Stop it, you all," blushed Nikhat.

     "Just think, they'll find you a pardesi boy too," Humaira teased Nuzzhat. 

     "And then you can act out Kamasutra, Amreekan version!" Zoya laughed till she was breathless as Nuzzhat pelted her with cushions. 

     "I'm not getting married outside of India. No way! The guy had better be in Bhopal." 

     "I'll ask Raabert to ask around in Mr. Khan's office, OK?" ribbed Zoya. "Then Chhoti Ammi can double the steel lunch boxes!" 

The hoots just never ended. 

  


     "I'll make tea," Dilshad rose a little later.

     "No, Badi Ammi, I'll do it," Nikhat tugged her down and went off to the kitchen. 

Zoya suddenly broke into a face-splitting yawn. 

     Aapi patted her knee, "you look exhausted. Go get some rest."

     Humaira jumped up, "yeah, Zoya bhabhi. Please get some rest." 

     "You need rest too, Humaira. Did you have this morning's medicine?"

     "Yes I did and I'm fine. You go." 

 

Asad was at his laptop in their room.

All afternoon long, he had heard the chatting, laughing and singing, and his heart had warmed. There was even a loud roar.

Kamasutra? Had he heard right? What the hell was happening in there?

There was a time when he would have found all of this absolutely unacceptable. Which is why Najma never had her friends over. But now, it meant that all was right with the world. 

He looked up too see her pale face. Asad shot up to get to Zoya's side to feel her forehead and pulse.

     "I told you not to overdo it! Why did you have to be so manic? You never listen. Look how pale and worn out you look," he hovered and scolded.

She didn't have the energy to argue with him. She was feeling too tired. 

     "Go change and get into bed," he ordered. "I'm not listening to another word. If you're good, I'll even take you out tonight." 

For once she didn't put up a fight and obeyed him quietly. He drew the curtains and picked up his laptop to go to the living room.

     "Asad?" Her voice sounded soft, beaten. 

     "What?" He rushed over. 

     "Stay with me. And you don't need to draw the curtains. Just sit by me and work on the bed." 

Her energy seemed to be draining by the minute. Asad frowned. As he stretched out on the bed, legs crossed at the ankle, and leaned back against the headboard, she scooched over to rest her head by his thigh.

     "Paint my nails later?"

     "Umh-hmm," he couldn't resist stroking her cheek.

Within minutes she was fast asleep.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012): "O Saiyaan"


	71. Ho Chandni Jab Tak Raat, Deta Hai Har Koi Sath, Tum Magar Andheron Mein, Na Chhodna Mera Hath

 

  


Her lashes swept her cheeks delicately as Zoya slept by his side. Asad worried. He would glance down at her every now and then while working. She looked too frail. That burst of hijinks from this morning had vaporized. Her cheeks looked hollow. Was the shock of her Ammi's news too much? Was all that day-long manic energy just a cover-up? He brushed his palm over her forehead.

Could something have gone wrong at that clinic? There were so many cases reported of Hep C during transfusions these days. He should have been more watchful.

He would burn the place down if—  

There was a knock at the door and Asad slipped away to answer it before Zoya woke. But he made a mental note to call for a doctor's appointment at the earliest. 

It was Humaira.

     "Bhaijaan, there's some lady here asking for you."

Asad frowned, but closed the door softly behind him.

Seeing who it was, he nearly slapped his head for forgetting. 

     "Ms. Sheena! I'm so sorry. I completely forgot to inform you." 

He had arranged for a martial arts instructor to come home and start basic self-defense training. He wanted the girls to get started as soon as they had returned from Agra. He'd even talked to a couple of female instructors for private training from one of the premier Martial arts schools. But then the attack on Humaira had happened and ... 

Asad introduced Ammi, Aapi and Humaira to the instructor and then apologized profusely. Could they begin the lessons next week? His wife wasn't well and Humaira was still recovering from a serious injury. By then his sister would be back too.

They finalized the details.

He showed the instructor the store room which would be cleared by next week for the sessions.

Humaira peeked from behind Asad, bursting with excitement. Such fun! Her parents would have never let her do something like this, saying that it was unladylike and unnecessary. From all that she had heard from Nuzzhat and Nikhat, she never imagined that Asad Bhaijaan, of all people, would think any differently.

After Ms. Sheena left, she couldn't restrain herself.

     "Bhaijaan, I never thought that you would let us do something like this."

Dilshad smiled. Six months ago, she'd have wondered the same. But no longer.

Asad ducked his head self-consciously. 

     "Umm ... voh ... actually ..."

Dilshad chuckled. Asad smiled too.

     "Mera yeh karna thoda ajeeb laga na, Ammi?" 

     "Bilkul nahin! I think you're doing the right thing. Girls should feel confident about their bodies and never live in fear."

Zeenat smirked knowingly. Anwar's cheetah had gotten to their son-in-law.

Asad nodded his head in thanks to Humaira when she got him his coffee.

No one knew about their close shave at Mangalpur, or even the more recent incident at Agra. He wished he had thought of doing this a lot sooner. That night at the Taj Zoya's trusty pepper spray and quick thinking had turned a terrible event from getting worse.

His fist tightened on the mug handle.

He hadn't known this kind of fear before. Asad had always worried for Ammi and Najma's safety. However, he had also been supremely self-assured that he would be their most effective shield. No one had dared to tangle with them when he was by their side. But the vulnerability he had felt that night shook him to the core. Alone, he could have taken on anybody. But worry for Zoya had nearly paralyzed him. One moment she was by his side, and then bam! She was gone. For a few horrible seconds, he had feared them becoming a grim national statistic. 

He shook his head to rid himself of the possible terrors of that night. 

     "Yes, Ammi. Girls should be able to protect themselves." 

Dilshad too sat down on the couch, responding instinctively to the seriousness of his tone. 

     "But having such training may be about something more. It could sharpen one's presence of mind and ability to make quick, life-saving decisions."

Humaira gasped aloud and Asad looked at her.

     "Abbu would never let me do anything like this," she thought aloud.

She twisted around to appeal to Dilshad.

     "You know Phuphi, so many times in college, boys would misbehave with us, but we never told anyone at home. Abbu would have banned us from going to college."

Asad nodded his head sadly in agreement.

     "May be sometime ago, I would have reacted the same way, or even sent Najma to college with a bodyguard. But for how long? Men are getting bolder, and girls are scared to tell at home because they fear additional restrictions on clothing or going out? This just lets men get away with criminal acts."

He laughed self-consciously.

     "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lecture. I just ... I don't know. It makes me angry to read and watch about daily attacks on women. That's why I thought we should do this."

The women murmured in acknowledgement. Asad paced now, restlessly.

     "A few months ago I came upon Nuzzhat and Nikhat being harassed by some boys in the mall. They stood frozen and the boys circled them like hounds. And then Zoya entangled with those eve teasers at Najma's college ... It seems never-ending." Thank god Zoya had rushed to Najma's defense that day. And landed herself in jail ...

Zeenat too remembered the incident from when they had first come to India. 

Some boys at another table were singing lewd songs. She had been horrified that Zoya had boldly walked up to them and started to sing with them. She'd clutched Anwar's arm in panic. Stop her! Zeenat had begged. He had smiled and said, she can take care of herself.

And Zoya's fearlessness had shamed them. They had slunk away, tails between their legs. 

     "Asad, you're right. These cowards prey on women's fear and silence."

The doorbell rang and Humaira went to answer. Asad smiled ruefully. There was a time when he wouldn't have allowed Najma to open the door if he was home. But he too was easing up on domestic restrictions. Safety wasn't just about defensive living any more. 

But he sobered just as quickly, and sighed. Asad still felt antsy about Tanveer. She was a loose canon. May be subconsciously, the idea about self-defense training for the girls was also because of the constant threat that loomed over their family. Eighteen years ago, they had been ambushed by the likes of Raziya Siddiqui. 

Never again.

 

Ayaan tumbled in, a breezy harbinger of chatter and clatter. His helmet, already chipped and dented, fell carelessly to the floor and banished the gloom. Dilshad and Humaira rushed about to cater to his needs as he crashed on the sofa. Zeenat went to pick up his helmet and place it on the side table. 

     "Bhai, what a long day!" he grunted self-importantly. "How do you do it everyday?" Ayaan wiped his brow dramatically, "in fact, why do you do it everyday! Oh man, badi Ammi! I'm dead. Where's Mona darling?"

  

Zoya felt infinitely better after her Jahanpanah-mandated nap. She stretched contentedly and felt around for Asad.

She freshened up and began to straighten the bed. 

     "You're up already?" Asad came in, carrying his coffee mug.

     "You weren't here," she complained.

Asad sensed her mood dipping. Placing his mug on the side table, he opened his arms wide and she glided into them and buried her face in his chest.

     Lifting her chin, he asked with concern, "you okay?"

     "Umh-hmm."

     "So what's the mission? Dinner? Movie?" 

Zoya made a face. 

     "Long drive?"

     "And chaat!" she pleaded.

     "Street food? You'll get an upset stomach." 

     "Hmph! Upset stomach hoga mere dushman ka! My stomach is Teflon-coated."

     "Sar bhi!" he muttered.

     "Jahanpanah! Do not mess with Zoya Farooqui Khan!"

     "I know. I know," said Asad shaking his head and muttering, "what was I thinking?"

 

When they came out of the room they were accosted by an indignant Ayaan.

     "Bhaijaan! Martial arts training? Inn cartoons ke liye? What a waste of time and money. Besides, I can teach them much better." 

     "Ayaan, shut up!" scolded Humaira. 

She was really upset with him. Here she had been raving about how Bhaijaan was so cool and supportive and understanding, and suddenly Ayaan turns into an idiotic macho pig.

Asad ignored him. But not Zoya.  

     "Oh really Raabert? Kucch aata bhi hai ya aise hi?"

And she assumed her warrior pose. 

     "Oh please!" he taunted. "Don't even start. Kucch ho jayega and everyone will say devar ne bhabhi ko maara."

     "But Bhabhi toh devar ko maar sakti hai," and she suckerpunched him.

     "Umfff!" 

     She blew on her knuckles and Ayaan, doubled over, gasped out, "Bhai! Humaira begum," he turned to her for sympathy, when he didn't get any from his joru ka ghulam brother. 

     "Serves you right, Ayaan Ahmed Khan!" she retorted and turned her back on him to stalk away. 

He rushed over to beg for forgiveness.

Zoya's restless eyes gleamed. She had just spotted her devar's bike keys on the side table. She picked them up and tried to get her husband's attention. 

It wasn't too hard. 

She jiggled the keys and raised her eyebrows. 

Asad grinned. 

Zoya ran out the door.

     Grabbing Ayaan's discarded helmet, he called out to Dilshad, "Ammi, we'll eat out!" and slammed out of the house just as fast.

     "Hunh? What happened?" looked around a befuddled Ayaan. "Good, I'll keep you all safe, big mom," he waggled his eyebrows at Dilshad when he figured out that his brother and sister-in-law had done a disappearing act.

She laughed. 

     "Big mom? Allah, ab yeh kaun hai?"

     "Badi Ammi, big mom. Same thing!"

 

Tanveer shook with anger and sorrow. She still couldn't fathom the doctor's words. 

     "There is a high chance that your baby could be born with Down syndrome."

She would kill Raziya. 

It didn't matter that the doctor said that her head injury had nothing to do with any of this. It's rare, but it does happen one in a million. But in her mind, Tanveer was convinced that it was someone else's fault. Because if it wasn't someone else's fault, then it would be her own. 

It had to be Raziya's doing. The earlier attempt at the cabin, and then the push. It had to be her. 

She had been pleasantly surprised when she felt the baby kick for the first time. And now this? How unfair? Why was everything bad only happening to her? Why did everything have to go wrong only with her, while others enjoyed their brittle little lives with no problems whatsoever? 

Going down to the kitchen to get herself a glass of warm milk, she noticed Raziya creeping up the stairs. 

You bitch! 

Her fingers itched to push her down the stairs. But with superhuman effort, she restrained herself. Too easy. She would devise more slow torture for her. Later. 

 

At the vista point near the Hilltop Restaurant, Asad leaned back against the bike with Zoya wrapped in his arms.

They looked down at the lights of the city spread like a glittering carpet before them. He pushed her hair to one side over her shoulder and bent to press a kiss on her neck. 

     "Asad?" 

He groaned, and she smiled as she felt him leap against her. His arms tightened around her.

     "Don't ask me to make love to you here!"

     "If we'd brought the car, I would have," she sighed.

He growled possessively in her ear.

     "Recite me something." 

She loved to have him read to her, or recite passages of shayari and poetry. In bed, she would pillow her cheek on her palm and close her eyes, savoring the texture of his voice. She particularly loved when he recited memorized passages. 

Asad lazily trailed a finger down her arm. She shivered.

     "I never knew that when I read 'A Thousand and One Arabian Nights' as a kid, that I'd find my own Sheherzade."

Nipping her ear he recited a passage from memory.

     "She comes like fullest moon on happy night, 

     Taper of waist with shape of magic might. 

     She hath an eye whose glances quell mankind, 

     And ruby on her cheeks reflects his light."

Eyes shut, she felt his husky voice rumble through her, head to toe.

     "I bet you read that just because the king executes all his wives," she teased.

     "Never! I read it for Ali Baba, Sinbad, and Aladdin ... and other heroes. I didn't even know then that the main storyteller was a woman spinning tales to save herself." He nuzzled her ear with his nose, "now I'm convinced, it was a sign of things to come." 

     "Yeah, Jahanpanah six packs who fight love the most fiercely, fall the hardest!"

     Asad chuckled softly, "and say, oh no! Mera ghutna chhil gaya!' "

     Zoya turned in his arms, exhilarated, "you remember!"

     "Koi bhool sakta hai bhala!" He kissed her temple and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Chalen?"

     "No! One more."

He kissed her palm.

     "Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field.

     I'll meet you there.

     When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about.

     Ideas, language, even the phrase each other' doesn't make sense any more."

Zoya's eyes misted.

     She took a deep cleansing breath, "Ahh, Rumi. Asad, that was beautiful."

With charged fingertips she traced his brows and nose. She shuddered as his lashes fluttered against her palm. With her thumb she parted his lips. 

     "Who needs a car! That was like being made love to," Zoya whispered as they sat astride the bike. Arms and thighs tight around him, she pressed herself against him. Eyes closed, she replayed his words. Gripping his legs with her own, she leaned her head back and spread out her arms. The wind blew through her hair and fingers. Happily, she wiped a tear from an eye.

 

     "What are you going to do today?" Asad called to ask from work the next day.

     "Ammi and Aapi plan to go shopping. But I don't feel like going."

     "Zoya, you feeling okay?" Asad asked with concern. 

She usually didn't miss out on a chance to go out and eat junk food. And going out for shopping and then gorging on unhealthy food was a given. It was a Zoya rule. 

     "Yes ... I just want to be alone ..."  

     "I'm coming home."

     "No! Asad, please. I'm really fine. I just want to go to the Dargah."

     "Do you want to meet me for lunch?"

     "I'd love that. I'm craving butter chicken and mango lassi!"

Asad smiled. She was back. If she could talk excitedly about food, then she was already fine.

     "OK. I have a meeting that may run late. Take the driver and text me. And then when you're done, come here."

After visiting the Dargah Zoya went to pay her respects at her mother's gravesite. It was here that she felt a sense of calm and wellbeing. She didn't know how long she sat here communing with a lost mother, sharing her hopes and fears.  

 

Asad's client was running late.

He sighed in frustration. He decided to get an update from Rakesh in the meantime. 

     "She went to another clinic today. We think her doctor ordered some new tests and referred her to a specialist. My man is still following Miss Tanveer. She went to the mosque. But from her phone records we also know that she's contacted some new people. We're trying to get some background on them."

When Asad hung up he knew that Tanveer was regrouping. She was getting ready to strike again. He dialed Zoya's number but couldn't reach her. He called the driver who assured him that all was fine. Madam was still at the cemetery and he had a clear view of her. 

Prasad came to get him. The client was here. 

 

Tanveer's fury and despair knew no bounds. 

She had just finished a thousand tests, and been poked and prodded for the hundredth time. Blood and urine samples. That vile liquid they made her drink. It was as if her body was a medical experiment. Alien and only microscope-worthy.

Having redressed and stepped out of the diagnostician's office, she had swayed with fatigue and irritation.

She looked up. And who should she see but her nemesis, glowing and smiling? 

NO!

Like an avenging ghost, Tanveer followed her out of the clinic and asked her driver to tail the car. Over the phone she gave her new men clipped instructions. 

Enough was enough.

She was going to go all out; all guns blazing. 

 

When Prasad burst in through the door, Asad looked up in annoyance and then alarm.

     "Sir!"

He knew something was very wrong.

     "Rakesh sir is here. There's some bad news."

Asad's face paled and palms sweated. Excusing himself he stepped out of the conference room. He told Prasad to pacify the client as he dashed to his office to find out what Rakesh had to say.

     "We intercepted a call from Ms. Baig confirming a hit on your brother. His bike's brakes have been disabled. And he just left. The good news is that we know where he's headed, and my guys are trying to flag him down."

Asad sank on the couch, his head in his hands. Rakesh got him a glass of chilled water.

     "We're also trying to call your brother on his phone but he's not responding."

Rakesh's phone rang. While he attended to it, Asad's phone rang too.

It was their driver. His heart stopped. 

     "Sir ..."

     "What!" Asad barked.

     "We were hit by a speeding car. Sir ... Madam is hurt—"

     "Where?"

     "Near the Badi Masjid. I've called the ambulance. Sir, I'm sorry."

Asad sprinted down the hall. He knocked into someone and blindly pushed them away. He had no time to wait for the elevator. He raced down the stairs towards his car.

How he made it to the accident scene he had no idea.

His mind didn't register the blaring horns around him, the oncoming rush of the traffic, or traffic lights for that matter.

He ran the last hundred yards to push his way through a crowd of do-nothing gawkers. They were loading her on to the stretcher into the ambulance when he got to her side. 

Thank god she was conscious.

     "Zoya!" Eyes wild, he gripped her bloodied hand, kissing it. "It's going to be OK. You're going to be OK. I'm here."

She was crying, distraught and frantic. She held their clasped hands over her stomach.

     "Asad, the baby! Don't let anything happen to our baby." 

 

On a hunch, Zoya had decided to go on her own to Ammi's doctor on the way to the Dargah.

She just had a feeling.

There was no morning sickness, but it was just the way her body felt. There was a tenderness and oversensitivity that felt strange and uncanny. When Asad had made love to her last night, she had hissed louder and arched more violently. She almost couldn't bear him suckling her. His mouth, the nick of his teeth, the flick of his tongue, and the rasp of his stubble had burned her sensitized flesh. Moaning and writhing in his arms, her eyes had suddenly flared open.

Yes! She was pregnant!

Earlier, on their way back home on the bike, she'd whispered in his ear just before disembarking.

     "Thanks for the midnight ride, Jahanpanah!" 

     He'd grabbed her arm and twisted her to crash against him, "just thanks? Jahanpanah wants more." Nipping her ear, he'd demanded, "a lot more."

     She had trailed her finger down his lips, and wiggled against him, "Sheherzade will ride you so hard tonight ... you'll see a thousand and one stars!"

Giggling, she had skipped away, out of reach from his hungry lips and grasping hands.

And she had. Hugging her secret knowledge to herself, she had twisted and thrashed on top of him with complete abandon. She had bitten and sucked his fingers keeping them away from her oversensitive breasts that felt fuller than usual. He had bucked harder thrusting in deeper. She had guided his hands to cup her butt instead, and his fingers had dug in, seeking revenge.

Head thrown back, she had laughed softly, sphinx-like. 

There would be bruises tomorrow. 

But once she told him he was going to be a daddy, there would no end to the pampering and sweet lovin'.

Tonight it would be just the two of them. Tomorrow there would be a new awareness. A new promise. She kept him pinned down with both hands to prevent him access to her bobbing chest. Her fingers had homed in on his mouth and he bit them hard and sucked on them. He had raised his own hand to cup her nape and his thumb had slowly skittered across and stretched the slick skin on her throat. 

Damn! He knew what that did to her. 

Coming, her thighs had convulsed around him and she'd raked her nails on his nipples. His hands had spasmed on her waist. Tomorrow, there would be purple smudges there too.

     "Zoyaa!"

 

Watching the unfolding drama and the lovebirds' trauma from across the street, Tanu had grinned smugly.

     "Ghar chalo," she instructed her driver. 

Settling back in the seat, she thanked serendipity.

She had been livid when she saw Zoya exit from Dr. Sharma's office. The same office Khala had dragged her to a few months ago. Zoya's beaming smile had driven a nail through her heart. So she was pregnant. Sure, they must have been going at it like horny bunnies all this while. Their chemistry was unmistakable. In fact, she had suspected they were already doing the nasty even before the nikaah.

Why do they get to be happy? And not her.

On a whim she had decided to follow Zoya. She had twiddled her thumbs in the car at the Dargah. And then the cemetery. And it was then that the idea struck her. She called her contact to arrange a quick hit and run. The promise of extra money had gotten her the top-of-the-line expedited service. It was a good thing that Ms. New York had spent a nice long time by the grave. Zoya's detour by the pastry shop had earned her even more time. Tanveer had wondered about the boxes of pastries the driver carried out. It could have fed an army.

She had smirked.

Too bad it would all go waste. 

 

 

 

  


Song in Title:

Jurm (1990): "Na Koi Hai, Na Koi Tha"


	72. Jaise Chanda Khele Baadal Mein, Khelega Voh Tere Aanchal Mein

 

 

  

When a stunned Rakesh had turned around, the glass door swung on its hinges. 

So Mr. Khan had already heard. 

Wearily, he wiped his brow and took a deep breath. It had been a narrow escape for Mrs. Khan. A second's delay, and the speeding van would have taken her side of the car off and crushed her. Thank god, his team was able to alert the driver who had accelerated hard and swerved away just in the nick of time. The van had rear-ended them, missing her door entirely. 

He too left to go to the crime scene.

The van driver had already fled the scene. At least he had better news to give to Mr. Khan about his brother. 

 

Asad stumbled into the ambulance, shell-shocked.

A baby?

A thousand questions ricocheted in his head. How did she know? When did she find out? 

But no sounds or words came. 

His ears registered a distant clanging sound. His disconnected brain couldn't figure out that it was the siren. He couldn't look away from the cuts on her hands. Bright red dots puddled up. The nurse swabbed at it with a cotton ball. The red bloomed on the white.

Her wounded cry wrenched him from his waking coma.

His eyes restlessly scanned her body as the first responders secured her and checked her vitals. Asad's hands brushed her face fearfully. He didn't care if he was in the way. He needed to feel her warmth, touch her skin. He feathered her cheek with his knuckle, scared that she would break. Zoya had tried to shield her face from the flying glass with her hands. The emergency technician kept reassuring him that she was not seriously injured. She was lucky to have missed direct impact. 

Even he knew it could have been a lot worse. He had seen the state of the mangled van flipped upside down, and his blood had run cold. 

He knelt by her.

Asad wished he could hold her in his arms, but the nurse had stopped him from shifting her.

     "Sir, we still have to be careful in case there are any head or neck injuries."

     "Zoya!" He whispered hoarsely.

She clutched his hand to her lips and was sobbing uncontrollably.

     He looked at the attending nurse hopelessly, "my wife is pregnant ... please make sure ... the baby—"

And he too had broken down. 

     Stroking her stomach protectively, he promised her through his tears, "Zoya, everything will be fine. I won't let anything anything happen to you or the baby." 

It was what she had wanted to hear. Her heart had jolted in fear at his vacant expression earlier. As though this was all the reassurance she needed, she sighed and closed her eyes.

     "Zoya! Please don't leave me," Asad had whispered brokenly, lips pressed to her temple. 

     A little later the nurse cleared her throat. "Sir, the police will be at the hospital to ask questions. I'm sorry." 

Rakesh had followed the ambulance to the hospital and waylaid the police even before Asad staggered out. Zoya was wheeled away in a flurry.

     "Mr. Khan, I'll take care of the formalities with the police. You take care of Mrs. Khan. And, your brother is fine too."

 

An hour later, a more stoic, but grim Asad had demanded details.

Zoya had been cleaned and stitched up. The doctors were just beginning to run a battery of tests to assess internal injuries.

His pale skin stretched taut across his cheekbones. Her blood was still on his hands. For a long time he gazed at it. It had dried and darkened; it snuggled into the lines of his hand, fanning out into the microscopic trenches.

     "It was Ms. Tanveer. My team was able to call your driver who did his best to prevent the worst from happening. We have her on tape ordering the hit and run. We'll be turning in the evidence to the police. The van driver fled the scene, but we have his number. My guys are trying to track him down. He's injured and won't get too far." 

     "Do everything you have to to put her away for good," Asad spoke harshly, fist clenched, fingertips grinding her blood deeper into his hand. "I'm done playing nice. I want her to rot behind bars for the rest of her miserable life. You have my lawyers' numbers. Make it happen. I never want to hear her name again." 

He couldn't even bear to think of what could have happened. What if it had been a truck instead? What if they hadn't been able to intercept her call? What if it had been rush hour? He knew that these questions would haunt him for a long, long time. 

     He looked up to see Ayaan rush over to hug him tight, "Bhai!"

Asad squeezed his eyes shut. His body slackened as he let Ayaan brace him. Thank god, at least Ayaan was safe. He felt cool fingers on his forehead and opened his eyes to peer into Ammi's tear-streaked face. 

     "Ammi!" Asad broke down in her arms. 

Many hands clapped his heaving shoulders and rubbed his back as Dilshad held his shuddering body. Everyone was here. 

     "She'll be OK, Asad. Have faith. We all know she's a fighter." Dilshad had choked out through a tight throat.

     Aapi patted his cheek and handed him a chilled water bottle. "Tumhi ne mujhe yaad dilaya tha: Zoya Farooqui kucch bhi kar sakti hai!' Himmat rakho. She'll be fine. Tomorrow she'll be arguing with you." 

     Fresh tears had fallen from his eyes. "I'm sorry Aapi!"

     "Shh, aisa nahin kehte hain, Asad. Tumhari wajah se she avoided being hurt more seriously. Your watchfulness protected her." 

Rakesh had filled them in on how the driver has reacted with quick thinking and deflected the impact away from Zoya's side. 

Rashid came to grip him by his shoulders. Tears were streaming down his face to see his son's helplessness. He remembered a similar visit to the hospital 18 years ago. Rashid cradled his head and rocked Asad in his arms. A father muttered strangled duas over his child's head.

Dadi, head covered and beads sliding between her fingers, mouthed silent prayers. Nikhat and Nuzzhat hugged him from the back. Humaira sobbed in Shireen's arms. 

Asad felt their love and concern buoy his flagging spirit.

His prayers joined theirs.

 

Ayaan cornered the guy who had introduced himself as Rakesh. Fists on his waist, he had confronted the guy with a barrage of questions.

     "What the hell's going on? Who are you? How did you know to nudge me off the road and that my brakes had been killed? Is this connected to what happened to Zoya? Is someone targeting our family?" He looked away, and whirled on him, "is this connected to Humaira's shooting?"

     "I'm sorry sir. I can't say much unless Mr. Khan says it's OK," Rakesh said calmly. His phone buzzed and he held up his hand. "Excuse me, I have to take this," he said waliking away.

Rakesh was surprised. It was Mrs. Siddiqui.

     "I tried Asad's phone but it's unreachable. I can't reach anyone else at either house. Something's wrong, isn't it? I just know it. What happened? Is it Humaira? Is she all right?" she garbled all the words together in panic. 

     "Umm ... you'll hear this soon enough. Mr. Khan's wife was in an accident. Everyone's at JK Hospital." 

He heard her gasp.

     "Why did you call, Mrs. Siddiqui?" He prompted her after a long silence. 

     "It's Tanveer. She came rushing home and is packing. She's getting ready to fly the coop. I'm dead sure of it." 

     Rakesh laughed grimly. "Don't worry. She won't get very far," he assured her and hung up. 

 

Ayaan scowled.

His spidey senses were tingling and he knew this guy was giving him the run-around. He had figured out quite quickly that his brakes had given out. He had been distracted thinking of ways to patao and manao Humaira.

She still hadn't forgiven him for his dumb comments about the self-defense classes last night.

     "Tum log and martial arts! My nail broke, ooh, my hair is all messed up. Ouch! Meri choodi, mera kangan!', " he had mimicked and teased her relentlessly. 

Zeenat and Dilshad had giggled. Not because they agreed with him, but because they knew he'd get his butt kicked pretty soon. He had no clue and paid no attention whatsoever to the changing colors and emotions on Humaira's face. When for the fifteenth time he had scoffed at the idea, she had lashed out at him in cold anger. 

     "I thought you were a 21st century man. But looks like your thinking is like my Abbu's and all those men who want to keep women locked up in golden cages thinking that we'll be safer that way." 

Her eyes blazed.

     "Do you know, in western countries they keep calves in tiny cages? Do you know why? Their meat is the most tender because they can't move a muscle! That's what's happening to so many girls in India!"

Ayaan's breath had been knocked out of his chest at this unforeseen onslaught. He sputtered in confusion. He had never imagined Humaira being such a spitfire. That Mona darling had to be behind this!

Humaira had stalked into her room and slammed her door shut.

Even Badi Ammi had been mad at him then.

     "Big mom will give you big slap," she had glowered at him, and he had the grace to turn red. 

     "I'm sorry," he had said softly, and she had smiled reluctantly and patted his head. It was impossible to be mad at him for too long. 

     "Paagal kahin ke! Bilkul sahi kaha Humaira ne! Beta, this is another reason why girls lose heart and feel powerless. They need support, not ridicule." 

He had been mortified. 

Her words stung. 

He hung his head in shame.

Zeenat tried to lighten the mood.

     "Bach gaye tum! Zoya hoti toh khoob khabar leti tumhari! Kaan pakad kar, she would have made you do at least fifty sit-ups."

Still reeling from Humaira's brutal condemnation, Ayaan had suddenly realized that he was unable to control the bike. 

Strange.

On his way to the office, everything had been fine. First hit by panic, he had maneuvered to avoid hitting anything or anyone. It was a grueling task. There were too many slow-moving rickshaws, pedestrians and thela-wallas weaving in and out, along with stray dogs and sluggish cows. He had looked for a tree that he could slam into to break the momentum. But given Bhopal's recent road expansion hysteria, there weren't many trees to ram into. Crashing into the center divider would only make him fresh roadkill. However, within minutes, a car had veered in front of him and magically cleared the traffic ahead of him. A guy in the passenger seat had waved to him.

     "Your brakes have been tampered with! Follow us," the guy leaned out and yelled. 

Although stunned, Ayaan breathed a little easier. Bracing himself for the impact, he nudged his front tire against the car's bumper. He hung on for dear life, letting the car control the speed of his bike. The car began slowing down and eventually pulled over to the side. His bike had gently come to a rest too.

It was a narrow escape. His back was drenched in cold sweat then. 

And now Mona Darling? 

Something didn't add up.

No!

It couldn't be!

  

Ayaan saw the doctor come out and consult with Bhai.

Bhai had charged into the room. Everyone outside had bowed their heads in silent prayer. 

Let her be OK, Ayaan prayed. 

He didn't even want to think about what Bhai would do if anything happened to Zoya. 

He saw Humaira charge after the doctor and followed her. 

     "Please doctor, how is she? Does she need blood? Take mine! I know it matches," he heard her hiccup through sobs.

The doctor patted her arm kindly and walked away. Ayaan walked up to stand behind Humaira and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She leaned into him and blindly clutched his hand in fear. As Ayaan held Humaira, a dangerous idea began to gather storm in his head. 

Was Mumani behind all this? 

No!

But why was there so much security? Who was this Rakesh guy really?

 

Asad had leaped to her side and her hands spasmed around his. Her eyes had begged answers, but he had none to give her. 

     "Asad?"

     "Shh, I don't know baby. They are still running tests. We'll have to wait for the results." 

He kissed her knuckles and one hand cupped her stomach. Asad gently stroked and massaged it before placing a kiss on top. With a pang he thought of the first time they had made love. He had kissed her stomach then too.

     "We'll pray together. Thank god, you're OK. I died a hundred deaths. Where does it hurt? Can you move your legs and toes?" 

     Zoya framed his face in her hands. "I'm OK. Just some pain in my neck. Whiplash from the impact, I think." 

     " _You_  have a pain in  _your_  neck?" he teased, and she smiled after so long.

     "When did you know?" he asked softly, eyes moist again.

     "Hold me," she insisted.

He sat on the bed and gently lifted her in his arms. She sighed and breathed in his scent. 

     "I felt it in my bones last night, Asad! I just knew it when we were making love." Zoya dashed her tears. "Then this morning I went to Dr. Sharma to confirm." She smiled bleakly. "I was looking forward to coming to your office. I went to the Cake Shop to buy pastries for everyone at office. I even bought black forest pastries just for us!"

She buried her face in his chest and wept bitterly. Asad cradled her head and rained kisses on her head.

     "I should have told you. I'm so stupid. I was going to surprise you," Zoya sobbed out. 

     "No! This is not your fault. And Insha'allah, everything will be fine. Everybody's outside. Praying. It has to count for something." 

     "They know about the baby?" she asked fearfully. 

     "No. They're out there praying for you and look, you're fine. The baby will be too." He promised and prayed, hand splaying over her belly.

There was a soft knock on the door.

The attending doctor walked in, accompanied by another doctor. He introduced them to her. 

     "This is our gynecologist and obstetrician, Dr. Nagpal. I know you both had questions about Mrs. Khan's pregnancy."

Asad got up to stand behind Zoya. She leaned against him, refusing to let go of his hand. His thumb absently stroked the top of her hand.

     "Because it's so early, it's going to be really hard to determine the fetus' health at the moment. It's a good thing that you didn't sustain direct impact on the abdomen. And there is no bleeding. That's good news too. We can do an ultrasound but I don't know how much that'll really tell us. I am going to order a CBC panel. Our biggest concern for now would be something called placental abruption ..." 

The doctor rattled on with a lot of medical jargon and terminology.

Asad listened intently. But Zoya had already tuned her out. She didn't want to hear worse-case scenarios. She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned more heavily on Asad. His arm came around her to envelop her in its comfort. 

Ammi watch over my baby, please. 

Zoya held both their interlaced hands over her stomach. This time her tears fell for her mother. Alone, scared, how must she have felt when she found out about being pregnant? You watched over me. Your courage gave me life. You led me to Aapi and Jeeju, and then Asad. Please Ammi, please let my baby be fine. 

Watch over my baby.

Please, Ammi. 

 

Raziya had felt the earth slide from under her feet when she heard about Zoya. Could Tanveer have had something to do with that? Why else would she be so eager to flee?

Some power had drawn and dragged her to the hospital. Asking around she had finally bumbled on to the right floor. She covered her face and stood paralyzed as she watched Humaira tearfully plead with the doctor.

     "... take my blood," she heard her daughter impore.

     "She's your sister isn't she?" The doctor had asked.

Raziya had nearly crumpled to her knees. She had watched anguish glaze her daughter's face and wanted to rock her in her arms telling her that everything would be OK. 

Humaira stood rooted to the spot. 

Her eyes went wide with shock and pain.

They were blood sisters, she thought. Zoya Bhabhi had given her blood after all. She would be her jethani after marriage. That made them sisters too.

The music box!

    "No ... yes, YES! She IS my sister. Please take my blood if you have to." 

     "Don't worry. If the need arises, then we will."

And the doctor had walked away with a gentle pat on her head. 

Humaira had turned blindly into Ayaan's arms and sobbed bitter tears.

     "Shh, Humaira." Ayaan had held her tight and rubbed her back. He lifted her chin and wiped her tears.

     "It'll be OK. She'll be fine."

He kissed her gently, soothing her, and Humaira melted into him. 

Raziya watched over them, heart full and eyes desolate. 

 

The doctors had said it was okay to take her home. Zoya could come back the next day for the results and more extensive check-ups if needed. Dr. Sharma had been informed. They could even ask her for a second opinion.

Asad lifted her to place her in the wheelchair. Aapi fixed her kurta and dupatta lovingly. She pressed a kiss on her forehead. 

     "Mera cheetah," she used Anwar's words.

Zoya smiled gratefully. Allah, give Aapi a chance to call my baby that too. Jeeju will be such a great nanu. She glanced down in her lap. There were still some bloodstains on her clothes.

She had dressed with such care this morning. She knew she was going to Asad's office for the first time as Mrs. Khan, and she wanted to look her best in an elegant anarkali suit. 

Just let the baby be all right, Allah Miyan. 

In the elevator she grasped Ammi's hand. Dilshad looked down at her and stroked her cheek.

     "Ammi, can we host a Quran khwani?" Zoya asked softly. 

     "Zaroor, beta. Kitna nek khayal hai! I'll arrange it for tomorrow." 

Zoya's other hand had gripped Asad's even tighter. She held their joined hands to her cheek. Asad's thumb caressed a tear away. 

Dilshad's instincts were screaming. 

Asad and Zoya looked too grim. Too sad. She was coming home and looked remarkably fine for having been through a car crash. But there was no joy or relief on their faces, just despair and fear.

Zoya rubbed her palm over her belly. 

Ya Allah! She was pregnant. 

Dilshad's heart squeezed in pain. Oh my goodness! Please Allah, let the baby be all right. Don't give my children any more pain. They've been through too much already. 

She almost sobbed out loud. Shireen rubbed her shoulder and she looked up into her eyes. Hot tears slid down her cheeks and Shireen wiped them as they stepped out of the elevator.

     "Allah will protect her." 

Dilshad's heart constricted and she couldn't help a sob escape. Shireen enfolded her in her arms and cried with her. She could understand. She had felt the same terror when she had heard about Humaira. Such young, gentle girls, so full of life, loved so much by their sons. Why was this happening?

A driver from office had driven his car over from the scene of the accident. Asad lifted her into the passenger seat and tenderly buckled her in. His hand had lingered on her stomach and their eyes had locked. 

     "I love you," he whispered in her palm.

Zoya leaned back, overwrought and exhausted. 

 

     "Should we tell Ammi?" she asked much later in their room.

They were in bed. Asad shifted to hold her back closer to him, and he wrapped his arm around hers over her stomach. The heat from his hand seeped through and warmed her head to toe.

     "I was thinking about it too." 

     "She'll know what to do. Her duas will have more power." Zoya whispered. 

She had learned the value of shared grief that day when everyone's love and grace had swaddled her in a thickly comforting embrace. Their tears had mingled with hers, and it had mended her battered spirit. 

Asad kissed her shoulder. 

She was right. 

     "I'm so scared, Asad." 

She had already made three trips to the bathroom since they'd come back home an hour ago, to check for any signs of bleeding. 

     "Me too baby, me too." His arms tighetened around her. 

There was a soft knock on the door. Asad got up to open the door and Dilshad came in.

Seeing her, Zoya couldn't stop herself. 

     "Ammi!" she burst out, and half-ran to fall into her arms.

     "Na, beta. Sab theek ho jayega. Everything will be fine."

Dilshad led her to the settee. 

     She took Zoya's tear-streaked face in her hands and stated, "you're pregnant." 

     Through sobs Zoya nodded yes. "I'm so scared Ammi. What if something happened to the baby?"

 

Dilshad held her arm out to an equally miserable Asad and pulled him to sit down on her other side. She held their faces next to hers. 

     "I know. I'm terrified too. But I also know something about the power of love and hope. I know that sometimes bad things happen to good people, but good people create and draw the positive energy of the universe. Tum dekhna, the baby will be fine. I'll be the first one to hold it in my arms and bless him or her." 

She cried with them. Asad told her about what the doctor had said. There was good news: no direct impact and no bleeding. 

     "See?" she wiped Zoya's tears and her own. "Allah is already watching over my grandchild. Now tell me when you found out." 

     Zoya blushed. "I had a feeling, and thought I would go to your doctor to confirm this morning. I was going to surprise—" Her eyes locked with Asad's. 

Dilshad gripped their hands in hers and brought them to her mouth to kiss them. 

     "It's OK, sab accha hoga. The baby's parents are strong, of course the baby will be fine!" 

     "Baby's Dadi is stronger," said Zoya with a hopeful smile, and Dilshad and Asad smiled too.

     "Main Dadi ban jayungi?" Dilshad asked with wonder. "Allah! What will its first words be? 'Voh ... actually ... main,'ya 'Allah Miyan?' "

They laughed through their tears, much more hopeful and sure now.

     "OK. Let me go now and prepare for the Quran Khwani tomorrow. Dekhna itni saari duaon ka bahut accha asar hoga. I'm going to send some haldi milk with Humaira. Asad make sure that she drinks it all."

 

Closing the door after Dilshad, Asad re-wrapped Zoya in his arms and they gazed out of the window. The sun would set soon. The sky was on fire, edged bright with incandescent pink and purple streaks across a blue canvas. 

     "I hope I'll be a mother like Ammi," she whispered. 

     "You will be. Just a little crazier and louder. You'll be a bigger kid." 

     "And sexy?" 

     "Very sexy." 

     "A total MILF?" 

     "What's that?" 

She whispered in his ears; his eyes popped and ears reddened.

     "Mrs. Khan, you take my breath away. Every single day." 

And Asad bent to kiss her, his lips sucking urgently on her lower lip. His tongue parted her mouth further and slid in to reassure her that she would indeed be the sexiest mom, and soon. Their tongues twined and desire flared.

     Coming up for air he pledged, "happy mother's day, Mrs. Khan!" 

     Her eyes brightened and Zoya giggled, content and confident. "Happy father's day, Mr. Khan! You are going to be Abbu Ahmed Khan!" 

She stepped away and twirled back to him.

     "Nahin! Wait!"

She paused dramatically. 

Dimples deepened.

She put on a super-serious expression on her face.

     "Jahanpanah, main aapke bachhe ki maan ban ne wali hoon!"

And she laughed up into his face. 

     "Mrs. Khan, main apake bachche ka Abbu ban ne wala hoon!"

He swung and spun her in his arms. Setting her down, Asad cupped her face and kissed her closed eyes. Pushing her hair behind her ear he huskily recited a couplet from Rumi, and sucked the tear that sneaked out: 

     "If anyone asks you 

     How the perfect satisfaction 

     Of all our sexual wanting will look, 

     Lift your face and say, 

     Like this.

     When someone quotes the old poetic image                                         

     About clouds gradually uncovering the moon,                                     

     Slowly loosen knot by knot the strings of your robe.                           

     Like this."

Zoya closed her eyes and gave thanks as she swayed in her husband's arms. 

 

Dilshad came in herself later with the haldi milk and stood guard over Zoya till she had gulped the last drop. She stroked her daughter-in-law's bent head and clucked, making kissing sounds all the while. 

     "Shaabash!" she encouraged when Zoya scrunched up her face and returned the glass. 

As Zoya went to the restroom to re-check for spotting and secretly wash out the vile taste, Dilshad patted her son's cheek. She had just spoken with Maulvi saheb and gave him instructions for repeating Allah's name ninety-nine times by placing his hand over Zoya's tummy at dawn, before eating anything. 

He nodded obediently.

     "I'll say it 99,000 times Ammi! Every morning. I just hope the baby will be fine and healthy. I can't bear for Zoya to go through so much grief. I had promised her that I would never let her cry."

Dilshad smiled and framed his face in her hands. 

     "It's not the tears that matter beta, but the smiles that come after. It's your promise to always be by her side that matters even more. And crying together makes your love stronger." 

She hugged him.

     "And just wait, there will be smiles and laughter. Pitter patter of little feet, aur khoob saari kilkaariyan!"

     "And mountains of dirty diapers," quipped Zoya from the opposite end of the room, blithe and cheery.

Dilshad opened her arms, a safe harbor beckoning.

Zoya glided in to be cosetted and cocooned. 

 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Abhimaan (1973): "Tere Mere Milan Ki Ye Raina"


	73. Nayi Adaa Se Sataayegi ... Tabhi To Chanchal Hain Tere Naina, Dekho Na

 

 

Tanveer was a nervous wreck ever since she had returned. Her hands shook. She knew it was only a matter of time before Asad came after her. It was the money that she had come back for. She had worked too hard for her stash and couldn't just leave it behind. She'd squirreled it away in different parts of her room to keep it safer, and just needed to remember all her hidey-holes.

The taxi waited below. She hovered anxiously for the driver to load up the bags in the trunk. She had abandoned all her belongings; more room for the cash. Coming down the stairs she had even tossed her phone. Less baggage the better. She had stuffed a few wads of cash in her handbag: emergency money to buy essentials and shut people's mouths.

Locked and loaded, she breathed a sigh of relief as the cab pulled out of the driveway.

Tanveer weighed her options. She couldn't risk the airport. The train station would be chaotic enough to be lost in the crowd. But she'd have to wait for the next train, walk a lot to get to a platform, climb up and down stairs. 

No.

Bus Station? 

She was torn. 

Self-preservation dictated that she run as far to the ends of the earth as possible. Somewhere, where a blood-seeking Asad couldn't find her. But curiosity twisted her arm and slowly strangled that primordial instinct. She directed the driver to take her to a four-star hotel. She could afford to treat herself and hang around anonymously to stir the pot if needed. She even had the perfect alias picked out.

  


Zoya had felt the blessings and grace pulse through her.

First Ammi. Then Aapi and Jeeju.  

     Last night Dilshad had kissed Zoya's cheeks. "Tell Zeenat if you feel that it's the right thing to do."

Glancing up at Asad, Zoya had nodded.

There had been tears of joy and fear, and then collective sighs of prayer. In the pre-dawn light she had felt the warmth from Asad's hand radiate out from her belly as he chanted Allah's name. His voice had caught first and then steadily grown stronger. She had felt the air vibrate and fuse all three of them seamlessly.

All morning, both Ammi and Aapi, digging deep and richly into their motherly databases, had plied her with holy water, rubbed mysterious herbs on her stomach, cast off evil nazars, and fed her chilled kesar milk and soaked badams. After the Quran Khwani they would go to the Dargah and feed the poor while Asad took Zoya to the doctor. 

Tawizes were pressed upon her forehead; ancient rhymes chanted to gather the blessings of all things good in the universe.

Dried red chillies had burned furiously and brightly, smoking the air with their pungent bite, searing away every spell cast by evil eyes. 

During the prayer service, Zoya had felt power crackle through her all the way to her fingertips. So many people had come after hearing about the accident: family, neighbors and friends. Even people from Asad's office. 

She felt humbled and celestial. 

So many soft hands had patted her head or arm, blessed her, chanted over her as Dilshad and Zeenat flanked her. An elderly aunt had even tied a tawiz from Ajmer Sharif on her arm. Humaira fussed and clucked around her. She fixed the cushions on the sofa to make her more comfortable, brought her water and juice. She had even stood guard outside the bathroom door each time Zoya had gone in to check for spotting. 

But over the last hour, Zoya had stopped checking. There was no need to any more. 

 

Humaira nervously climbed the stairs to Abbu's office.

He had called last night and told her to come see him now that she was better. He had something important to tell her. His PA stood at attention and ordered tea and snacks for her. She leafed through a magazine in the outer office and waited for Abbu to be done with his meeting. Why had he called her here? He had stuttered through the invitation and cleared his throat multiple times.

The door opened and the client stepped out. Her eyes widened and breath caught. Why were the police here? Oh my god!

     "Abbu, police?" she asked as soon the door closed after her.

     Gaffur Siddiqui walked over to carefully embrace her. "Are you OK, beta? All better?"

     "Ji Abbu! But why were the police here?" Her voice rose an octave.

     "I'll explain. But first tell me when you'll be home." 

     "Umm ... Abbu ... voh ... actually ..." she realized suddenly that this Khan-trademarked phrase, as Zoya Bhabhi called it, had great utility. You could really stall for time and gather your wits together.

She had an insane urge to laugh.

     "I will Abbu. Soon. But is everything OK?"

Her father sighed. He looked thinner; gaunt even.

     "Abbu, aapki tabiyat?" 

     "Don't worry Humaira. I'm fine. Come sit with your Abbu and we'll talk," he invited her to join him on the couch. 

     "Kya hua Abbu, you seem really tense." Humaira was really worried now. Something had to be seriously wrong.

     "Ek zaroori baat thi ... It's hard to tell you Humaira, but you will be hearing about it soon." 

Pacing restlessly he ominously wiped his brow. He held up his hand when he saw her leap up in concern.

She trembled when he came to sit by her and took her hands in his.

     "Humaira, I'm embarrassed to say it. I don't know how to tell you ... you have an older sister ..."

She gasped. He covered his face in shame expecting a look of horror and revulsion.

     "What? What did you say, Abbu? What do you mean?"

There was no way out of it anymore. 

Haltingly and through tears, he recounted his first secret wedding with a woman he had met in the US. How, when he came home he had been pressured to give up his wife and remarry. Later he had found out that he had a daughter, but he was separated from her when she was a child. But more recently he had been re-united with her. He had even brought her home to live with them. Now, all he wanted was for his daughters to be together with him under the same roof. 

But ...

Gaffur Siddiqui said all this with his back turned to her, gazing out of the window. Seven stories below, traffic rushed on the road. He turned when he heard the door slam behind. 

His shoulders slumped.

He hadn't even got to the part about his daughter having gone missing since yesterday. Reluctantly he had called the police. But they couldn't help much. He didn't even have a photograph of hers to give them.

Siddiqui was worried. All her belongings seemed to be left behind. But her room had looked as if a tornado had blown through it. The servants just told him that she had taken some bags and called a taxi. The police officer had patronizingly told him that she seemed to have left of her own volition and there wasn't much they could do. 

 

Dr. Sharma told them what Zoya had already known in her being.

So far, so good. It had been more than twenty-four hours since the accident, and if she hadn't spotted yet, then most likely everything was fine. But, she said, they would still need to monitor and check for any abnormalities. Come back in a few days.

And yes, they would have to be careful. No intercourse. 

The doctor was interrupted by the phone ringing. 

Zoya meanwhile, had nearly snorted out loud at her words. She almost dropped to the floor to roll and laugh uproarously.

She didn't. 

But only because she knew that Asad was already praying for the earth to open up and swallow him. She squeezed his hand. This was his mother's doctor after all.

The devil in her had almost whined out loud though: no intercourse? Ever? 

But she held her tongue. 

She was going to be a mama soon; she better start learning how to behave. At least in front of strangers. 

She was dying to ask: for how long? Gee, how do you think we got here, Dr. Sharma? Yeah, that's right! With a lot of intercourse.

But ... 

Zoya counted till ten to hold her giggles in. 

If she asked the doctor when they could have sex, then Asad would ... poof ... just disappear into thin air or explode from embarrassment. 

Like, right here. 

Already he was having trouble breathing. His face was more tamatari than his sister's. And he was an inch away from leaping out of the chair and flying out the door.

The doctor finished with the call and wrote up some prescriptions for pre-natal vitamins, and handed them brochures and reading lists for neo-natal care. 

Asad's breathing normalized. His color was starting to return.

     " 'What to Expect When You're Expecting' is a cult favorite," Dr. Sharma said with a smile. "Troops of women have marched in and out of this office over the years, armed with knowledge from that book alone!"

Zoya nodded in dismay. She'd already bought and downloaded it on her iPad. Barely half way through the first chapter, she was bored out of her wits, and yawning. She really didn't want to know what was going to happen to her body in the next nine months. It looked like a construction zone in there. 

Asad had commandeered it from her, and had already read the first three chapters. 

Of course!

Allah miyan! Her Akdu Ahmed Khan was going to turn into this all-knowing, chart-keeping, whistle-blowing monster who would go all control-freak on her diet and exercise, and when to sleep and how to sleep, and not to run or jump, don't do this, don't— 

Oh, she just knew it! The OCD Khan she had tamed was going to come marching out from hiding and rain down on her like a judge's hammer. 

     "Order, order!" he would yell day and night. "Aapko umar qaid ki sazaa sunayee jaati hai!" 

If he said a word about banning pizza she would— 

And on top of that, to not even be able to have sex with her Jahanpanah? The only way to shut him up and make his mind go blank and forget all rules— 

Bahut na-insafi hai!

Annnhhh!

 

She glared at him with squinty eyes.

Asad reeled back not knowing his offense, but prudently deciding to seal his lips.

Dr. Sharma sniggered. 

All these years, and she still cracked up over silent spats like this between hormonal wives and eggshell-walking husbands. 

As they were leaving the office, Zoya held back.

Asad knew exactly why! He was just too damn embarrassed. 

     "Zoya!" he ground out through gritted teeth, "don't you dare!"

He couldn't get out of here fast enough.

     "But Mr. Khan, I just want to know—"

     "No!" He growled softly and pulled her by her arm.

     She resisted. "You go ahead. I'll just be a minute," she whispered, her eyes flashing. She was this close to getting pissed off at him again. 

     "I said no! There's no need. I'm reading about it, and I'll tell you."

     "No!" She jerked her arm free from out of his fingers. "I want to ask Dr. Sharma when we can have sex," she hollered.

You could hear a pin drop. 

Gasps erupted and mouths gaped in the waiting room.

     "Tell me about it," muttered a visibly pregnant and harried woman. Her husband blushed.

Zoya's hands flew up to slap her traitorous mouth shut. Her eyes could have fallen out of their pretty little sockets. 

She was done for. She'd gone and done it now. She was pretty sure, that when she turned around, she would not find Asad by her side. She wasn't even sure she'd find him in the parking lot. 

Or the same PIN code. 

The old Asad would certainly have fled. 

Or evaporated. 

Or yelled, till he was purple in the face, about tehzeeb and adab and lihaaz and tameez and tarbiat. 

But love and impending fatherhood's glorious dash mein bumboo had unforeseen and maddening effects on Jahanpanahs. 

Asad threw his head back and laughed till tears streamed down his face. 

 

He had continued to chuckle in the car after overseeing her buckle up securely. 

     "I can't believe I just did that!" Zoya covered her face in embarrassment.

     "Believe it! You just did that," he said flatly, as he backed out to drive them home. 

She slapped his thigh.

     "Aapko kya hua hai? How come you didn't go ballistic on me and read me the riot act?" 

     "I almost did. But then I heard that woman, and I couldn't hold it together.

     "And here I thought, Zoya aaj toh tu deewar mein chunvayee jayegi! Imagine going back there again next week! At least I can hide my face by wearing a burqa. What're you going to do, Mr. Khan?" she teased.

     "Oh god!"

     Zoya giggled, "Poor Jahanpanah! Your begum is so shameless." She lifted his hand from the gearhead and kissed the top.

     "It must be right." Asad mumbled a little later.

     "What?" 

     "Nothing."

     "Asad!" 

     "Forget it." He was blushing now. 

     "Jahanpanah!" she threatened. 

     "That women become cranky and horny during pregnancy," he yelled.

     "The book said that?"

     "Yep!" 

     "Great! Just great! And now the sex curfew to live through!" She slapped his thigh again.

     "What? What did I do?" he mock-yelped. 

     "Nothing! Nothing at all!" she muttered mutinously. "Aapko doctor-ordered sex fast bahut mubarak ho!"

     "Shukriya! Aapko bhi!" he snickered. 

     "Oh really?" she drawled. Her eyes glittered dangerously. Her hand moved up higher on his thigh. 

     "No! Zoya! N—!" 

When he threw his head back this time it wasn't to laugh. 

 

Aapi and Dilshad kissed her on the forehead when they got back home.

They had already heard the good news because she had texted earlier. Ayaan and the girls were here too. They were all clustered around the kitchen island busy over something. The girls were whispereing and giggling, and slapping away Ayaan's hands. 

     "Itni der kar di. You ate out?" Aapi asked. 

Asad fled to the bedroom muttering something about an important phone call. 

     Color high on her cheeks, Zoya answered, "ji Aapi."

     Pulling her to the couch Zeenat asked, "kya khaya? Zaroor pizza khaya hoga. Haina?" 

     "Nope. We had chaat, bhel puri and kulfi!"

     "Ya Allah, yeh ladki!" Zeenat slapped her head and spoke in a low tone so the others couldn't hear. They didn't want to tell everyone till they were absolutely sure about the baby's health. "Here both Dilshad Aapa and I are trying to feed you healthy food and ... Aur tum ho ki, sab pe paani pher ke aayi ho! What if you get sick?"

     "Aapi, you know I never get sick!"

     "Zoya! Stop tempting fate!" she cupped her face trying to convince her to improve her ways.

     "Pffft!" 

     "Beta ..." Zeenat flashed her eyes. "Ab toh thodi responsible ho jao! Maa ban ne wali ho!" She hissed. 

     Zoya squinted at her. "Aapi! Don't nag," she pouted.

     "Zeenat," Dilshad came to her bahu's rescue. "Meri bahu bahut samajhdaar hai!"

Zoya stuck her tongue out at Zeenat and edged away. 

     "Badmaash ladki! Sudhar jao! Warna abhi tumhari choti kheenchti hoon!" Zeenat chased after her.

Zoya giggled. She had grown up playing this game with Aapi all her life. She dodged and wiggled, keeping out of arms' length. Easy peasy.

She stopped at the other end of the table and a dimple peeked. 

     "Dieting karaiye akal ko, akal hui hai moti," she recited her favorite sher that she had composed for Aapi in the ninth grade. 

     "Irshad! Irshad!" encouraged Dilshad. 

Humaira watched from afar, fascinated by and jealous of this filial playfulness. In their home, no one was supposed to behave this way with parents. Abbu was too stern, and Ammi never laughed with her like this. 

     "Dieting karaiye akal ko, akal hui hai moti

     How will you kheencho that, when there is no choti!" 

They zigzagged around the dining table. Giving up, Zeenat opened her arms and Zoya ran into them. She let Aapi kiss her by holding up alternate cheeks. 

Dilshad laughed, delighted. By now the others had joined them and were asking Zoya to repeat her shayari. Ayaan was rolling his eyes. Nikhat proudly carried a lopsided cake. It was decorated with random initials made out of Gems stuck into the chocolate icing. 

     "They're our initials," explained Nuzzhat when Zoya looked up quizzically. Nikhat cut a piece and fed it to Zoya. And then she smeared the icing on her cheek, "welcome back and stay well, Zoya Bhabhi!"

Asad leaned against the doorjamb watching these capers and shaking his head. He blushed remembering why they'd been late in coming home.

 

To pacify his frisky wife, he had offered to take her to his office. Everyone would be gone by now. 

     "Won't there be security cameras?" 

     "Uh ... yes, but no one monitors them 24/7. And there're none in my office." he reassured her. 

     "And why exactly are you taking me there, Jahanpanah?" Zoya'd asked coyly.

     He looked down his nose at her. "Oh, you don't want to go? Fine, let's go home."

     "No!" she moaned. "I want you, now!" 

Asad's pulse had leaped and he'd nearly wiped out. The woman just drove him crazy. In his wildest dreams he wouldn't have imagined making this offer. He had very nearly offered the backseat. But somehow, he'd called up his reserves of steely willpower to get them more privacy. 

But lust didn't stop him from driving very carefully or keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. 

They had tumbled through his office door, lips fused and hands untucking each other's clothing. Reluctantly, Asad had moved away to turn on a lamp and shut the blinds. He turned around, and sucked in his breath. 

She stood in the middle of the room, naked. 

He leaned against the desk.

     "Come here," his voice was raw with desire.

When she sailed into his arms, he kissed her bare shoulders reverently. He lifted her up in his arms. With the slightest of nods, he indicated the desk. 

He raised an eyebrow. Or the couch?

Her heart flipped over.

She would have loved the comfort of sinking into the cushions. But the desk had its own seductive appeal. It was too neat, the glass too pristine, the stationery marshaled just a bit too precisely. 

It was too Jahanpanah.

She would mark it. 

She wanted it to carry smudges of her fingerprints when she gripped its edge in hot surrender. She wanted to heat the cooled glass and write their initials in the fogged residue. Tomorrow when he sat at this desk, she wanted him to remember. 

And go rigid with desire. 

And then phone her to seduce her all over again. 

She wanted him to remember her stretched across this very table, when she had swept his preciously ordered papers and supplies off, to enthrone and coronate herself.

 

     "Mrs. Khan, you're a devil with an angel's face and a goddess' body," he said in exasperation and devotion a little later. 

She was draped across his table breathing hard. She had shivered when he first laid her on it. Now her hair spilled over and fanned out. Knowing that they'd be unheard, she had screamed out his name along with other words of hot need. 

She had begged for mercy. 

She had begged for release. 

She had threatened godawful revenge.

The balls of her feet had dragged up and down on the glass making squeaking sounds as she thrashed in the throes of ecstasy. 

Slowly opening her eyes, she put out her hand for him to pull her up. Hopping off the table she had embraced him. 

     "Thank you baby, I needed that. So bad. But I still miss you," she moaned.

She tilted her head back to let him trail kisses down her throat. His fingers warily feathered across her breasts.

     "Does it hurt?" Asad asked with concern.

She had told him about them feeling oversensitive and he had avoided adding to her discomfort. 

     "Yes," she guided his mouth down to offer herself up, "it tickles and burns, but right now it makes me feel ultra-feminine." 

She hissed as his mouth closed over a heat-seeking bud. 

Zoya then dragged him to stand at the front of the desk and sat herself down in his plush leather chair.

     "Your turn," she promised as she unzipped him. 

Her name too had reverberated in the room amidst hissed and satisfied growls of pleasure. His fingers had splayed across the glass and then gripped the edge before entangling in her hair. His body had bowed back and twanged under her fraught ministrations.

     Just before losing control he had pulled her up to him roughly by her hair and whispered in her ear, hotly echoing her earlier pleas, "I know we can't. But oh god! Zoya, I wish I was inside you right now!" 

And she had lost control with him. 

     "Zoyaa!"

 

Later they had cuddled on the chair. 

His hand had crept over to her stomach and warmed it. She had covered his hand with both of hers. They had kissed and tasted themselves. 

His hand had crept lower. 

She jerked in his arms. 

     "One for the road," he whispered.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Abhimaan (1973): "Tere Mere Milan Ki Ye Raina"


	74. Tode Na Tute Kabhi, Jo Dhaga Tumse Jud Gaya, Wafa Ka

 

 

Asad watched Nikhat and Nuzzhat circle and dance around Zoya feeding her cake and smearing it on her face. Her tongue darted out to lick off the icing from her lip and his breath jammed in his chest. That mouth! Just a little while ago it had been on him. 

Hot.

Wet.

Wild.

Like always she had begun by kissing and licking the scar on his stomach. It had a history that she now knew intimately. The first time he'd finally told her about it, after she had issued multiple threats, ultimatums and kasams, she'd cried softly, whispering "I'm sorry," a hundred times over. Oh god, he's gotten that scar the same day they'd met the first time. Fighting the same goons whom Akram had sent to chase her down.

     Asad had kissed her tenderly, and wiped her tears saying, "it's not your fault. I'm just glad you were able to escape from those gundas. And this little scar is a small price to pay if it got what we have today." 

The angry slash, puckered and whitened, had lashed them together seamlessly ever since their first stormy meeting. 

His body had already tightened in anticipation as she had continued lower. A steamy fusion of soft lips, hard teeth and coiling tongue that bit, licked, and sucked. It had made his head snap back and hips buck wildly. His hands had fisted in her hair and he had let out a powerful growl before dragging her up ...

 

Asad's eyes hooded.

She looked at him then, from across the room, and their hungry gazes collided. Zoya saw their recent lovemaking, so satisfying yet incomplete, replay in his stormy gaze. Her hand arrested in mid air.

Unashamed awareness crackled between them.  

Eyes locked, he strode over to her, panther-like, pulling out his handkerchief. Asad lifted his hand to wipe her cheek clean and she lifted hers to cup her hand over his. Their bodies swayed toward each other, hopelessly hypnotized, a snake to a charmer. 

They could have been the only ones in the room.

     "Ahhemm!" went Ayaan. 

     The girls tittered. "Ooh, Bhaijaan!" whooped Nuzzhat.

Zoya's lashes swept across her burning cheeks and her hand fell away.

Asad clenched his free fist. Goddamn chipmunks constantly underfoot! He wanted to smooth his knuckle over that heated skin. He wanted to hold her to him and feel her breath on his chest. He didn't care that everyone was here. His mother. Her Aapi. 

Nothing, no one mattered.

Asad took a deep breath. This hadn't been in the book. 

Was this the baby's doing? The ultimate survivalist? Did a tiny dot of a being pull the heartstrings to knot and knit its parents ceaselessly into each other? 

Playing cupid; this tiny tyrant, god with mischief.

It was the little trickster's wily chaal. 

A puppeteer's primal chhal and kapat: dictating its Ammi Abbu's sexual distance to ensure survival, yet fueling a fierce yearning that never let them forget its mighty tug.

When Zoya's lashes fluttered open, she saw Asad still looking at her. 

Intently.

His gaze glittered: remembering ... reminding ... promising. 

Slowly, deliberately, his hand reached out and fevered fingers circled her wrist. His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist. 

Zoya's heart jolted. 

He had never done this before. Staking public claim. Branding her.

     "After Jahanpanah's fateh," he had said playfully in Agra. 

He may as well have said it. Now. But it wouldn't have been playful.

Her mouth went dry. 

And yet she wasn't embarrassed. 

She was luminous, lambent.

Asad tugged, an insistent partner leading in dance with him. 

     "Say goodnight," he commanded softly.

Her eyes flared wide. 

Everyone gasped, already affected by the raw energy rippling between them.

     Any other time, Zoya would have uttered a mortified, "Mr. Khan!" 

Any other time she wouldn't have needed to. 

She knew he meant business now. If she demurred he would go all caveman on her and toss her over his shoulder. His insistent grip on her wrist and the resolve in his eyes promised just that. 

Just try, he dared.

She shivered.

     "Goodnight," Zoya whispered to the room absractedly, eyes only for him. Heart on her sleeve. 

A floored femme fatale. 

A trophy claimed. A Mallika waving to her subjects.

Nuzzhat giggled, clapping a hand on her startled mouth. 

     "Whoa!" hissed Ayaan when he saw Bhai sweep his Bhabhi into his arms at the door and stalk into their bedroom. 

Without breaking eye contact with her.

The door clicked softly after them. 

 

Humaira's breath had leapt at the electric charge in the room. Something had pulled and pooled in her core and she dared not look at anyone. She wasn't embarrassed; she was on fire.

She dared not think of Ayaan or she'd vine herself around him wantonly. 

Earlier in the day, she had cried in his arms after fleeing Abbu's office. 

What a nightmare! A mother who had blackmailed for eighteen years, and now a father who had a secret family and daughter.

Ayaan had taken her to her favorite coffee shop. Blubbering over a cappuchino, she had told him everything. 

He was aghast. 

His brain buzzed and ears clanged. Ayaan gripped her hand in sympathy.

Her Abbu. Just like his Abbu?

What if he and Nikhat and Nuzzhat had never known that Bhaijaan and Najma existed? Who would he be without Bhai in his life? He had learned his most cherished life-lessons at Bhai's knee rather than Abbu's. 

Ayaan shuddered. The horror mounted. 

Would that lost daughter hate her father as much as Bhaijaan had hated Abbu? Wouldn't she be justified?

His eyes prickled suddenly. What happened to girls who grew up without fathers? Najma at least had had Bhai to look out for her. Suddenly Humaira's bitter words about female helplessness from the day before swarmed in his ears. If girls from rich families, having both parents alive and together, felt that way, then what about girls that had none of these layers of security? Unable to restrain himself, Ayaan knelt by her and ardently pressed Humaira's hand to his lips.

     "Oh god, Humaira! What must have happened to her? Why didn't your father try to find her?"

Her heart warmed. He did understand. He was saying what she had been thinking. 

That day she had lashed out at Ayaan in blind rage. But now guilt rose up to suffocate her. She had lived a life of comfort and security, doted upon by loving parents, spoiled rotten by curtseying servants. And all the while there had been an older sister who had lived at the edge of her golden world, invisible, empty-handed. Huddled at the mercy of strangers' random acts of kindness? Did she ever peep into this world and see a younger sister in the lap of love and luxury? Wouldn't she hate her younger sister?

She had nearly burst into tears all over again. Why couldn't she have had what Ayaan did? An older sibling's mighty shade that protected from the sun's pricks and the rain's darts. 

A sister?

Baaji?

Aapa?

Or Aapi? 

What would she have called her?

Humaira thought back to what Abbu had said. He had found her and brought her home? She would have known sooner if she had been home, or in touch with Ammi. Was this what outsiderness felt like? To know and not touch. She was on the outside looking in now. 

No!

There was no comparison. Self-loathing rose up to choke her.

Even without her parents or a home to call her own, she still had so much more. Ayaan. His family. Zoya Bhabhi. Bhaijaan. Nikhat and Nuzzhat and Najma. Now Omar. 

A part of her wanted to run home and throw herself at that sister's feet. I'm sorry. I didn't know that I lived your life. I stole from you. I robbed you of your birthright. I should have walked in your shadow. I should have worn your hand-me-downs. I should have lived like the second-born that I am.

Ayaan looked at the pageant of emotions on her face as her eyes dripped in guilt and horror. He dropped kisses on her clenched and bloodless fist. His own eyes felt damp. 

     "Humaira? I get it babes. I know what you're thinking. That's how I felt when I realized that we had taken so much away from Bhai and Najma." 

That's why she loved him so much! Humaira broke down completely, grateful, yet heartsore.

But there was another part of her that felt a bone deep regret.

When the doctor that day had asked her if Zoya Bhabhi was her sister, a fierce desire had risen in her to be that sister. Her frantic mind had sought irrational proof and zoomed in on that shimmering image of the music box.  

A golden world exactly like hers.

What an uncanny omen of connection!

That moment the stars had aligned and she had made a mystical decision. She had cut cords and walked away from tainted blood to tie knots with people who felt more like family. It was at that moment that she had pledged to herself that Zoya Bhabhi was the sister she never had, and Bhaijaan a stern but protective Jeeju—a brother she never had.

But that solemn and hopeful oath now lay shattered at her feet. Its scraps mocked her flight of imagination as fantastic self-delusion. You are your mother's daughter, they taunted. You don't deserve a sister like Zoya Bhabhi or Jeeju like Asad Bhaijaan. 

She had been inconsolable. 

And now, looking at the combustible passion between them she had felt a sharp pang of lonely longing. Him carrying Zoya Bhabhi away from her with every step and shutting the door on her was a deathknell. She was an outsider looking in. An exiled voyeur who could peep through a keyhole, but never have what was beyond the door.

Because she didn't deserve it.

 

Raziya gazed out of the car window.

She came here almost daily now. Eighteen years ago she had come here, bitter and enraged ... A cruel cliche. 

She shuffled out now, covered her face with the plain dupatta secured under her eyes, and stepped into the gated compound.

The transformation was stark. No chains and swathes of gold or colorful clothing draped her. She had even let the grey in her hair go uncolored.

Girls in uniforms squealed and played in the grassless field. She went to the back to sign up for her daily task: clearing and manually hauling the trash and washing the latrines in the orphanage.

She had started the day of Humaira's shooting. Some bizarre notion had convinced her that the harder her penance, the better she would be able to bargain with Allah. Take care of my daughter, she pled everyday.

Take me; destroy me, not her.

In an even stranger act of self-loathing, she had stopped taking her medication. Punish me, not her. Don't let the sins of my past ruin my child's life. 

In a fit of delirium she had even attended the Quran Khwani yesterday at the Khan house, incognito. She hoped to catch a glimpse of Humaira to assure herself that she was fine. She promised herself that she would slink away as soon as her eyes caught sight of Humaira. There was heavy security, but after comparing her face to a photograph, the female security guard had waved her in. 

Must be Tanveer's picture. 

She had sat through the service, eyes glued to the back of Humaira's covered and bowed head. She had seen her daughter jump up to her sister's aid each time. Humaira had brought her juice, brushed Zoya's hair off her face, hovered over her asking a hundred times if she was OK, and if she could get her anything. 

Tears had streamed down Raziya's face. They dampened her dupatta that she clutched around her eyes. Zoya and Asad had accepted her in their home and hearts even after knowing the whole truth. But what would Ayaan do when he found out? Rashid? Badi Bi? They would cast her out for being her mother's daughter.

Raziya had nearly sobbed.

When everyone rose to bless Zoya and praise Allah for her having survived the accident without much injury, Raziya had dithered and wrung her hands. She had nearly turned to leave but a hand had stalled her. Nuzzhat was offering juice and sweets. 

A second's delay, and she had been propelled by a wave of women toward Zoya. Her hand had stretched out on its own. It had lingered on her covered head. But as if burned, Raziya had pulled her hand away.

Grasping her slipping dupatta she had fled. 

She walked, not knowing where. She forgot that she had come here by car. The sun beat down on her back. Traffic screeched. Urchins and streetdogs swirled around her. 

Eighteen years ago, she had clinched Humaira's legacy and sealed it in blood and fire.

Today, she had thrown her to the wolves.

Her daughter was at strangers' mercy because of her. Ayaan and Asad were half-brothers. The deep and steady bond between them had been unshakable. 

Unmistakable.

Humaira could have had that. 

Raziya stopped suddenly. A cyclist swerved past and spat out an expletive. She stood rooted, oblivious to him.

Humaira did have that. Now. But for how long?

Shame and desperation clawed at her. 

 

     "Mr. Khan, I have bad news." Rakesh decided to cut to the chase. 

Asad had just returned from a site visit and was trailing his fingers on his desk remembering last night. His spine stiffened. 

     "We lost her." 

Dead silence bristled on the line.

     "How?" Asad hissed. 

     "We followed her out of the Siddiqui house to Badi Masjid. We haven't seen her since. We think she dumped her phone, changed into a burqa, and sneaked away. My guys waited for hours afterwards. There was a big contigent of pilgrims leaving for Ajmer Sharif. There were too many people with bags. I'm sorry." 

Asad felt cold fear race down his spine. With a cautious but bloodthirsty Tanveer on the prowl, things could get very bad. 

Only one thought buzzed through his head: He had to talk to Zoya.

He grabbed his keys. 

 

Everyone looked up in surprise when Asad stormed in.

In the middle of the day? Dilshad and Zeenat had looked at each other and grinned. And then shaken their heads.

Will you, or should I? they seemed to ask each other. 

     "They'll be fine," Dilshad reassured Zeenat in a whisper.

She was confident that the doctor had already told them to be careful, and that these two wouldn't let anything happen to the baby. 

But still. 

All that smolder and steam? 

She'd have to have another talk with them. And soon. Allah! Najma and Omar were coming back this evening. Her house would be a den of randy pheromones and twitchy newly-weds.

     This time Zoya had exclaimed, "Mr. Khan!" when he had grabbed her wrist and dragged her to their room. 

     "We need to talk," he said grimly and her dimples disappeared. 

     "Asad?" she asked in fear. 

Closing the door behind him, he sat her down on the settee and knelt before her. He examined her injured hands for a long time before speaking. 

     "She did this!" he said with barely repressed rage. 

Zoya wrapped her fingers around his face, alarmed for him. He shifted his head to plant a kiss on her palm.

Getting up to pace and release his pent up fury he told her everything. The attempt on Humaira, Tanveer moving to the other house, their surveillance of her, her ordering the accident, and now her disappearance.

Mid-step, Zoya turned him to her and held him. His arms came around her and he breathed in her scent, treasuring the feel of her fullness against him. 

Sitting her back down on the settee he held her hands and knelt before her.

     "Zoya, she's out there. Waiting to strike. She's vicious. I know you'll hate this, but please, I don't want you going anywhere without an escort. In fact, you'll stay home. If you need anything I'll get it for you. I'll take you to the doctor or the Dargah or your mother's gravesite." 

Her lips had straightened into a mutinous scowl. Oh really? Didn't she know it? Right before her very eyes, her charming and sexy Jahanpanah was turning into the old tight-assed Akdu.  

     "Asad, I go to other places too. Shopping? Movies? The Mall! The orphanage? What about the British Council Library? I was planning to go today." 

Asad's eyes bored into hers. They were wide with worry, his skin looked pinched and his eyes and hands around hers pleaded with her. 

     "I know you'll hate this," he'd said. Aww.

     Zoya stroked the frown between his brows. "You're right."

He relaxed. 

     "I do hate this!"

     "Zoya!" he rose, exasperated with her. His fists balled and he looked around frantically for something to smash. "Why don't you understand how dangerous and obsessed this woman is!" Asad dragged his hand through his hair. "She knows common criminals who will do anything for a little cash. And she's flush with a lot of cash right now. How do I make you understand how serious this is?"

His voice was rising. The pulse in his forehead was pounding. Zoya watched him, face resting in her hand. He paced and roared like a caged lion. 

She leaned back and rubbed her stomach.

Look baby, there's your Abbu: crazy with love for us. I can't wait to see him hold you in his arms. Your tiny fingers will curl around and grip his finger ...

     "If something happened to you, I'd die!" her husband was still shouting. 

     "Asad!" she flew to him and into his arms.

She felt horrible for tormenting him. Zoya knew he was right. They had come so close to losing their child because of that hateful woman. And here she was teasing him when he was crazy with worry for her and the baby. 

     "Shh," she soothed him. "I promise I'll do whatever you say—within reason," she flashed her eyes at him.  "I was just pulling your leg." 

     "Pulling my leg!" he growled. "Are you mad?" he nearly shook her by her arms and then hugged her fiercely. "Please, please be safe," he murmured in her hair. 

     "We will be. We have you," Zoya pulled out and framed his face in her hands. "Hmm?" 

Asad squeezed his eyes shut and sighed yes.

     He smiled when she ordered, "now kiss me and make it all better." 

He did, after which Zoya led him to the bed and climbed into his lap after pushing him down.

     "So, now what?"

     "I don't know. I can't think straight. Can't concentrate on work either. I've cancelled two meetings already." Asad scrubbed his brow in frustration. "I'm meeting Rakesh to figure things out, but I needed to let you know first about the danger of taking this too lightly." 

     "We'll just have to think like her." Zoya murmured, deep in thought. 

     He twisted her face around to him: "one, I don't want you thinking like her, probably not good for the baby. Two, she's a sociopath! You're too good and incapable of doing it." 

     Zoya leaped up to stand in excitement, "but Asad! That's just it. When the FBI creates a profile for serial offenders, they get into their heads to predict what the psycho will do next." 

     "Zoya! This is not some American crime drama. This is real life." 

Her eyes gleamed and he already knew that it was pointless to try and talk her out of it. She rubbed her hands together and he knew. That mind was working a mile a minute and up to some hare-brained scheme. 

     "Zoya! No!" he hollered. 

She crossed her arms and pouted. Asad sighed in defeat. If he persisted and threatened, she'd dig her heels in and not even tell him what she was up to. He'd learned this hard lesson from too many well-meaning but not-so-foolproof escapades. Ask forgiveness instead of permission had been the Zoya manifesto. 

     "OK, tell me what's going on in that head of yours," Asad said

     "Her doctor!"

     "Don't you dare go there to snoop into her doctor's office!" Asad roared. 

     "I won't. But Rakesh's people can stake out the place till she shows up." 

Asad looked at her appreciatively.

     "But," he suddenly popped her smug little bubble, "what if she comes in a burqa?" 

Zoya made a face.  She knew he'd reject the next idea outright.

     "Use me as bait at the cemetery?" 

     "NO!" Asad towered over her furiously. "I just may have to handcuff you!" 

     "Oh really Jahanpanah? Do you even remember the last time I was ... I mean, we were ... handcuffed?" Her eyes gleamed. "Only handcuffed to you is qubool hai to me!" and she batted her lashes at him. 

     "Stop trying to distract me. I mean it. You will not do anything that'll get you into trouble. You will not channel your musibat magnet skills!" 

     "Allah Miyan, what's wrong you, Mr. Khan? How can you even say that! Am I always such a musibat? So basically now I'm only good for sex and babies!" 

     "Stop twisting my words," he warned. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

He was disoriented. He wasn't sure if she was really mad or still pulling his leg. 

     Her eyes went coal-black. "All I know is that you think I'm impulsive and thoughtless. You think I'll deliberately put the baby in danger just so that I can have fun playing Sherlock Holmes. You don't trust me! You never have!" 

Zoya stormed out of the room. 

Oh yes, she was mad for real, all right.

Asad slapped his head. 

 

Zoya was blinded by tears of rage and hurt. She wanted so bad to run out of the house and keep running. But after everything Asad had told her about Tanveer and his genuine worry for her, she kept indoors. She looked for a place to hide and lick her wounds.

Thankfully no one was around when she slammed out of the room. 

 

Heart in his mouth Asad dashed out of the room to find the kitchen and living room empty. 

     "Zoya!" 

He ran outside to ask the guard if she'd gone out. 

     "No sir, no one left the house." 

His heartbeat slowed. Thank god, she was still home.  By the time he went inside, everyone was in the living room.

     "Bhaijaan, is everything OK?" asked Humaira. 

     "Yes," he muttered. 

Dilshad hid her grin. First fight. It was long overdue. The two of them hadn't had a drag-down screaming match for sometime now. Zeenat had never seen them fight so didn't know any better. 

     "Where's Zoya?" she asked. 

     "Umm ... voh ... actually ..."

She waited.

     "Uh ... she's resting, and not talking to me," he ended lamely. 

     "Aww," went Humaira and Zeenat.

He was itching to go look for her but didn't want to alarm everyone. Asad went back to the bedroom and tried her number. The phone rang by her bedside. Damn. The terrace? He was half-way up when Prasad called. He had to leave right now. But he couldn't resist sprinting up the stairs to check the terrace. She wasn't there. Storeroom? He raced down. 

     "Asad, what happened?" asked Zeenat as she set the table. "Come have some lunch." 

     "No Aapi, I have to run. But I have to check something real quick in the storeroom."

She wasn't there either. Where—?

There was only one other place where she could be. But he stopped himself. May be she needed to be by herself. He didn't want to crowd her.

Reluctantly Asad left for office to pacify a client who was having a cow about sloppy schedules and unmet deadlines.

He really needed to hire a few more people. 

 

First she had just been mad. But when he didn't come looking for her Zoya started to weep. She heard his car leave and cried bitter and pitiful sobs into Najma's bedcover. 

 

 

 

  


Song in Title:

Jab We Met (2007) "Tumse Hi"


	75. Tumne Mujko Hasna Sikhaya, Rone Kahoge Ro Lenge Ab

 

 

 

 

Asad couldn't concentrate. He kept thinking about Zoya. If only he didn't have to leave without talking to her.

He had worked all through lunch, and nearly threatened to walk off a project.

The client, already antsy about government permit restrictions, over-zealous inspections and fines, had been hinting at cutting corners for days. Today, he had demanded outright that Asad's company do so, even gloating about a possible under-the-table workaround. 

     "I don't want any more delays. Forget redoing the drawings. Or better yet, draw them up and we'll send them in. Doesn't mean we have to stick by the new specifications. I'll take care of shutting these people up," he said with an oily smile. 

Asad had been livid. 

He slammed his laptop shut and rounded on him, face dangerously close to his client's. 

     "Mr. Shah, get this straight. I won't be signing off on anything illegal, or compromise professional ethics. You can get someone else to do that!" he ground out, eyes blazing. "And," he clenched his fist, exerting supreme self-restraint in not grabbing his collar and shaking this grasping, greedy—   Asad exhaled. "You better comply with the updated building codes if you do get someone new or, rest assured, I will report you to the BMC!" 

An intimidated Mr. Shah had stepped back involuntarily. Fixing his suddenly tight collar, he tried to save face, gushing with false bravado. His hands waved wildly. 

     "Good luck with that, Mr. Khan! Your super self-righteousness  and ... this ... this ..." he sputtered, spit pooled in the corner of his mouth, "maha-Gandhigiri won't go too far with all the babus and policticians I have in my pocket!" 

     "But it will with the media," said a dead-calm Asad with a low growl. "With so many buildings collapsing because of irresponsible builders like you, the Indian public has woken up and is demanding change. What do you think will happen if I leak this conversation to the press?" 

He held up his phone. Not that he had recorded anything. The idea had only occurred to him a second ago. In a flash his brain had telegraphed the question: what would Zoya do? And now, seeing the color leave the man's face, he knew his work was done. 

Asad stormed off, glad to get away from this vileness. 

He grinned suddenly. 

Gandhigiri?

No one had ever accused him of that before! Because in another life, he would have punched the man's face in. Red hot anger would have made him beat him to a bloody pulp for even suggesting—  

But it would have solved nothing. Asad scrubbed his face with both hands and looked at his watch impatiently.

He had been blind. 

He knew now why Zoya was upset with him. In blind panic he had reverted to old habits where he viewed the world as only black and white. When he went into his hyper-protective Akdu mode, he didn't think that anyone else would be as careful, or do as good a job as him. It was usually my way, or the highway for him. And most of his life, Ammi and Najma had even let him get away with thinking like that.

Asad rubbed his forehead impatiently.

It had taken him too long to realize that Zoya was just as fiercely protective of their family. Like him, she'd put her life on the line for those she loved. 

In a heartbeat. 

And this was not because she was careless. It was because she cared too much. She had saved Najma from being molested, even gone to jail for it. Like an Amazon she had guarded Ammi from being fatally shot. His blood ran cold each time he thought of how close she had come to being gravely injured herself when she tackled with that hired killer.

A skilled marksman, nearly twice her size, and armed with a loaded gun?

Even now he squeezed his eyes shut imagining the worst. 

And in misplaced fury he had lashed out against her, and— 

Asad raced home, driving like a maniac. He needed to hold her in his arms. He had already called and left a million messages on her phone. He had pleaded, recited couplets from Rumi, and made a thousand promises. He needed to hear her voice. The client meeting had left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed her grace to raise his spirits and feel grateful about the world again.

 

After a night of restless tossing and turning, Humaira resolved to talk to Abbu.

It must have been so hard for him to do what he did. Maybe she was even proud of her Abbu for owning up to his responsibilities in the end. And, Humaira owed her sister that much. She would do it for her, if not for Abbu. She didn't want her sister to think that Humaira had fled the house because their father had brought her home. She just hoped that Ammi was at least being civil to her. 

Humaira felt ashamed once again. 

She had come close to losing Ayaan because of Ammi. Please don't make me lose Baji because of her too. 

     "Abbu?" she whispered when he picked up the phone.

He sounded weary. Her gut clenched. She missed him and being home. With a pang, she finally admitted to herself: she even missed Ammi.

     "Umm ... Abbu, I would like to meet Baji ... I mean Aapi, I think." Her voice tapered off into a strangled silence. 

She heard him clear his throat.

     "Beta, I am so happy to hear you say that. But there's a problem." 

Her heart caught. Oh my goodness! She could imagine him removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes in worry.

     "What is it Abbu? Is Ammi OK?"

     "Humaira ... it's your sister. She's ... she's missing." 

     "What?! How?"

     He sighed. "I don't—" 

     "Hang on, I'm coming over right now, Abbu!"

She dashed out with her bag and nearly toppled Phuphi who was coming to knock on her door. 

     "Humaira beta, careful! What happened? You look worried," Dilshad asked, worried herself. 

     "I have to go to Abbu's office, Phuphi. I'm sorry. I'll call a taxi." Her words tripped over themselves. 

     "No, don't. We'll drop you on the way." 

 

The tires squealed on the driveway as Asad braked sharply.

Inside, the house was empty. Where—?

There was a hand-written note taped to their bedroom door. 

     "Zoya-

     We are going to Abbu and Chhoti Ammi's place. Make sure that both of you come over as soon as Asad comes home. Shireen has invited us all to welcome the honeymooners there. Tell Asad that Ayaan and Abbu will pick them up from the airport.

     -Ammi" 

He crept inside cautiously. They must have thought that she was still resting. But the bed was pristinely made. Her phone was still on the side table. She wasn't in the restroom either. Grabbing her phone, he ran up the stairs to Najma's room. 

His face fell. 

Here too the bed was perfectly made. Asad almost stepped out. But the AC was on. He walked up to the open restroom door. 

His heart plummeted. 

She wasn't here either. He turned to walk away, but the lopsided arrangement of the pillows snagged his attention. One pillow was missing. 

Asad smiled. 

He actually went down on his knees to look for her under the bed. 

She wasn't there. He looked around in bewilderment. The restroom's open door beckoned again. This time he stepped into the room and nearly laughed. 

She was actually curled up in the bathtub!

Only Zoya!

Cushion under her tear-streaked cheek, she slept peacefully. He almost reached his hand out to brush the hair off her face, but stopped. 

She had stayed back for him. The old Zoya would have run to the Dargah or her dead mother's side to cry her heart out. 

He stood up. 

Taking her phone out of his coat pocket he put it on the tub's edge. 

He had an ambush to plan. 

 

Humaira had rushed to hug Abbu. 

     "What happened, Abbu? Tell me everything. From the beginning," she ordered after settling him down on the sofa and handing him a glass of water.

His mouth parted in mute wonder. Gaffur Siddiqui had never seen this side of his daughter. Timid and demure, she had never raised her voice before him. He was surprised by her take-charge attitude. When had she grown up? He looked into her face as she leaned over him with her hand on his shoulder. Taking her hand in his, he patted the sofa next to him. 

Somehow, it was easier to talk this time. He had seen the deep concern in her eyes and no longer feared any judgment from her. He leaned on her maturity and strength, and slowly told her all: his guilt, regret, and above all, his disappointment. He had hoped that he would feel more love for his long-lost daughter. But she had lived like a stranger with them. He didn't feel close or connected to her. He had often caught her looking at him with contempt in her eyes. Maybe, she really hated him for what she had gone through? 

Silent tears ran down his wrinkled cheeks.

Humaira clasped his hand in hers. Pity and sympathy warred in her. Some part of her understood her sister's aloofness. Why would she feel any human connection to a man who had abandoned her to be raised by strangers in a cruel world? She was even more sure now that her sister would never forgive her, let alone accept her. 

Her heart twisted.

Since Abbu had last told her about having an older sister, in some corner of her mind, she had woven stupid, sappy little dreams of having an Aapi who would welcome her with open arms. They would cry together, and Humaira would beg for forgiveness. Through tears, her sister would pat her head and wrap her in her arms.  

Moron! You're such a fool to even think that it would be so easy. Not everyone is like Asad Bhaijaan and Najma who never held anything against their siblings. 

She ordered coffee for him.

     "What did the police say, Abbu?" 

He sighed heavily, and went on to tell her about the lack of any leads.

     "Beta, I must be getting old and forgetful. I don't even have a photograph of hers." He hung his head in his hands.

     She massaged his back. "It's not your fault." 

Humaira stared out of the window, depressed and uneasy at Abbu's self-deprecation and helplessness. She felt torn. 

A part of her wanted to move back home so that she could watch over Abbu. But if she did, wouldn't it be betraying Ayaan and his family? But Abbu needed her ... 

     Suddenly she whipped around, "but Abbu! What about a sketch artist? Didn't the police say they could do that?" 

     Her father's eyes burned with hope and surprise. "What a great idea!" 

He leaped to his desk to talk to the Police Commissioner.

Later he hugged her and kissed her forehead.

     "He said that they don't do it officially for missing persons. But he can send an independent artist who would be able to help." Gaffur Siddiqui looked fondly at his child. "Bahut samajhdaar ho gayee ho tum. And I'm so proud of you that you don't resent her, and are even helping to bring Tanveer home." He patted her head lovingly.

     "Tanveer?" 

     "Didn't I tell you? That's her name." 

The name sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn't place it. She was sure she'd heard that name before though. 

 

When Zoya's phone rang she popped up, disoriented. 

What time was it? The room was darker, the sun had moved to the other side of the house.

Then she saw where she was, and her lips drooped in self-pity.

Pregnant, alone and weeping herself to sleep in the bathtub! 

Great job, Zoya! 

How far you've come along to become a sorry cliché. From the Big Apple to Bhopal. Her mouth watered. Suddenly she was craving a slice of warm apple pie from Marie Callendar's. With a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side. To die for.

The phone rang again. It was Asad. She saw the number of missed calls and messages, and a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. Had he been calling all this while? And how did her phone even get here? 

Her heart lifted. 

Akdu Ahmed Khan was home! 

Smiling more broadly now, she put the phone to her ear. His low voice gave her goosebumps. 

     "Mere khwabon mein apke saaye hain,

     Meri tanhayeeyon mein aap khalal deti hain,

     Mere andheron mein aap roshni ban ke aati hain ..." 

Her breath caught. 

The same words. 

Almost. 

     "Agar aap mujhe itni napasand hain, toh mere khwabon mein apke saaye kyun?

     Agar aap mujhe itni buri lagti hain, toh kyun meri tanhayeeyon mein khalal deti hain?

     Kyun mere andheron mein roshni ban ke aati hain?" 

His first near-confession from that night when they had come so close, and then been ripped apart. Zoya closed her eyes, savoring the memory. The words had been questions then, but they transformed into a renewing of the vows now.

He continued. Huskily. 

     "I resisted so hard, for so long, but ... you bewitched me, body and soul.' "

Her head fell back against the tub's edge and her heart knocked in her chest. 

Hot damn! 

Playing unfair, Mr. Khan. Quoting from her favorite Austen film!

She had forced him to watch it with her, and he'd been caught up in it soon enough. After watching the film she had poured over favorite passages on her iPad, and read them to him. Now, her crafty Akdu was channeling Mr. Darcy. 

Devious! 

Ingenius! 

How was she to resist? 

Leaping out, she splashed cold water on her face, smoothed her hair, and flew down the stairs. Zoya slammed into their room, breathing hard, phone still desperately clutched in her hand. 

She drank in the sight before her. 

Changed into jeans and a black shirt—Allah miyan, black shirt! he leaned against the windowsill, legs casually stretched out, crossed at the ankle. Head bent, he made adjustments to the guitar in his lap. 

He didn't look up. 

As she stepped in, Asad began strumming a tune guaranteed to melt her into a slushy, squishy mess. 

Their song!

Very impressive Mr. Khan! 

She should have known. The make-up wooing would have to be meticulously planned and executed. Jahanpanah style! He wouldn't have had it any other way.

Picking up a pad and a pen from the table, she glided over to his side of the bed and sat down to listen, elbow on knee, face in her hand. He had his laptop open on the console and was following the chords on some webpage. As the music faded, their eyes met. She wrote something on the pad and held it up for him to see. 

It was the number six. 

He grinned. 

Asad leaned over to set the instrument on its stand but she took it from him to hug it in delight.

Carefully replacing it in the stand she ran into his arms for a tight, overdue hug. 

     "I'm sorry," he whispered in her hair. 

     "Me too! I missed you so much." 

     "I do trust you, you know that, right? They may be messy, but your instincts are always right!" He rocked her to him. "I know better now. You can take care of yourself. I know you'd never do anything reckless ... well, you would. But only to protect our family. I get it." He hugged her tighter to him, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "But I go crazy worrying about something bad happening to you." 

She burrowed in deeper, nose in his neck, inhaling deeply 

     Lifting her chin he asked solemnly, "do I really need to tell you how much I love you?" 

     Zoya raised her lips to his, "you already did, with all the high-octane charm offensive. But I can never get enough!" Her voice dropped to a throary murmur, "tell me again ..." 

     Asad stroked her lips with his thumb, and pressed his lips to her ear, "... saanson se uljhi rahen meri saansein ..." 

     "Bol na hall halke," she hummed.

He kissed her.

Pulling apart, he grinned down at her devilishly. Asad waved Ammi's note under her nose and wagged his eyebrows. 

     Zoya grabbed it from his hands and gasped. "The whole house to ourselves?" 

     "And, I have more good news," Asad nuzzled her nose with his. His raised an eyebrow, remembering ... 

She had desperately tugged him awake late last night.

     "Asaaddd!" she'd arched and thrashed. 

Alarmed, he had switched the lamp on.

     He'd looked at her blearily, hardly aware of the volley of questions that flew out of his mouth: "Zoya! Are you OK? Is it the baby? Does it hurt?" 

     She'd wiggled against him mercilessly and moaned, "yes, it hurts dammit! Intercourse! I want in-ter-course!" 

He didn't know whether to laugh or yell. Chuckling softly, he had chosen foreplay and partial gratification instead. 

     "What's the good news?" she now begged impatiently, bouncing on her feet, hands fisted on his shirt. 

     He swung her up in his arms. "Dr. Sharma called. The CBC panel results came back fine. All's good." 

She smiled, and then her eyes got stormy. 

     "Yes, the curfew's been lifted." He nearly staggered with the shock of her gleeful shriek. 

They tore off each other's clothing. Some buttons flew, and seams came close to being ripped. Another shirt got added to the growing pile of shirts that needed mending. Tomorrow, she promised herself, I'll get to them tomorrow. She had become an expert button-sewing domestic diva after all, thanks to all the practice! 

Even though they had the whole house to themselves, they still ended up making love in their bed. It was slow. And sweet. They left the door wide open to broadcast their intimacy from room to room. Zoya moaned his name out as her nails raked his back. She would have screamed, but he swallowed her cries. The christened house wrapped them in its private embrace, its corners intimately remembering words spoken by a new guest from New York, eight months ago: 

     "Aapke ghar mein mohabbat hai 

     Iss kadar chhayee hui,  

     Deewaren tak lovers hain, 

     Kono mein mila karti hain." 

 

     "Happy, Mrs. Darcy?" he asked later, nuzzling her ear.

     "Incandescent, but call me Mrs. Khan," she breathed. 

Asad snickered and lifted her hand to kiss her knuckle. His eyes widened in shock. 

     "Zoya!" he held her face in his hands urgently, "did I make you cry so much?" 

     He knew that when she cried hard she stopped up her sobs by shoving her fists in her mouth. He massaged the tiny bruises and kissed them, "I'm so sorry, baby." 

     "No!" she rushed to reassure him. "It wasn't you ..." 

     "You're just saying that to make me feel better." 

     Zoya rose up on her elbow to stroke his brow, "no, really. It was about what you told me about ... Ab—  Abbu taking her home with him." Fresh tears pooled in her eyes as she whispered, "he really would have accepted me?"

     He crushed her to him. "Of course he would've! He doesn't know what he missed out on. It's his loss. You'd have been the best thing to happen to him." Asad spanned her stomach possessively, "like you are, to me." 

They lingered and talked in each other's arms. Asad told her about his client and watched the expressions of anger and alarm flit over her face. But soon her eyes widened in delight and pride and she hugged him tight. 

     "So kickass! I wish I was there to see his face!" 

     But suddenly the color drained from her face as fear clutched her heart. "But Asad, people like him know dangerous criminals. What if he tries to ...?" She was unable to go on. Manglapur flashed before her stricken eyes. Her fingers convulsed on his shoulders. 

He chuckled.

She punched him.

He burst out laughing. 

     "Mr. Khan, it's not funny! You may be Jahanpanah, but you're not invincible!" she yelled, outraged. "What if he sends gundas to threaten you—?" 

     Asad held her flailing fists. "You don't see the irony in this?" 

     Eyes slitted, she sat up pulling the sheet to her chin. She cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean?" 

     "This morning I was saying the same thing to you about Tanveer knowing dangerous people." 

     "Hmm ..." she lowered her gaze.

     "Hmm, what?" he prompted.

     She let out a long martyred sigh, "OK fine, I'll be careful if you're careful. Deal?"

     "Done. But I want you to be extra careful." 

She glared at him. 

     "Please, for me? You know she would have burned the house down without a second thought. And at that time it was just for the money. Now, it's personal for her." 

     Zoya's eyes softened, her pouting mouth curved, "OK, I promise." 

He had told her about Tanveer being the one behind the gas leak. She still stewed about that. How dare that woman try to harm her family? 

     "We better start getting ready," she reminded him.   

     "Unhhh!" Asad fell back on his pillow and covered his face with an arm.

She knew how much he hated parties. 

She kissed his shoulder.

     "It'll only be family," she cajoled. 

He snorted. 

     "Well, Omar's side of family too. Fine, rest. I'll shower first, then you can get ready." 

Asad lowered his arm. His hooded gaze followed as she rose, naked and breathtaking. He watched Zoya tie her hair in a bun as she went to the closet to retrieve a towel, and then enter the washroom. A minute later he heard the shower run.

Flinging the twisted sheet back, he strode in after her. Why waste water on two solo showers when one would do just as well? One of their prenuptial vows had been water conservation after all. 

 

     "Omar, I swear I'll kill you!" Najma hissed loudly.

When he wasn't teasing her or pinching her, her husband was pretending to ogle young women around the airport knowing how steamed she'd get about it. She had glared at him, but by now he had become an expert at dodging her shin-kicks. 

     "I'll just have to send you back to the US with a chastity belt," Najma had muttered a couple of days ago when he was doing the same at the beach. 

He had laughed outrageously at that. But seeing her wistful expression Omar had sobered up pretty quick.

Their days together were limited. Each day was inexorably counting down to a long separation. Entire continents and time zones would divide them. He had pulled her into his arms then, not caring who saw, and kissed her hard. 

     Embarrassed, Najma had struggled in her husband's embrace and he leered down at her, "let them see and be jealous of us!" 

She had blushed a deep red when some people had passed by, whispering and giggling. But then she forgot about them and remembered only the feel of his skin against hers. 

Even now, as they wheeled their bags towards the entrance she reddened thinking about how she'd never be able to look at Bhaijaan and Ammi. Zoya better be there to receive us or I'm just going to die, she thought. Of course Zoya would be there. Wild horses wouldn't keep her away. But then Najma rethought things, Zoya better not be there. She'll tease and deliberately ask embarrassing questions. Bhaijaan would blush, but say nothing to stop her. And with both her husband and Bhabhi ganging up on her, she wouldn't stand a chance. 

Najma covered her face.

They had hardly stepped out of the hotel room or the houseboat this past week. Each time she had wanted to go out, Omar had yanked her back into bed.

     "No point wasting time on sightseeing. You're all I need to see. Let's do some Omar and Najmaseeing." 

     He had memorized random lines that he'd keep reciting and repeating whenever she demanded to go out: "Gar Firdaus barrue zamin ast, hami asto, hami asto, hami asto." 

     "Isn't that about Kashmir?" she asked the first time he had used that phrase to cancel her petition for a walk on the beach. 

     "You're my Kashmir. My heaven on earth." He placed his thumb on her swollen lips, "it is here." Omar then trailed his fingers down her cleavage, "it is here." As he moved lower, she slapped his hand away. 

     "It is not here!"

He managed to convince her otherwise quite easily. 

     "Say it," he commanded later.

     "It is here ..." she breathed. 

     "But what'll I say when someone asks, how was Kerala, what did you see?" Najma asked after her breathing had slowed and her head had finally stopped spinning from a dizzying climax. 

     "Tell them to go find out for themselves. Tickets are quite reasonable. Tell them that you saw the inside of a hotel room, in fact, mostly a lot of the room's ceiling!"

     "Omar!" 

     He had trailed kisses all the way down. With a rough voice, he had whispered, "tell them that you saw Kerala on the inside of your eyelids while your husband was taking a slow tour down your body." 

Most days they had turned down housekeeping. The pile of room service dishes outside their room kept getting bigger. 

     He had tried to emotionally blackmail her the first couple of days: "Sure, let's go sightseeing. We have all the time in the world. So what if you won't be _seeing me_ for five or six months after this." 

But that would make her cry. 

But eventually they did have to go out to restock on supplies the third day. Pure necessity. Omar had proudly displayed the empty package of condoms and she had covered her face with her hands. She had resolutely turned her face away in the car as he stopped at a Chemist's shop. This was so embarrassing! 

     Back in the car he had jiggled the paper bag: "Dinner or dessert?" 

     "Dinner," Najma said sweetly. 

Dessert was guaranteed after all. 

She looked up now and saw Ayaan Bhaijaan scanning the crowd. Abbu was by him. Her heart stopped. Najma rushed over. 

     "Bhaijaan, Abbu! Aap yahan? Is everything OK? Ammi? Asad Bhai?"

Rashid placed a hand on her head as Ayaan and Omar shook hands and bumped fists. 

     "Sab theek hai, beta. Can't a father come to pick up his daughter and son-in-law? 

 

That evening as he parked the car in the building's visitor lot, Asad tugged her hand before she stepped out. Hand on the door lock, Zoya turned to look up at him in surprise. 

Eyes glittering, he jerked his chin half an inch. 

     She gasped aloud. "Asad!" she whispered, aroused and shocked. "No!"

He locked the car doors and crossed his arms. 

     "Do it," he ordered quietly. 

She blushed a deep red. As they'd left home he'd teased her about going commando. She had giggled and then forgotten about it all in the car ride over. 

It was obvious he hadn't. 

     "Now," he said roughly as his hand tightened on her wrist. 

Her body zinged in awareness. 

Silently, in slow motion, she shrugged her arm from his grasp. Unable to take her eyes off from his, she obeyed. She bent to raise her saree and lifted her butt to slide the panties off her legs. The feel of her own fingertips on her sensitized skin aroused her even more. As she slid them down, they got caught in her heels; she heard him swear under his breath. 

Zoya tried to discreetly tuck them away into her tiny sequined purse. With a groan, Asad snatched the black lace scrap from her and stuffed them in his pocket instead. Her flesh burned under the intensity of his gaze. She rubbed her thighs together and her back arched involuntarily. 

Oh god, all evening would be exquisite torture. He would make sure of that. 

Even in the elevator, if the lift boy hadn't been there, he would have taken her against its smoky mirrored walls. 

     As they got off the elevator, Zoya whispered, "I didn't know that my pregnancy would be such an aphrodisiac for you!" 

     "That writer should write about the libidos of husbands of pregnant women," Asad muttered.

     Finding the corridor empty he pulled her in for a hard, punishing kiss that threatened an evening of subtle, yet public foreplay. "Better yet, may be I'll write that book!" 

Luckily Dilshad opened the door. Her smile turned upside down as she rubbed off the dregs of his wife's lipstick from the corner of his mouth with her dupatta. 

     "Allah, Tum dono!" she muttered in frustration. She tut-tutted in dismay. She had just read her daughter and son-in-law the riot act. Now these two. 

     "Behave now! Don't make me come over and yell at you again." 

She probably shouldn't have said that. It only made him bolder. 

As their eyes tangled with each other behind her back, her son tilted his head again. A fraction of an inch. Zoya's lashes brushed her pinkening cheeks.

The hunt was on. He had issued fair warning.

His eyes chased and stalked her all evening long, keeping her in a constant state of fluttery, misty arousal. Her back, covered only with silken doris hungered for his touch. For a brief second she had even felt his thumb snag in the doris and rub against her skin as he pulled her to introduce her to a distant relative. Her blouse felt tight, suddenly constricting. She wanted him to cup her possessively, relieve the pressure, to feel his finger and thumb stroke, twist and tease her. She wanted to feel his palm on her stomach high-fiving their baby and reassuring: Abbu's here.

How does this happen, she wondered. How do warm maternal instincts silkily lace together with white hot lust?   

She was surrounded by the girls who were teasing Najma. No one noticed Zoya being preoccupied, or her eyes darting away every two seconds. With quickening breath she watched Asad from afar. His fingers curled around a glass and he raised it to take a sip of his drink. His lips curved around the crystal, and she nearly moaned. When he shoved his hand into his pocket and looked straight at her, her knees melted, as liquid as the drink he held in his hand.

 

A half hour later, he dragged her to the balcony that wrapped around the whole flat on all three sides. 

     "Asad, what are you doing? Everyone will see!" 

     "Let them. I want you now." 

     She gasped. "Ammi will kill us!"

He pushed her deeper into a recessed corner behind a pillar. So high up, they could still hear the traffic below. Raucous Bollywood music thumped inside. Asad pressed against her and she moaned. A water fountain gurgled close by and occasionally splashed them. 

He kissed the side of her neck. Open-mouthed, hot kisses that set a trail of fire.

      "Oh god, Asad!" she breathed. She felt voluptuous. Silken. Sinful. Her head rolled against the wall as he bit her neck and sucked on it. She swayed and started to grind against him. 

     "Now, please!" she urged, turning renegade. "Take me!"

     "Zoya!" he groaned against her beseeching skin.

In a flash, he'd raised her saree and petticoat. His fingers feathered between her thighs. Zoya squeezed them together. She arched as much as her trapped body would allow. Scattered cold droplets from the fountain hit the fevered flesh on her bare legs; she shivered and hissed.

When Asad stroked her more intimately he groaned. She was so wet for him, slippery, and so swollen.

And so ready.

Her breath came in gasps. She was this close to spilling.

     One hand under her chin, he bit out harshly, "look at me when I enter you." 

Zoya nearly cried out. But her eyes closed in erotic desperation as she felt him plunder and plunge in to possess her.

     Bracing one hand on the wall behind her, and clutching her hip with the other, he drove in, still commanding, "Zoya, look at me!" 

She opened drugged eyes to let him brand her with his burning gaze.

Her mouth parted and he dipped his head to slide his tongue in. And to silence her.

In the distance they heard voices and his rhythm grew more insistent. Zoya wiggled desperately, embarrassed and aroused as she had never been before. 

Shrieks of laughter and squeals grew louder. 

She mewled and whimpered. Her hands dug into his hair, molding the shape of his skull. 

     "Where's Zoya Bhabhi?" she thought she heard Nuzzhat. 

Her hips churned wildly as she felt herself spill over. Arms clasped around his neck, Zoya pressed her lips to his temple to stop herself from keening like a cat in heat. As her body went limp he continued to plow harder into her. 

     "Oh my god, Asad," she breathed, her muscles still convulsing around him. "You consume me!" 

He shuddered to a climax dragging her along with him for another one. 

     "Zoyaa!" he exhaled in her hair, "I love you." 

She started to cry softly. 

     "Zoya, what is it? Tell me," he asked, worried, as they finished readjusting their clothes. 

     "I'm scared of this. Tell me we'll always be together, happy in each other like this?"   

     He drew her to him in a fierce embrace and tucked her head under his chin. "Always. I pray for it everyday, baby. Every single day."

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Junglee (1961): "Ehsaan Tera Hoga Mujhpe"


	76. Jeeti Rahe Saltanat Teri, Jeeti Rahe Ashiqui Meri

 

 

Even in the midst of that tingling and throbbing lust fog, Zoya had been acutely aware of Najma and Omar's glum faces. She felt an odd kind of guilt. 

Survivor's gloom. 

She would have her husband close by to hold and love; her friend would not. The newlyweds would spend the night at his relatives' place and Omar would leave tomorrow. Six months of lambi judai! If she had to live away from Asad for a half a year, she would go insane and drive others around her insane as well. 

Her heart ached for Najma. As they sat huddled together in Nikhat and Nuzzhat's room, Zoya held her weeping sister-in-law in her arms, nearly in tears herself. 

Najma felt so grateful for Zoya's silent understanding. 

She didn't want to moon and mope around too obviously in front of Bhaijaan and Ammi. How embarrassing. They would think that just in a few days her husband had become all-important to her. More than the two people who had doted on her all her life. But she could be free and honest in front of Zoya. Through tears she could express her deep grief and fears. 

Zoya wiped and kissed her cheeks.

     "I'm so sorry Tamatar. I wish I could do something so that you could go with him or he could stay longer!" 

     Najma smiled through her tears. "I know Zoya. And I know, if you could do it, you would. Even I wish you were some kind of a fairy godmother who'd wave her magic wand!" 

     Zoya hugged her tight. "No, you don't want me as a fairy godmother. I might mess up the charm and turn Omar into a pumpkin! Or a frog. Your Bhaijaan would kill me. And you would have to kiss the frog all your life to turn him back into a prince!" 

     Najma sniffed. And laughed. "Thanks. I feel so much better now!"

     "NOT!" they both said at the same time and dissolved into giggles yet again. 

     She held her Bhabhi's hand, "Zoya, I'm so glad I have you. I'd be embarrassed to share any of this with Ammi or Bhai. They'd think 'kitni jaldi parayee ho gayee.' " 

     Zoya knelt in front of her, "paagal Tamatar! Why do you think your Bhaijaan and Ammi will judge you for being in love? Ammi is thrilled that you're happy and have found her the best damaad. He's only second to her best bahu! And your Bhaijaan? You know I'll take care of him!" she retorted smugly. 

Najma grinned. 

     "No, but seriously," Zoya went on, "he would never think that. He's not happy that you're all grown up and married. In fact, he wishes you'd waited a whole year to get married." 

Najma snorted. 

     Zoya laughed at that sound. "Exactly what I told him! But," she brushed her fingernails against her saree and blew on them, "thanks to your super-Bhabhi, he knows exactly what it's like for two people to be in love and miss each other like crazy." 

     "Zoya! I don't need to know about my brother's love life. Jeez! La la la la la la la la ..." Najma rattled on, blocking her ears with her palms. 

Offended, Zoya looked at her in mock-anger, fists on her waist.

     "Oh really? Then let's talk about your love life, and how much of Kerala you really saw! Not much, right? Let me guess. The houseboat nearly capsized, hai na? Did the fish blush?" 

     "Zoya!" Tamatar flamed tamatari, and fled the room.

     "Najma!" her Bhabhi hissed, "wait up!"

     "And you would know?" taunted Najma, making the mistake of continuing their honeymoon show-and-tell oneupmanship.

     "Well, we weren't on a houseboat so I wouldn't know about that, but a certain train sure rocked a lot!" 

     "Zoya!!" Najma groaned and covered her face.

Her Bhabhi grabbed her arm and they guffawed with their heads together.

And that's how Asad found them.

His heart warmed seeing them like this. He would forever be grateful that he had fallen in love with and married a girl who loved his family as much as he did, if not more. He drew Najma into a side hug and dragged Zoya to his other side, looking down into her eyes with silent gratitude.

     "Hey, why wasn't I invited to the party?" called out Omar. Najma blushed and ducked her head into her brother's shoulder.

Asad frowned at the intrusion, forgetting for a second that his baby sister was married to this interloper. Omar insinuated himself in between them shamelessly, surreptitiously drawing Najma closer.   

     "Zo, I'll be needing your butt-kicking services," Omar looked at her archly. "Your Raabert is bugging me about going out afterwards for dancing, sundaes and coffee." 

     She saw Najma's face fall and patted his arm, "don't worry kids. Mona darling is fairy godmother, and she'll fix everything." 

A much-happier Najma beamed.

     "Oh really?" Asad asked, "how is Mona darling going to do that? And what needs to be fixed or kicked exactly? I thought everyone would be very happy to go gallivanting in the middle of the night, except for me."

     Zoya looked at him pointedly, trying to telegraph her friends' dismay, "you'd be very surprised Mr. Khan!" She dug her elbow into his side, "umm, Mr. Khan, Dadi wanted to talk to you." 

He looked down at her quizzically, head cocked to the side. 

How did she know Dadi wanted to talk to him? Her phone hadn't rung. And if Dadi wanted to talk to him, why didn't she tell him sooner?

His wife dragged him away babbling non-stop about how forgetful he was, and hadn't she already told him this. She turned to wink at Najma, while clinging to her confused Jahanpanah's arm. She giggled as she saw Omar drag his blushing bride away while giving his accomplice an enthusiastic thumbs up. 

     "Zoya!" Asad shook off her hand in annoyance. "What is all this? And why are you herding me? I wanted to ask Omar something. Where'd he go?"

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong you Mr. Khan?! Couldn't you see that the poor things needed time alone? What else was I supposed to do?" 

He groaned clutching his forehead. 

     "Oh god, he better not—"

     "What? Do what we just did?" 

     Asad blushed a tomato-red himself. "Will you stop putting such images in my mind, woman? She's my kid sister for god's sake!"

     "Mr. Khan! They are married, in love, and about to be parted for a good half year. They need all the time they can steal. Don't be so mean."

     "Mean? You think I was doing that on purpose?" he glowered at her.

     She glared back at him, "yep, because you are a total pyaar ka dushman, Tayyab Ali!" 

     "Pyaar ka dushman!" Asad roared pointing an accusing finger. "You better have lots of badaam Mrs. Khan, because I don't want my child to have selective amnesia like its mother!"

 

     "Allah!" behind them, they heard Dilshad groan, "ye dono! When they aren't being besharam lovebirds, they are fighting!" 

     Zeenat giggled as she slipped her arm in Zoya's. "Aise hi ladte the ye dono?" 

     "Din raat. For six whole months, Zeenat! Every morning and every evening, this is what Najma and I would wake up to, and go to bed seeing. Sher cheete ki ladai!" She sighed, "I should have sold tickets!" 

Dilshad, an ironic bard, continued giving her samdhan an excerpted account as the warriors of her epic saga glared each other down—one, arms folded across his chest, the other, fists planted firmly on her waist. 

Dilshad re-enacted some cherished memories:

     "Aap musibat hain!"

     "Aap 17th century se hain!"

     "Aapko rishton ki ehmiyat nahin hai!"

     "Aap judgmental and Akdu hain!"

     "Aap ko apni hadein nahin pata hain!"

     "Aap pathar dil hain!"

     "Aap ... voh ... actually ... main ..."

     "Aap emotionally challenged hain!"

     Zeenat loved it. "I wish I had been here to see this!" 

     "Arre Zeenat, ye to sirf trailer tha! I have never seen my son behave this way." 

     "So cute," Aapi laughed, delighted, as she saw Asad blushing. She patted his back, "bahut tang kiya meri Zoya ne?" 

Asad's eyes had already begun to soften as he heard his mother replay six months' worth of turbulent chemistry between the two of them.

     "... Bas, thoda sa," he said softly, eyes only for Zoya. 

Both had imperceptibly lurched toward one other.

     "Par maine bhi innko kafi tang kiya." He had intended to say it playfully, boastfully. But it came out as a plea for forgiveness for every time he had ... 

She was right. He had been mean. 

     "Mera baccha," Zeenat caressed Zoya's cheek. "So far away from home, all alone, and seedhe sher ke pinjare mein chhod diya?" Aapi dug her elbow playfully into Zoya, fully expecting her to come back with her trademark, "oh really?" or "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you?"

But Zoya remained silent. Her own eyes had softened. She knew what he was thinking.

We were different then, Mr. Khan, she pleaded. Don't beat yourself up about that time. 

We have now. 

Today. 

And so many tomorrows.  

She grinned up at him impishly. 

Those fights were just foreplay. Sensuous, heated mating dances. Each time we fell into each other's arms, it was a slow dance; just a preview of love to come. And Aapi, if we hadn't fought all those months, this would be our second pregnancy, nikaah, or no nikaah!

     "Lekin aaj kal, these two drive me crazy by not fighting!" Dilshad joked, already sensing the smoldering change between the two of them and rolling her eyes. "Convent school ki Mother Superior ki tarah, I have to play monitor!"

     "Bad cop," quipped Zeenat. 

     "Ammi Havaldaar!" snorted Zoya, waving an imaginary baton. 

     "Restraining order ki kami hai bas, or may be hathkadis to opposite ends of the room!" teased Dilshad.

Happily she watched them smile a secret smile. Hathkadis brought back secret memories. 

     "Ammi, please!" 

Dilshad laughed as she saw her son stalk away from all this female-dominated domestic psychoanalysis and forensic indictment. 

     "Mr. Khan," his wife called out, "Voh, Ayaan—"

     "I'll talk to him ... don't worry," he reassured, giving her a long hooded look before leaving. 

Zoya leaned on Aapi, covering up a sudden yawn. 

     "Theek ho?" Aapi asked.

She nodded. 

In synchrony, both mothers removed kaajal from their eyes to plant twin kala tikas behind Zoya's ears.

     "Khush raho!" Zeenat prayed through suddenly stinging eyes. 

 

She still hadn't told Zoya that she would be leaving soon. But now that everything was settled about the baby she needed to get back to her husband. Even though he said nothing, she knew Anwar was skipping meals and overworking, not wanting to come back to a dark and lonely house. It was time to move back to the empty nest and look forward to a brood of transnational grandchildren. FAO Schwarz's flagship store was about to be depleted! 

Just yesterday, Anwar had introduced them to the world's largest bow-tied and vested teddy bear via skype. 

     "Awww," Zoya had clapped her hands and cooed. "Jeeju how come you never bought me something like that?" 

     "We were just starting out then, beta. Aur waise bhi, assal se pyaara sood hota hai," Jeeju had retorted.

Oh, she was so sick of hearing that line! Day and night, she would hear Ammi and Aapi say that too.

 

     "No way is my kid going near that monstrosity," Asad had muttered later, in private.

     "Mr. Khan, you're so mean!" 

And the battle lines were re-drawn. 

But not for long. She had managed to easily divert him. 

     "Asad, you promised to show me your toys and things from when you were a kid! Please," she begged and bounced when he rolled his eyes. 

     "There aren't that many," he said quietly. 

     And Zoya had sobered up, her heart going out to him. "I'd still love to see them," she coaxed. She knew that growing up, both he and Najma didn't have fancy toys.

A long time ago Najma had shown her the dollhouse Bhaijaan had built for her as a kid. It was made from a simple cardboard box. Its sides had been painted with watercolors which had now faded. Windows and doors had been meticulously cut in. They could be closed and opened. You could still see the pencil marks where Asad must have measured and marked before making the precise cuts. The details had been breathtaking.

Fabric scraps from Ammi's sewing work had been used as curtains and bed covers over a bed made of folded newspapers. Bottle caps served as mirrors and a gas stove. Matchboxes and matchsticks, ice cream sticks, straws and jam jar lids had been transformed into furniture with paint and more fabric. Shiny foil from chewing gum wrappers had been rolled into tiny balls and glued on as knobs. A cigarette box made a refrigerator. A matchbox, painted black was a TV. Other matchboxes had been sawed in half and stacked to make dresser drawers for different rooms. 

It must have taken days to collect the recyclables and put together! 

It had brought tears to her eyes. Zoya had wondered about this side of him then, when she was still falling headlong in love. So tender toward his sister, so protective of his mother. And so angry with her. Even then she had felt a pinch of self-pity. Am I really that hateful? So unfit? 

     She shook off those memories of pain and heartbreak and held his face in her hands. "I don't care! They'll be priceless treasures to me. I want to hug them and feel what you must have been like as a child. I want to save them so that we can show them to our kids." 

Asad grinned. Once again she'd managed to weave dreamy fantasies from buried shards and broken fragments. Her enthusiasm was catching; it made him want to check out the toys too. Grabbing her hand he had led her to the storeroom. Pulling up a chair he made her sit on it. He rummaged around in old cupboards trying to find a battered cardboard box with his name on it. After a few sneezes and bumps Asad unearthed it. When he turned around, Zoya burst into peals of laughter. 

     "What?" he asked frowning.

     "You look so excited. And so cute!" 

He walked out with the box. 

     "Asad? Hello?"

     "Come, we'll open it in our room. Grab me some wet washcloths so that we can wipe the dust off." 

     "Humph," she grumbled. "Trust you to make any fun thing into boring work." 

     "Zoya!' 

     "OK, OK, coming right up Jahanpanah. Sheesh! Here I wanted to play house, and he turns me into his maid. Typical!" she continued to mutter to herself. 

     "I heard that!" 

     "Good for you! Obviously nothing wrong with your hearing. Yay!"

By the time she came back to the room he was on the floor with the box in front of him. She handed him the damp washcloth and he began to wipe the box down. 

     "Asad, hurry!" she urged as she too settled down next to him. 

Very carefully he opened the box to reveal treasures from long ago. Out came a jar of marbles. Zoya squealed, grabbing it. He snatched it back to wipe it down.

     "How do you play with these? Teach me." 

     "Later." 

She set it next to her and waited eagerly for more. 

He took out old school notebooks. She could hardly contain herself. 

     "On my god, look at this handwriting. It is so you." There were no red marks and countless glowing comments from teachers about the neatness and accuracy of the work. She hugged them to her chest. "You were one of those perfect kids right, who made no mistakes? The teachers always held you up as a model student and all the other kids hated you?" Zoya groaned. 

He took out a shoebox full of tiny cars. They were neatly arranged in precise rows on top of a cotton pad. The colors may have faded but none of them had a chip or missing part. 

     "Asad! I love this so much," she whispered in wonder. Some of the cars had doors or trunks that opened. Each specified the model number and famous car manufacturer on the undercarriage.

     Her eyes misted. "I have a similar collection back at home. It's smaller than yours and not as well-maintained! Obviously. My favorite used to be this red Volvo hatchback station wagon. You know, they don't make them like this any more. It's all cheap, lightweight plastic with no working parts anymore."

Asad hugged her sideways, grateful for reliving the memories of his childhood which weren't tainted by anger or bitterness.  

     "Which one's your favorite?" Zoya asked softly. 

 He delicately fingered them all and then picked up a tiny beetle. 

     "I always imagined that when I grew up, I'd buy Ammi a Volkswagen exactly like this."

     "Aww, you were always a heartbreaker weren't you?" 

He sniggered. 

Unable to resist, she peeked in and saw comic books neatly stacked. She pulled out hard-bound books on Robin Hood, Robinson Crusoe, Treasure Island, A 1001 Arabian Nights. Each had official seals and inscriptions on the inside for winning debate or essay competitions, or for placing first in class. 

     "Aww, my Akdu was a total nerd!" She climbed into his lap to hug him and place kisses along his jaw. "I wish I'd known you as a schoolboy. You must have been a Prefect or a Headboy for sure." 

     "And Captain," Asad pulled out a battered cricket ball.

     "Cricket! You were team captain? My Dhoni! I am so in love with you all over again!"

 

Zoya shook her head as she wiped Aapi's lipstick off her cheek. The party was in full swing around her. Nuzzhat and Nikhat circulated, chatting with relatives. Aapi and Ammi were with Dadi and Chhoti Ammi. Abbu was in deep conversation with Omar's cousin. Hmm. Isn't he the one everyone had been whispering about for Nikhat's rishta? Zoya crossed her fingers. Yay! He would be perfect. She watched Asad nab Ayaan and pull him aside. From across the room, Humaira's eyes followed both of them. Zoya smiled as she saw Humaira's eyes widen in panic. Poor thing! Worried that her Ayaan was going to be taken to task by my Akdu for some new prank or escapade. 

She walked over to link her arm with Humaira's.

     "It's OK," she reassured her sister. "Mr. Khan's just telling him that we can't go out after this. I don't think Najma and Omar will be up for it." 

Humaira nodded in understanding.

     "Zoya bhabhi, tell me, why do you still call him Mr. Khan? You can't possibly be calling him that in private!"  

     Zoya sputtered. "Oh really? All of a sudden you're so curious about what we do in private!"

     "No! I didn't mean that!" Humaira blushed. 

     Zoya laughed heartily and hugged her close. "I know. I'm just messing with ya. I wanted to remove those worry lines from your face. You seem tense these days. What's going on?" 

Humaira sighed. She was dying to share everything with Zoya Bhabhi of all people. She loved that Ayaan had been an absolute rock during all this. But she didn't want to tell him about her dithering over the decision to move back home. 

     "Kya hua Humaira? Can't you tell me," Zoya urged softly, crooking a finger under her chin.

     "Bhabhi, both you and Asad Bhaijaan have been so nice to me. I love staying with you all. Phuphi and Aapi have made me feel so welcome. But I'm thinking that it might be time for me to go back home." Her voice nearly broke.

Having said it aloud made her realize that she had actually made up her mind. She was going home. She needed to be with Abbu. She needed to face Ammi. No more running away and hiding. 

Zoya gasped. No! Please don't go. I've only just found you, after so many years! Her eyes teared.

     "I've loved having you with us. Are you sure? We'd love it if you stayed on." 

     "I'm worried about Abbu, that's why. Otherwise I would have stayed on. Promise!" 

     "What happened to Abbu?" Zoya's heart stopped. "I mean, your ... Abbu." 

Humaira looked away. She wanted to tell her all. But it was so complicated. Zoya Bhabhi looked so concerned. She had tears in her eyes. How could she feel so deeply for me? Since day one Zoya Bhabhi's only thought of me. My fears at the fashion show. My silly worries that day when we met at the restaurant. Donating blood. Nursing me back to health. 

I was so miserable that day.

When they had met at that restaurant, Zoya Bhabhi had been the only one to sense her pain. She had talked about ...

Humaira thought back to their conversation that evening. She had been forlorn because she thought that Ayaan liked Zoya bhabhi. They had gone together for a fun trip to Ajmer, Jaipur and Agra that Ayaan would not stop talking about. She was just his type: jeans-wearing, shayari-reciting, witty, bold, feisty ... He seemed to hang on to every word of hers, he seemed so charmed by her. But Zoya Bhabhi had not seemed to flirt with him or encourage him in any way. In fact, she had actually changed places to sit by her, comforted her and even held her hand in sympathy.

She had been sad herself that day.

What had she said then ...?  

     "Isn't it funny? The person I ... I like, doesn't really like that I dress this way. Nor does he approve of  what I do or think, for that matter. But I've only just begun to stop feeling sorry for myself." She had squeezed Humaira's hand in hers, "and you know what helps? Getting mad!"

Humaira smiled a watery smile now.

Zoya Bhabhi had clearly been talking of Asad Bhaijaan then! Someone who she had thought so confident and invincible, had been hurting from the pangs of unrequited love. 

Just like her. 

Much later, Ayaan had told her how both Bhabhi and Bhai had loved each other, but because of some misunderstanding ... 

Hadn't Asad Bhaijaan been engaged to someone else then? In fact, that evening had been a special get together so that they could all meet his fiancee. What was her name?

Tanveer ...

Tanveer?

Tanveer!

Zoya saw Humaira's mouth form a big O.

Fear gripped her. She grabbed Humaira's hands in both of hers. 

     "Humaira? Munna what happened? You're scaring me."

She felt her sister's hands tremble in hers. She pulled her in for a tight hug. 

Blindly, her eyes sought Asad's. He turned, heeding her silent cry from across the crowded room.

In a flash, the brothers were by their side.

     "Mona, what happened?" asked a worried Ayaan. "Why is she staring blankly like this?" 

He tried to hold Humaira's hand. It was cold and clammy.

Asad's eyes collided with Zoya's.

A frantic Ayaan tried to disengage a stiff Humaira from Zoya, to take her in his arms. Asad and Zoya moved to shield them from prying eyes.

     "Zoya?" both men asked. 

     She swallowed. "She was telling me that she wants to go back home. ... that she's worried about Abbu ... her Abbu, I mean." 

Her anguished eyes squeezed shut. 

     "What happened to Abbu?" she whispered to Asad who held her to his side. 

Asad frowned. Rakesh's people were still following the Siddiquis. If anything had happened, he'd have heard. He led Zoya out to the sofas on the balcony, signaling Ayaan to bring Humaira too.

Ayaan knelt before Humaira as he settled her in on one of the couches.

     "Humaira begum?" Ayaan pled in desperation. "Tell me what's going on? Why do you want to go back?" 

     "Tanveer!" Humaira choked. "He said her name was Tanveer."

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Love Aaj Kal (2009) Aj Din Chadheya"


	77. Iska Uska Na Iska Hai, Jaane Kitna Hai Kiska Hai

 

 

  

With her back to him, Najma let Omar hold her as they leaned against the balcony railing. His stubble tickled her ear and she took a deep breath. He bent to kiss a tear from the side of her eye. Neither wanted to say tired words of goodbye, or missing each other, or not being able to live without one another. Their hearts were already heavy with the weight of these unsaid redundancies. And saying them would only make it all too real. 

His heart beat against her back, cruelly counting the seconds down.

     When he pressed his lips against her temple to whisper, "Najma," she twisted around in his arms, to bury her face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. 

     "I'm sorry, so sorry," she hiccupped later. "I promised myself that I wouldn't cry and ruin our time together. I'll do that once you're gone." She burst into tears all over again.

She had seen her crazy, unpredictable and fun-loving husband turn more and more somber over the last few hours. 

It had broken her heart.

     Omar cupped her face and wiped her streaming tears with his thumbs. "Cry all you want. It gives me more reason to hold you. And I hate the idea of you crying alone. Promise me, you won't hide your tears from me, or put on a fake smile when we skype or facetime. Don't be filmy. Just be you."

Busted!

That's exactly what she had been planning to do. Najma smiled suddenly. He knew her so well ...

 

Returning from the airport, for some time, it had been easy to pretend that they had all the time in the world. It had been exciting to catch up with everyone, be teased mercilessly, distribute gifts, and dress up for the party held in their honor. Nikhat and Nuzzhat and later Humaira, had fussed over her, offering conflicting suggestions for jewelry, and clothes, and hairstyles. They had teased her so much that the rising color on her cheeks was pretty much a permanent fixture. 

No designer blush needed, Nuzzhat ribbed. No sirree! 

They had lovingly helped dress her, drape and pin her dupatta just right, and style her hair, even attaching a gajra on the side. All the girls were going to wear one. 

Wouldn't it be so much fun?

All the sisterly hard work had to be redone of course. 

Omar had kicked up a fuss about his suit needing ironing. Many an aunt and saali had offered to help, but apparently only his wife knew how to do it just right. Unsuspecting, Najma had gone into the guest room, only to be dragged and pinned against the wall to pay a hefty fine for looking too gorgeous for her own good, smelling delicious, and avoiding him all evening.

The iron had dropped from her limp fingers and landed on his toes. 

He'd yelped and hopped on one foot after cussing under his breath.

     "Dammit, Najma! Loving you is like going into battle without armor. I have too many scars and fading black and blue bruises to count by now!"

     "I'm so sorry," she had cried out, hands on her mouth, eyes wide with alarm.

     Omar had kissed her roughly. "It's fine babes, it could've been worse! At least, it wasn't plugged in or burning hot ... as I will be ..." He had waggled his eyebrows at her and whispered more bawdy threats and promises. 

She'd giggled and blushed and covered her face. 

     "Omar!"

Scooping her up in his arms he had limped over to the bed for some heated payback and ironing out of marital issues. The suit laid out on the bed had become even more creased. And the mogra flowers had hardly stayed in her hair. The gajra, with some help, had slowly snaked its perfumed way down her body and ended up crushed under them; the flowers lay scattered, spontaneously combusting into a shower of fragrant embers. 

 

Later at the party, Ayaan Bhaijaan and Omar's cousins had dragged them to dance to re-mixes of "Lungi Dance," "Dilliwali Girlfriend," "Badtameez Dil" and many more ephemeral item numbers of the day.

The grown-ups had pooh-poohed and rolled their eyes at such meaningless lyrics in aaj kal ke behude gaane. 

     "Gaane toh humare waqt mein hote the!" An elderly granduncle bemoaned. 

     "Shayari ka toh zamaana hi nahin raha!" An older aunt sniffed. 

     "Nahin, nahin, aisa nahin hai Khala," Dilshad had interjected. "Meri bahu bahut acchi modern shayari karti hai!" 

     "Mera beta bhi," chimed in Shireen, and the moms had laughed to Khala's dismay. 

     A laughing Dadi had patted her arm. "Let them be, Baji. Ab inn bachhon ka zamana hai!"

 

It had been such fun ignoring the stick-in-the-mud oldies and kicking up their heels to dance their hearts out!

Omar had twirled her, while Humaira, Nikhat and Nuzzhat clapped in rhythm and the boys whistled and whooped around them. She had been giddy with delight when Omar belted the lyrics in sync to, "Tere liye hi to signal tod taad ke ..." 

In the masti haze, both of them had forgotten the parting barely less than twenty-four hours away. She had thrown her head back and twisted with abandon, and he had leaped with Ayaan and other cousins to maniacally do the Lungi Dance. 

It had been exhilarating! 

When Zoya and Bhaijaan had come in, Zoya had squealed and run in to join them. She had hugged Najma to her and they had shouted out and pulsed to Badtameez Dil, steps already familiar from having danced to it a hundred times before. 

Najma had looked at Bhaijaan to see him shaking his head at all the craziness. He stood at the edge, an arm around Nikhat's shoulders pretending disapproval. But when "1, 2, 3, 4, get on the dance floor," came on, it was perfect timing! 

Ayaan Bhaijaan and Nuzzhat had pulled their quieter siblings into the heart of the thumping, pounding action. Nikhat has danced shyly even though she was the best dancer among them. Najma caught Omar's cousin, Feroze, watching her from the side before he too was sucked into the seething, gyrating whirlwind of surging and heaving bodies. 

     Najma remembered Zoya dancing in circles around a beaming Asad Bhaijaan, giggling up into his face and grabbing his hands in hers. Winking up at him, she sang loudly with, "itna mazaa, kyun aa raha hai, toone hawa mein bhaang milaya!" 

He had thrown his head back and actually laughed before gathering her in his arms!

 

Wrapped in the circle of her husband's arms, Najma sighed now, remembering how, in the end, Omar had pulled her into his chest and they had swayed to the music, oblivious to the zany Gangnam style movements around them. The siblings and cousins had formed a jiving wall of noise that shielded the newlyweds from raised eyebrows and parental frowns. She had seen Zoya and Bhaijaan in a similar walled off private world. Even though they weren't in each other's arms, they were still lost in each other's eyes.    

Suddenly, she was jealous of Zoya and Bhaijaan.

Not fair. They get to be together but I won't see my husband for six long and lonely months. 

Najma sniffed.

Omar's arms tightened around her. 

She closed her eyes and switched off her mind to savor this moment to make it last forever. The disintegrated gajra, a blushing witness to their lovemaking, was gone. But its scent lingered on their intertwined bodies. 

They sighed in unison.

Their stillness formed a stark silhouette against the night sky; tomorrow it would have one less stargazer. 

 

Zoya had been holding Humaira's hand. Her other hand was clasped firmly in Asad's warm and comforting grip. 

     "He said her name was Tanveer ..." Humaira whispered. 

Zoya snatched her hand away from hers as if burned.

A silent gasp ripped through her. Asad's grip tightened around her convulsing fingers. His thumb gently stroked the self-inflicted bruises from this morning. 

She let her hair veil her face. 

Humaira sensed her withdrawal; it pierced through the shell of her own numbing shock. She rushed to kneel in front of Zoya and held her hand in both of hers.

     "Zoya Bhabhi, I'm so sorry for even mentioning that woman's name." 

Zoya ducked her head into Asad's shoulder. His arm had already come around to protectively hold her tight to him. 

     "I'm so sorry, please forgive me." Looking at a recoiling Zoya Bhabhi who had always been so strong, Humaira too was locked into a cycle of pain. She just realized how hard it must be for Bhabhi to be reminded of ... 

Unable to bear Humaira's self-inflicted grief, Zoya leaned forward to hug her. That woman's name didn't bother her for the reasons Humaira thought. She kissed the top of her head. 

     "Forget it, it's ... I'm OK." 

And she was, Zoya thought as she squared her shoulders. 

To an extent. 

To be surrounded by people who loved her so much: a sister she could hold, a husband who put roses on her cheeks and stars in her eyes. She was better than OK. Zoya's hand flew to her stomach. But she could feel Asad stiffening in suppressed rage next to her. She turned to smile at him and squeezed his hand to let him know she really was fine.

     "But Humaira, what happened? Who said her name? Someone here at the party?" Ayaan asked, still confused about the unnamed ripples of undercurrents radiating around them. 

     "Abbu ..." she whispered. 

     "What?" Ayaan croaked. "How would he ...?" 

Asad looked down at Zoya's bowed head. She was holding herself too tight again, afraid to fly apart into a million pieces. He gathered her even closer. He wanted to haul her up and take her home, press her face into his chest and tell her over and over again, that he would fix everything, burn down anything that caused her pain. 

But ... 

His lips thinned in grim frustration.

Humaira looked into Ayaan's worried face, pleading silently with him to not ask any more questions. He pulled her up on the sofa. 

     "Bhai knows about ... you know. I just told him. You can say anything in front of them." He rushed to reassure her.

She exhaled deeply. Holding Ayaan's hand for support she let the pent-up distress and confusion bubble out. 

     "Abbu told me ... her name this morning. My … sister. I thought the name sounded familiar but I couldn't place it then. She's missing. The police can't help much. Abbu doesn't have a picture but he'll talk to a sketch artist tomorrow." Her words frantically tumbled out. It was as if they needed to break free from being strangled and trapped in her mind.

     "I have her picture ..." 

Asad nodded stiffly. 

Ayaan and Humaira whipped their heads to look at Zoya. She was staring at the table in front of her. 

     " ... from the trip."

Asad leaned back and sighed out loud. He had almost deleted those pictures in Agra. But thanks to those pictures, he had been able to put Rakesh's team on Tanveer's trail. Had Zoya not offered the pictures from her iPad, he wouldn't have known how to volunteer this piece of information to Humaira or Gaffoor Siddiqui. 

He smiled grimly. 

What was even the use of those photographs any more? Tanveer had slipped through the cracks yet again.

Asad dragged his attention back to the conversation. 

     "… thanks, Zoya Bhabhi. When we go back home, I'll send the picture to Abbu to confirm whether it's the same person." 

Both she and Ayaan looked at each other.

     "What're the odds?" He mused. "How is it even possible? It's too much of a coincidence, right Bhai?"

Nikhat came up to perch on the sofa arm.

     "Bhaijaan, why are you all looking so serious? Is everything OK? 

Asad stood and drew her down to settle next to Zoya.

He stepped away to make some quick calls. 

 

Omar's phone buzzed to indicate a new message. Sighing, he pulled out his phone. A pressed white mogra flower fell out. 

They grinned. 

Najma bent to pick it up and tucked it in her bra. His eyes shuttered.

The phone buzzed again. 

Asad.

He showed the screen to Najma. 

     "Looks like Zo waved her magic wand. Your brother just arranged a car to sneak us out of here and take us home. Our bags have already been smuggled on board."

     Najma didn't even bother to blush. But she did ask one burning question for courtesy's sake: "We were supposed to spend the night at your cousins' ... what'll everyone say?" 

     He yanked her to his chest, "that we are shameless and horny! Badtameez Dil and Dilliwali girlfriend went to do gandi, gandi, gandi baat!" Omar sang out in tune to all the songs. 

She giggled, highly diverted by the return of her playful husband.

     "Anyways, let Zo and Asad handle the PR on that. They must have more experience in excuse-making after all!"

     He gave her a quick kiss and pushed her through the French doors with strict instructions: "don't look at anybody! Keep going even if someone calls out your name. In fact, hold your phone to your ear as if ... Just make a beeline for the main door and I'll follow in a couple of minutes. See you by the elevator!" As she moved to leave, he tugged her arm to growl in her ear, " ... and if we have the elevator to ourselves, we could stop it midway and do some sightseeing, hmm? I'll really show you Kerala this time." 

     "Omar!" she hissed, already praying and crossing her fingers for an empty elevator. It was just after 10pm. The liftboy would have left, right? 

Please! 

     Backing away from him, she quipped, "you know, I'd rather see Kashmir!" 

He groaned and looked at his watch impatiently. 

 

Hanging up, Asad rubbed his brow. 

Still no trace of Tanveer. 

May be there was something to Zoya's idea about Tanveer's doctor. He had mentioned it to Rakesh who was already trying to get someone hired at the clinic for an inside track.

But at least he had been able to get Najma and Omar out of here. If the gory secrets were to come tumbling out into the open, then these two needed to be out of the way. Safe from fresh worries of monsters lurking in every shadow. They had precious little time together. It needed to be free of ... of this foul mess. There would be time enough for it later. 

And it would temporarily shut up his wife for callig him a pyaar ka dushman! 

 

Most of the evening, Dilshad had kept an anxious watch over Najma and Omar. Her heart went out to them.

My babies.

Wiping a tear, she turned and nearly ran into Shireen. She too was gazing at the newlyweds and smiling. 

     "It's so good to see the children happy." She patted Dilshad's arm, "though I know, Najma will miss him terribly." 

     She looked away at Nikhat in quiet conversation with Feroze, and clasped her hands hopefully. "I wish Nikhat also finds a nice boy like Omar." 

     Dilshad rubbed her shoulder, "she will. She deserves only the best. Feroze looks like he's perfect for her." 

     Shireen raised excited and grateful eyes to her face, "really? You think so? We always worried about her. She's the quietest. Never any trouble. Mature beyond her years." She sighed. "Ammi always called Nikhat 'maintenance-free.'  Because Ayaan sucked up too much of my maternal attention and energies." 

A shadow crossed her face. She remembered Imran.

     Unconsciously, she gripped Dilshad's hand tighter, "when the engagement with Imran broke off ... I was so terrified for her. I almost feared ... she would hurt herself." A sob escaped her. 

     Dilshad had wrapped her arm around her shoulder and led her to a couch, comforting her. "Shireen, she would never do something like that. Haven't you seen how strong she is? Look at her." 

She pointed with her chin. Shireen had turned to see Omar hugging Nikhat to his side as she laughed up into his face. Najma was clutching her head in despair and Feroze looked on, charmed and wistful. 

     Dilshad continued to soothe her fears, "yes, it's always the quiet ones you worry about the most, isn't it? Asad bhi aisa hi tha. Always thinking of us and never about himself. I almost feared he would let Zoya get away! Tauba! If he had taken even a day longer, I would have cracked his skull!"

Shireen smiled. Yes, Nikhat was stronger than all of them had given her credit for. In fact, she had become a little bolder since the Imran fiasco. Being at the other house more and more these past few days, had made her smile and laugh more. Omar had certainly been a good influence too. They talked quite frequently over the phone. She had rejoined her kathak classes and was just talking excitedly about martial arts classes that Asad had organized for the girls. 

Earlier, along with Najma, she was considering applying for a Masters program once their results came out. But lately Shireen had seen books on MBA and MCAT test prep stacked by her bed. 

Please Allah! Just let her be happy ... let her find a boy who will value her quiet strength. 

 

Zoya came up quietly behind him and slipped her hand in Asad's. Inside, dinner was underway. Through the wide plate-glass, floor to ceiling windows, Asad watched Ayaan, Humaira, Nuzzhat, Nikhat and Feroze laugh and chat at a table. The parents sat at another table equally at ease.

     "I know what you did," she teased softly.  

     "What did I do?" he looked at her suspiciously but still brushed her hair off her face.

     "You played fairy godmother!"

     "I'm a fairy now!" he growled. 

     "A macho and sexy one, but still a pyaar ka farishta!" 

He quirked an eyebrow. 

     She held up her phone. "Tamatar texted me to say thanks for waving my magic wand. Little does she know that her Bhaijaan has become quite an expert at magic, not requiring any supervision!" 

     "Magic, huh?" Asad held her hands in his and kissed her knuckles. 

     "Pure, unadulterated, love potion type, magic!" She grinned, watching his expression change, his eyes narrowing. 

     "Any left for me?" Zoya purred.

     "Only the best kind! Hard core," he moved a step closer. Wiggling her hands free, she moved one step back. "Dark magic," he took another step, and so did she. He heard her breath catch. "To match that voodoo that you do," Asad breathed.

Zoya moaned softly.

     He pulled her toward the railing and nuzzled her neck after pushing her hair to one side. "But first things first, tell me, you're OK?" 

     She nodded. Too eagerly. "I will be."

     "Let's get out of here. I'll give you a back rub, a deep tissue massage ..." 

     "Mr. Khan, those massages always go incomplete because you demand a happy ending! And we used up too many tissues last time to mop up the oil spills! Besides, have you forgotten, we have to give Ammi, Aapi and Humaira a ride back home?" 

He looked blank for a second.

     "Because the lovebirds took the other car," she explained patiently. 

     Realization dawned, and he exhaled. "Let's get something to eat then." 

     "I'm not hungry." 

     "Zoya! You have to eat properly!" 

     "I munched on starters all evening. I'm stuffed." 

Her husband started to drag her inside to get her to eat something. 

     "Should we wait for Humaira to find out on her own, or ..." Zoya asked, to divert him. 

     He tucked her hair behind an ear. "Are you ready for her to know?" 

     She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't know," Zoya nearly sobbed.

Asad crushed her to him. 

     "If she finds out about me, won't she also find out about her Ammi?"

He didn't answer, waiting for her to sound out and sort the tormenting and treacherous thoughts. 

Zoya fell silent.

     "What does your gut say? Your instincts have been foolproof. We'll do whatever feels right to you." Asad assured her, kissing the top of her head. 

     "I don't know," she sighed. "A part of me doesn't want anything to change. But a part of me wants him to acknowledge me. I want her to know she's my sister." Zoya sniffled. 

     "She will. I promise." 

Slow music played inside. Their bodies swayed to the faint strains of "Tum hi ho."

Asad wanted to erase all sadness from her eyes. He wanted to see that dimple flash again.

     Brushing his lips over the shell of her ear, he whispered, "the post-curfew action was pretty good today, hunh?" 

     Zoya shivered. And giggled. "Oh my god, it was glorious! I can't believe we actually did that! What if someone had walked in on us?!" 

     "We've had practice," Asad's triumphant voice rumbled in her ear, and her blood thrilled. 

So true. 

Najma and Omar's Waleema! 

And then, someone had nearly walked in on them! 

She had worn a lehenga that night, her husband a sherwani. Because they had been at their own house, it had been easier to sneak away. 

Zoya smiled remembering ... 

     Zindagi, ab tum hi ho ... chain bhi ... seductively played on.

Asad twirled her and slammed her back to his chest. His arms wrapped around her waist as his hands splayed her stomach. 

     "You had texted me to lure me into our room," she whispered.

     "Mrs. Khan, I didn't need to lure you. You nearly tripped over your two feet to come running to me." 

     "I came, all right!" 

Asad chuckled heartily at that. 

The room had been dimly lit as she entered. The door had closed with a soft whoosh behind her. Before she could whip around, he had her picked her up and carried her to the closet. 

     "Asad!" she had whispered. It had meant to be a reprimand, but sounded too much like a moan craving the promise of familiar surprises to come.

Setting her down, he turned her to face the wall as he bent to drop openmouthed kisses on her nearly nude back. He still remembered, two useless doris had hung and swayed, obstructing the path of his questing lips, and he'd pulled them loose impatiently. He had wanted to rip them off. But they needed to go back and join the celebrations. Mingle and make nice; smile, bob, and curtsey. 

His fingers had dug in making her cry out in pain. They had slid under the sequined and studded fabric, and slowly he had unhooked and peeled it away from her eager skin. Asad cupped and stroked her as he kissed her arching neck. He loved these blouses and cholis that didn't need the obstruction of bras. One hand had crept down to tug at the golden, tasseled drawstring.

All evening he had watched the sassy silken tassels swing and swoosh against her hips and legs. 

It had made him rock-hard. 

All evening, he had imagined her out of the lehenga, creamy and resplendent behind the translucent dupatta. He would yank that last defense from her. The glittering dupatta would fly in the air and feather down at his firmly braced feet. Because her feet would not be on the floor.

The lehenga had capitulated to slither and puddle at her high-heeled feet in a soft whisper. 

Asad had spun her around and soft hisses and moans escaped her mouth. Her own hands hadn't been able to resist tugging at his confining clothes. Zoya's fingers had trembled in unbuttoning the sherwani. Each had sighed the other's name in fierce longing. Unhurriedly, their bodies had homed in to revel in each other's spiraling heat. He had hitched her up and her legs had irresistibly wrapped around and sheathed him.

And that's when it had happened. 

The bedroom door opened and a second later, they'd heard a pair of unrecognizable voices. 

Her eyes had popped wide open in alarm, and Asad's hand had come up to cover her mouth. Her legs had slid down in blind panic.

     Some cousins had blundered in, "I think we're supposed to leave the gifts here. That's what Khala said." One of them said in confusion.

     "Hurry then! Just leave it on that settee." 

The sounds of laughter, music and chatter drifted in from the open door. The voices continued to bicker about whether this was the right room. There weren't any other gifts here. May be they were supposed to put them in another room.

Asad's eyes had bored into hers, and his lips had curled in a sly grin. Her desperate hands had clutched his shoulders. Deliberately, he replaced a bashful leg around him, and grabbed her thigh to drape her other leg over his shoulder. Hand still over her mouth, he began to move sinuously, demanding synchrony. 

She trusted him to avert any risk of exposure. Placing herself in his sure custody, she had let her head fall back in rapturous but silent, lip-biting surrender.

The studded dupatta had left ruby-red imprints of a hundred jewels on her bare back. 

     Kyun ki tum hi ho ... played on. They swayed synchronously, fused to each other in erotic memory and promise.  

Even now Zoya blushed, remembering that after she had stepped out of the room, Ammi had pulled her aside to re-do her blouse strings.

     "Oh god Asad, we're so bad," she said, hiding her face in his chest.

     He grinned and murmured in her ear, "you are such a terrible influence on me, you know? You make me want to do things I wouldn't have dreamed of doing in another lifetime. See what I mean by that jaadu that you do?" 

     "Ammi is right to police us!"  Zoya giggled. 

 

     "Asad, Zoya, chalo beta, have something to eat. It's not good to go hungry for so long."

They sprang apart, and she laughed when she heard her mother-in-law call and husband swear under his breath. 

     "Ji Ammi." Zoya towed him in to join the others. 

 

Zoya sat down next to Nikhat who looked up and blushed. 

     "Bhabhi sit, let me get a plate for you." 

     "No! I'm fine. I'm not hungry," Zoya insisted. "So Nikhat, are you all set for the taekwondo classes?"

Nikhat ducked her head.

     Next to her Feroze piped up, intrigued. "Taekwondo? That's awesome!"

Nikhat looked up, surprised. She hadn't seen this side of him all evening.   

     He blushed furiously. "Umm ... actually, I have a black belt, second degree." 

The whole table erupted in squeals and shouts. Everyone turned to look at them and Feroze nearly passed out from being the center of admiring attention. 

Asad joined them with his plate. 

     "What happened?" He looked at his wife suspiciously, assuming that she must be responsible for the uproar. He frowned. She didn't blurt out about ... 

     "Bhaijaan," Nuzzhat exclaimed. "Feroze just told us that he's a second degree black belt. Isn't that cool?" 

     "That's so cool," gushed Zoya.

Asad had just speared a cucumber slice with a fork and raised it to his mouth.

     She grabbed his hand to eat it instead, and continued, "I'm a martial arts expert too. Main salute karti hoon, toh apne aap ko behosh kar leti hoon. My hand is so strong, isn't it, Mr. Khan?"

Asad choked on the piece of kebab he had managed to nearly swallow without any interruption from her.

Ayaan slapped his back.

Humaira brought over a glass of water for him.

The girls were sniggering, whether at their Bhabhi or Bhaijaan, no one knew.

Feroze's color had gratefully returned to normal by now. Ayaan pressed him to tell them more about how many years he'd trained, since when.

     "Um, it's been a while now. I'll be trying out for a third degree when I get back. I also teach kids on the weekends at our local community center," he volunteered shyly, ears red. This brazen self-promotion was alien to him. Usually his mother would gush over his accomplishments to complete strangers, and he would stand by dying of embarrassment. But somehow, this table-wide wonderment had been a jolt of raw caffeine to his system.

Zoya listened and chatted on, sneaking food off Asad's plate. 

     "Zoya, should I make a plate for you?"

     "No, I'm not hungry!" 

     "Of course, I can see that," he muttered as she guided his hand to stab a piece of paneer tikka and eat it with relish, "mmm, yum!"

     "I'm going to get a diet Coke," she half-stood. 

     Asad pulled her down. "No Diet Coke," he scolded lightly. 

She pouted.

     He narrowed his eyes at her and poured her a glass of water. "See, it's even got lemon wedges!" 

     "Mr. Khan you're so mean!" 

Ignoring her, he lifted the glass to her lips.

 

Ayaan stopped midway, a little later, to grin broadly at Bhai continuing to spoonfeed an animated Mona darling. Oblivious to the others around them, he would take a bite of his food and then feed her the next one. Every now and then, he carefully wiped the side of her mouth with his napkin. She often pushed his hand away for cutting her off in the midst of talking to the others. 

Quietly, Humaira placed another plate in front of Asad. He smiled at her gratefully. 

     When he offered his wife another bite, she groaned, "Allah miyan, what's wrong with your Mr. Khan! I told you I wasn't hungry." 

She couldn't understand why everyone was laughing suddenly. 

     "But you know what? I could go for some of those gulab jamuns!"

  
  


 

 

Song in Title:

Mere Brother Ki Dulhan (2011): "Kaisa Yeh Ishq Hai"


	78. Badle Se Lag Rahe Hain Andaaz Mere

 

 

     "Why did you say it was too much of a coincidence?" an anxious Humaira asked Ayaan over the phone the next day. 

     "Umm ... I'll tell you in person. Can't talk right now."

     "Come here for breakfast and we'll talk," she instructed grimly. 

Humaira puttered around restlessly, still deep in thought. She had arranged and rearranged the cushions on the couch, and the plates and cutlery on the table. 

At least five times by now. 

She'd slept poorly and was tempted to bite her nails, a habit outgrown long ago.

It certainly would be too much of a coincidence if that woman went from this house, straight to hers. But the way Ayaan had said it, and the way Bhaijaan had looked down at Zoya Bhabhi's bent head to hug her more protectively, made the hair stand on the back of her neck. 

Something was afoot. 

They all seemed to know something more. And it was to do with that ... that Tanveer. Humaira felt conflicted and guilty. In her heart she was hoping for two impossible miracles. One, that the woman wouldn't be the same Tanveer. And two, if it was, then please don't let me be related to her, please Allah miyan, let her be an imposter.  

She remembered her so clearly from that evening now.

They had all thought Bhaijaan's fiancee so elegant when they were first introduced to her. But Tanveer had been distant. She hadn't said a single word to Humaira even though they sat directly across from each other all evening. She only deigned to talk briefly to Nuzzhat and Nikhat, and didn't seem particularly close to Najma either. 

Later, the girls had talked about her and been slightly disappointed that their Bhabhi-to-be hadn't seemed warmer. Maybe she was just as serious as Asad Bhaijaan. She did seem really conservative and just his type. But then they all had quickly dropped the subject and gushed over Zoya Bhabhi and what a firecracker she was to go up against Asad Bhaijaan of all people! 

Late into the night they had whispered and giggled about the evening at the restaurant. Would they ever have the guts to stand up for a girl being harassed by eve-teasers? And end up in jail on top of that? 

So fearless! 

Wow, Bhaijaan really must have been furious when he went to bail her out! And still she said nothing so that Najma wouldn't get into trouble. 

Who does such a thing? 

No wonder Najma seemed so fond of her, linking arms with her wherever they went, high-fiving, whispering among themselves, and giggling with their heads close together.

     Nuzzhat had expressed what they had all been thinking that night: "wouldn't it be so cool if Bhai was getting married to Zoya instead? She would be so perfect for him!" 

     They had all tittered nervously and Nikhat had slapped her arm: "Chup! Aise nahin kehte."

Humaira's heart plummeted. 

Could that woman really be her sister? No one had wanted to be related to her by marriage. And here she would be related to her by blood? 

No!

She'd seen her be so cruel that day. 

Tanveer had maliciously tried to badmouth Zoya Bhabhi but thank god, Bhaijaan had stepped in. Humaira had seen Bhabhi duck her head behind the menu to hide her misery. Instinctively she had held Bhabhi's hand under the table and squeezed it in comfort. Later, when the topic of her entanglement with Najma's harassers had come up, Tanveer had made a face and looked away as though she couldn't wait to get away. As the evening progressed, her face grew more and more stony, her gaze icier.

Please Allah, don't let me be related to her! 

When she got married to Ayaan, wouldn't there be some awkwardness at family get-togethers? What would happen when her sister and sister-in-law came face-to-face with each other? Humaira's fingernails dug into her palms. Why do I have to be related to people who hurt the people I've come to love the most? 

A sob nearly escaped her.

Please don't let me be related to her! Please let me protect Abbu ... and Ammi from her. 

She had sent the woman's picture to Abbu from Zoya Bhabhi's iPad last night. 

Bhabhi had suddenly looked so wistful.

Puzzled, Humaira had seen her look down at Abbu's name as she ran her fingers over the screen. Bhabhi had then hugged the iPad to her, and Bhaijaan had looked as if he would like to break something. As she closed the door to their room behind her, Humaira had seen Bhaijaan gather Bhabhi in his arms. Was Bhabhi crying? Was she thinking the same thing? That her hone-wali devrani was related to ...?

She felt wretched for bringing up that woman who still seemed to have the power to make Zoya Bhabhi so sad. Humaira sighed. Abbu must have already given the picture to the police. She wished she hadn't been so hasty. 

Yes, Abbu was worried. 

But what if ...

Her chin lifted.

That's it! 

Even if I am related to that woman I'll still choose this family over her. I won't let her hurt Zoya Bhabhi!

Humaira took a deep breath and exhaled, feeling so much better now. 

More at peace, Humaira looked over her shoulder into the kitchen. Phuphi and Aapi were talking in happy whispers these days. 

Something else was afoot. 

Were they planning some kind of a surprise? Was Zoya Bhabhi's birthday coming up or something? 

She felt that familiar pinch of longing. 

Ayaan was so lucky to have so many loving siblings and now such a fun sister- and brother-in-law! 

She'd never had a sibling. And now that she did, she wished ...

Enough! 

She needed to talk to Ayaan first. Then she would do what needed to be done.

  

Zoya rounded on him. Suddenly she was mad at her husband.

     "Why didn't you let me have my Diet Coke last night?" 

He'd been getting ready for work; she was making the bed.

Asad looked at her patiently.

     Arms folded across his chest, he raised a hand and began counting off on his fingers. "Because it's full of nasty chemicals, too many unpronounceable additives, fake colors, and carcinogens." 

     "So maybe I should switch to real Coke?" she asked. Too innocently.

     "Humph! Do you how much sugar there's in one can of coke?"

     She rolled her eyes at him in annoyance. "I don't, but I'm sure you're about to tell me, Dr. Jahanpanah!" Zoya muttered thunderously. 

     "Twelve teaspoons! No carbonated drinks for you any more," he lectured. "Carbonation isn't good for the bones. Studies have linked aerated beverages to osteoporosis as you age."

     "Hello? Where's my husband and who are you? I didn't realize I'd married Dr. Oz!" she demanded as she boxed his pillow.

Truth be told, Zoya knew he was right. She's heard these familiar lectures from Jeeju and Aapi. Intellectually she knew. But emotionally, she craved. She didn't want to be good. She was so good at being bad. 

It was her signature. 

Being good would erode her street cred. She may as well be Mary freakin' Poppins! She was so craving that sweet, rich, brown, frothy, bubbly, ice-cold, tongue-tingling elixir—  

She fled to the restroom.

     "Zoya!" an alarmed Asad followed. He held her hair back as she hurled her guts out.

Damn! 

She wanted to smash something.

Here she thought she would be one of the lucky ones. 

The invincible. 

The unstoppable. 

The Zoya.

But no. 

Baby Ahmed Khan had just leveled the playing field and made her a cliché.

Knock, knock.

Who's there?

Morning sickness.

Ima kick your nasty little butt, morning sickness! 

But after my stomach slides down from my throat and returns to its original place. Allah miyan, what's wrong with you? So not fair. Why couldn't Mr. Khan get morning sickness instead?

She glared at Asad after washing up.

He grinned, put up his hands defensively and slowly backed away from her. 

Yeah, you better back away. 

She burst into tears.

     "Aw Zoya, come here," Asad pulled her into a fierce hug and kissed the top of her head. "I wish I could say it'll get better." He murmured soothingly. "I'd take your place in a heartbeat so that you didn't have to go through this."

     "You would?" she sniffed into his shirt.

     "Absolutely! For you, a thousand times," he whispered into her hair.

     "Jeez Jahanpanah, I better not be pregnant a thousand times!"

He cracked up laughing.

Zoya smiled. His words didn't take away the sting completely, but she felt immensely better just hearing him say that. He had read up on it more than her anyways. So he knew what was coming up in the next few months. And he didn't tell her about any of the bad stuff, just to spare her. 

Or to save his own butt, most likely. 

She knew in her still-unsettled gut that there were some mean little surprises in store for her.

On facebook, a friend's sister ranted openly about her pregnancy. She railed constantly against what they had collectively christened this phenomenon: preg-atory! It would be accompanied by heartburn, tiredness, swollen feet, gestational diabetes and what not!

Zoya had decided to skip those pregger postmortem posts for now. Asad teased her about burying her head in the sand and being an ostrich. So what? The less she knew, the better it would be for him.

There was a knock on the door. 

Zoya groaned.

Oh great! The daily miserable dose of poison was here! 

Asad grinned and patted her back in sympathy. Disengaging himself, he went to open the door. 

There stood a beaming Ammi with the detestible glass. 

Got haldi milk?

Gaak!

Zoya fled to the bathroom, once again to hug her porcelain accomplice. She retched miserably but nothing much came out this time. Oh really? So morning sickness was just as much about assuming the position and not puking? Now she really did look like an ostrich, she fumed.

Genius! Who the hell came up with this? 

Vengefully, she brushed her teeth for the third time that morning and stepped out. Dilshad made kissing sounds and patted her back. But she held the glass in front of her bahu's face firmly, not bridging any dissent. 

      "Ammi, nooo!"

     "It'll do you good, beta. Now, quickly, ek saans mein gatt-gatt kar ke pee jao. That's a good girl." She murmured the practiced lines. "Chaand jaisa baby hoga."

     "I don't think so. At this rate, this baby is going to be yellow-yellow, dirty fellow," muttered Zoya after hastily downing the nasty stuff. 

Asad chuckled. His wife said and did the darnedest things. But his eyes narrowed suspiciously when he saw a twinkle in her eye and a dent in her cheek.

Suddenly she was ravenous. 

     "Mr Khan, just for putting me through this, you get to order pizza for me!"

He nearly opened his mouth to protest and deliver another lecture on junk food, but she gave him the stink eye. 

Reluctantly, he dialed. 

If she was thinking about food, then he was off the hook. 

For the time being, at least. 

  

     "I wish I hadn't listened to you and let Bhaijaan book my tickets to Dubai!" Najma half-moaned. 

The packing was done. Each had reminded the other a dozen times about relevant paperwork, time differences, international calling codes, and taking good care of themselves. Now their exhausted bodies clung to each other, dreading the afternoon departure.

     "No. I told you, I can't handle saying good bye so many times." Omar leaned back against the headboard. "I don't want you to be miserable and alone in Dubai after I've caught my flight back home. Asad would have insisted on accompanying you or sending Ayaan. And half the family would have tagged along too." 

He shuddered. 

She ducked her head into his shoulder. 

     "It's better this way, Najma." He kissed the top of her head. "A swift surgical cut will be simpler." 

She didn't have the energy to protest. They fell silent. And she fell asleep in his arms as he brooded about the long trip, his dead and empty apartment, mail and bills that must have piled up, work to join ... Thank god Ammi had said that she'd take care of stocking up on groceries and picking up his dry cleaning. Knowing her, she'd probably give the place a good scrubbing too. 

His parents had left for the US a week ago.

Omar felt her even breath against his neck and pressed his lips to Najma's forehead. He was going to miss her so damn much! He had come here, very reluctantly, to attend a cousin's wedding. He'd dreaded mothers of eligible daughters eyeing him hungrily at all the shaadi functions. As though he was a piece of meat with a "Made in USA" stamp.

Ya Allah! The endless questions! 

     "Beta, where do you work? Do you have any brothers or sisters? Why do you live all by yourself in the same city as your parents?"

He would hear whispers and giggles behind his back. 

     And then his cousins would bug him with other questions, "you must have so many girlfriends in the US, right? Any of them white or blonde? What are black girls like? Isn't San Francisco like the gay capital of the world?" 

Who were these people! 

Omar smiled wryly. 

He had sworn he'd never agree to an arranged marriage or, marriage to a girl back in India. They'd have nothing in common. Ammi had started dropping painfully-obvious hints, and he'd brushed her off.

Not for another two years at least, he'd insisted.

But then he had been blackmailed into an informal meet and greet. Omar had figured he'd have a lousy time and then hold that over his parents' heads so that they wouldn't pester him for at least another year.

It was a good thing that the prospective rishta had been Zoya. He was in fact looking forward to seeing her again after so many years.

It was an even better thing that at the door, he had been greeted by a cherubic face, with the reddest cheeks and the shyest smile. 

And there had been no turning back after that. 

Omar folded his arms behind his head.

Married!

His friends were going to kill him. They were threatening a post-wedding ex-bachelor party in Vegas. 

Najma would kill him.

He interlaced his fingers with hers and lifted her hand to place a soft kiss on her knuckles. His phone pinged and Omar picked it up off the bedside table, trying his best not to disturb her.

     "Come on down for breakfast," Ayaan had messaged.  

     With a thumb, he texted back, "later." 

Tightening his arms around Najma, he closed his eyes and dozed too. 

 

     "This tastes funny," Zoya complained about her pizza. Najma and Ayaan grabbed a slice too, despite being scolded by Dilshad to eat a proper breakfast. 

     "Nah! It tastes just fine," said Ayaan. "And big mom, why aren't you scolding Mona darling for not eating a proper and healthy breakfast?"

     Dilshad looked at her bahu fondly and patted her head. "Let Zoya eat whatever she wants." 

     "But why? That's not fair!" 

     "Ayaan," his brother put down the newspaper and glared at him. "Cut it out!"

     "Par Bhai—!"

     "Give it up. When Ammi and Zoya team up, there's no stopping them."

     "Oh really, suddenly you of all people will let her eat junk food just because she's your begum? You're all spoiling her you know, hai na Aapi?"

     Zeenat laughed. "Ayaan miyan, every girl should be so spoiled in her sasural!" She removed kaajal from an eye and rubbed it behind Zoya's ear. Zoya stuck out her tongue at her devar, lapping up all the attention. 

     "Bhaijaan apki problem kya hai?" Nuzzhat butted in as she dug into her own slice, "why are you asking so many questions when you are getting to eat pizza for breakfast?"

     "Eggjactly Raabert! Ye question and answer ki dukaan band karte ho ya main pizza box band karoon?" 

Ayaan rolled his eyes but quickly grabbed another slice before the box lid slammed down on his fingers.

Dadi smiled knowingly. She had suspected yesterday but was even more certain today. The palm fluttering over the stomach very other minute, the erratic appetite and taste changes could only add up to one thing. Bad Bi had already tied a taawiz around her granddaughter-in-law's arm and blessed her after blowing the air around her to ward off all evil spirits. Now, she tied one on Omar's arm. 

Again Ayaan protested. 

     "Dadi sirf inn Americans ke liye? What about all of us? Bhopal ki murgi daal barabar?" 

Dadi laughed delightedly. Ayaan was her favorite after all. 

     "Kuch aisa hi samjho beta," she teased him. "I'm an all-American Dadi-saas now." And soon to be par-dadi, she slyly exulted to herself.

 

The whole family and his cousins were here to see Omar off. Because he had banned anyone from coming to the airport.

     "I'm already married. Don't need band, baaja and baraat anymore," he'd announced to the families' dismay.

Only Najma, Asad and Zo were allowed, and only so that Najma would be taken care of on the return trip home. To compensate, the farewell had turned into one boisterous party at the Khan house. And breakfast had morphed into brunch. But every now and then, people would randomly hug Najma or pat Omar's back. With so many air-blown exorcisms, all evil spirits must have been banished to the outskirts of Bhopal if not the ends of the earth. 

Omar's heart was full. 

It was very rare for him to be surrounded by so much family. His cousins in the US lived in the east coast so they met just once or twice a year for family reunions. Here, cousins and in-laws were tripping over each other and falling out from the woodwork like there was no tomorrow. 

It was a zoo. 

And he was loving it. 

More than thirty people in the room and to be related to all of them! 

M.A. as Zo would say. 

He looked across the room at Najma. Zoya was holding her by the waist and they were chatting softly over half-eaten pizza. 

How could these women eat this stuff? This wasn't pizza. It was gloop slapped together and thrown into an overheated oven. He'd treat Najma to the real stuff when she joined him back home.

     Omar grinned, watching Asad stalk over and shut the pizza box decisively. "Enough now. No more of this junk. Have something healthier now." He placed a bowl of fruit in front of his wife and tried to get her to swallow a piece of watermelon. 

     Ayaan whooped. "Dekha! I knew my Bhaijaan would come out of hiding pretty soon." 

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan?" Zoya lunged to grab the box from Asad's hands as he held it over her head. 

     "Beta, khane do humare dost ko." Rashid called out from the living room. "It's OK once in a while."

     "Abbu, you don't know. This is all she eats, all day long!" 

     "Mr. Khan!" sputtered his wife as she climbed up on a chair for better access to her precious pizza. How dare he out her like this!

     "Mrs. Khan, niche utariye, abhi! And you just said it tasted funny. Why must you eat it then?"  

     Zoya frowned, "yeah, it did taste kinda funny ..." She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Hands on her waist, she demanded, "did you ask them to make it with low fat ingredients or that yucky whole wheat stuff?" 

He closed his eyes in exasperation. 

     She gasped at the sacrilege, "you did, didn't you?" 

     "Whole wheat is good for you and not yucky! Besides, I did nothing of the kind," he growled. "But maybe next time ..." 

     "Oh really? Don't you dare!" she sassed, still scrambling to lay her hands on her confiscated treat. 

     "Zoya, it's the same as always," interjected Najma, taking a bite just to be sure. 

     "Really? Let me see." She tried snatching the box from her husband's hands yet again. 

     "Mr. Khan!" she hopped on the chair, "will you stop being the Jahanpanah of food police, for just this once?" 

     "Zoya, stop it and get down!" he scolded, scooping her off the chair by her waist. "All this fast food and acrobatics is not good for the baby!" 

He saw her eyes pop wide open and realized what he'd just done. Asad heard collective gasps around him and then squeals, shouts and whoops. 

Dilshad slapped her head and looked at Zeenat. Between the two of them they had joked that Zoya would be the one to blurt this out. 

Who'd have thought it would be Asad! 

By now everyone was swarming around the blushing parents-to-be. Ayaan leaped on his Bhaijaan's back and wrestled him to the floor. 

     "A baby!" he hollered sitting astride his brother. "Aap Abbu? And I'm going to be a chachu?" 

Flat on his back, Asad groaned and covered his face with both his hands. He couldn't believe what he'd just done. He was always convinced that Zoya would be the one to ... 

Damn! He'd never hear the end of it now. 

The girls piled on top of him as well, and kissed their Bhaijaan's face in glee"a first for them.

     "We'll be Phuphis!" they shrieked in delight. Asad had to cover his ears now.

     Humaira hugged her. "Zoya Bhabhi, I'm so happy for you," she said softly as Zoya hugged her back just as fiercely. 

     Shireen too joined them in a group hug. Her eyes were moist as she looked at Badi Bi. "Ammi, hum Dadi ban jayenge?" 

Dadi beamed. 

     "Mujhe kal hi shaq ho gaya tha!" she boasted as she kissed Zoya's forehead. She removed some money from her bag and pressed it into Zoya's hand. "Khush raho," she murmured through tears.

     "Zoya!" sobbed Najma as she rushed to cling to her Bhabhi, "I'm so happy for you and Bhaijaan." 

Rashid meanwhile pushed Ayaan off and held out his hand to pull Asad up. He slammed him into his chest. 

No words came. 

No words were needed. 

He simply cradled the back of his head and dropped a kiss on his son's shoulder.

     "Dilshad inki nazar utaro," ordered Dadi.

And Zoya and Asad dutifully lined up for the familiar ritual. Zoya ducked her head and let her hair curtain her face. Ever since her husband's inadvertent broadcast, she hadn't uttered a word, and her lashes hadn't lifted off her reddened cheeks. Asad looked down at her, worried. He put his arm around her waist and subtly drew her into his side. 

Dilshad's eyes misted.

     She kissed Zoya's forehead and spoke softly, "you've brought joy and laughter to our home ever since you came here. Because of you, my Akdu son is happy and our family is together. Hum sab ko itni saari khushiyaan dene ke liye, shukriya."

Zoya turned her face into Asad's sleeve and burst into tears. 

     "Yeah, she's pregnant all right!" quipped Omar. "All those leaky hormones."

     "Omar!" Najma, Nikhat, Shireen and Zeenat chorused to chide him. 

     Ayaan boxed his shoulder, "shut up, Phupha!"

     Omar choked on his coffee. "What the hell? I refuse to be called Foofa. A loofah sounds better." 

     Nikhat pinched his cheek, "Foofa nahin, Phupha!"

     "Let the baby call Pheroze Phupha that," he teased her.

     She blushed hard and fled to Humaira's room after a strangled, "Omar!" 

     "I'll get the baby to call you Oompa loompa," a bold Feroze muttered and scowled at him for chasing away Nikhat. "Cos. you're just as annoying!" 

     Omar chuckled, fondly remembering their marathon sessions of watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory as kids. "Ooompa Loompa would be an improvement, Pheroze Phupha!"

     He loped over to give Zoya a sideways hug and drop a kiss on her head. "May the force be with you!" 

     "Thanks Omi-Wan!" They grinned at each other conspiratorially, die-hard Star Wars nerds. 

     "Just for you Zo, I might even consent to be called Phupha!"

     "I don't know, I like the sound of Oompa Phupha better!" She and Feroze high fived.

 

Humaira was still reeling from shock and horror. Ayaan had just given her the highlights of Tanveer's deeds when she lived here. He had reluctantly left for work on Bhaijaan's orders and promised to talk more in the evening.

She sat on the floor in her room, leaning heavily against the bed. When Zoya Bhabhi had been hurt, it was Tanveer who had pushed her down the stairs? Just because Bhaijaan had broken off his engagement with her?

Oh my god! What kind of a woman was this?

      "I don't know why he even got engaged to her in the first place," Ayaan had wondered. "On the trip they seemed to have no interaction or chemistry. May be Badi Ammi arranged it. But she too didn't seem that close to her. Then why?" 

He had always found that whole episode odd. When he tried to talk to Bhaijaan about it on the trip, nothing came of it. Bhai just hedged and changed the subject. 

Humaira had been aghast when he told her how Tanveer knew Imran from before and even had a relationship with him. That's why they had broken off Nikhat's engagement to that scumbag. 

Oh my god, what has Abbu gotten himself into? He had confirmed that it was the same woman in the photograph. Ayaan was right. It was, indeed, too much of a coincidence.

Humaira wiped the tears off her cheeks decisively. 

She grabbed her phone and took a deep breath. And punched in some numbers.

     "Ammi? I need to talk to you." 

  

Asad had pulled some strings and arranged for Najma to spend time with Omar at the airport lounge while he waited to board his flight.

He now stroked Zoya's hand as they waited in the car in the parking lot. She shifted in her seat to face him and brought their joined hands to rest against her cheek.

     "I'm sorry," Asad whispered as his thumb traced her cheekbone. 

     "What for?" she asked, alarmed. 

     "For blurting it out in front of everyone."

     "I always thought it would be me ..."

     He chuckled, "me too!"

     "Mr. Khan!" she scolded, but with no real fire. She was beat. The warm leather seat, the cool air from the AC, his thumb on her cheek, were all conspiring to put her into a deep contented coma. Her eyes drooped. She felt his warm breath on her cheek and felt his lips press against the corner of her mouth. 

Her lips curved into a smile.

Zoya startled when she heard the door on his side open and slam shut. Puzzled, she watched him walk around the car and open her door. He bent to adjust her seat controls so that her seat reclined. He slipped off his suit jacket and draped it over her.

     "Asad?" 

     "Shh. I know you're exhausted. Just rest. I shouldn't have let you come. I told you to take a nap."

     She grabbed his hand before he closed the door, "I wanted to hold Najma on our way back home. She'll be heartbroken and too embarrassed to say anything in front of you. Besides, these were Omar's strict instructions."

     He looked at her long and hard and bent again, to kiss her forehead this time. "You're mad. And too good for me, you know." 

     "I know," she feathered her fingers across his cheek, not wanting to break contact. "And when we go home, I'll show you how good." 

     "Can't wait."

She giggled.

By the time he came around to sit in the driver's seat, she was nearly asleep. He reclasped her hand and she sighed.

And she slept. Right in the middle of planning a grand seduction.

Asad looked down at her indulgently and shook his head. She had argued with him about not staying in the car with the AC on full blast. 

     "Mr. Khan, we'll be adding to all those greenhouse gas emissions!" 

     He had smirked at that. Last week she had insisted he read an article on how the US was reducing its emissions. "Down by 2%! Isn't that cool?" 

     He held firm now. "You're right, but—"

     "As always," she hadn't been able to resist interrupting to gloat over how she was always right.

     He placed a finger on her lips, and reiterated, "but, I'm not going to let you stand outside in this heat." With his chin he pointed to the clock on the dash, "there are still two more hours for Omar's flight. Which, by the way, contributes to even more emissions. If Indians stopped going to the US may be India could lower its emissions too!"

She had rolled her eyes, but grinned. 

     "You will sit here comfortably, and not argue with me about greenhouse gas emissions, Indian or American, OK?" 

     "Jo hukum, Jahanpanah," she'd murmured gratefully and kissed his finger.

 

 

Song in Title:

Dabang (2010): "Tere Mast Mast Do Nain"


	79. Din Hai Sona, Aur Chaandi Raat Ban Gayee

 

 

  

 

Humaira had insisted that they meet in a public and neutral place. Not home.

Raziya agreed without any protest. She was just thankful to hear Humaira's voice. But she was also dreading the meeting. For Humaira to call and request a formal meeting could only mean one thing: She was ready; she wanted answers.

Raziya quailed at the thought of what the questions would be. 

At a coffee shop in some generic Mall, Humaira faced down her mother.

Ammi looked drawn. Her heart missed a beat. She had mustered enough courage to fix this meeting, but taking the next step was proving harder than Humaira had imagined.

     "Ammi ..." 

     "Bolo beta," said her resigned mother. 

     "How is Abbu?"

     Raziya sighed. "He's ... fine." 

     "Is he? I met him at office last week. He told me about ... Tanveer."

Raziya gasped. Humaira knew? She had hoped that Siddiqui saheb would delay this revelation. But his guilt was making him anxious and careless. She lowered her gaze, agitated and unsure where this would go.

Humaira hated to bring up all this. Ammi looked devastated. Having your husband's illegitimate child thrust upon you must be torture for a stern and self-assured woman like her mother. Did she ever wonder if it was payback for her past misdeeds?

     "He also told me she's missing, and he didn't have her photograph." 

Raziya listened, her heart hammering. She watched pain flash across Humaira's face and nearly reached out to touch her hand. 

     "You know Zoya Bhabhi, Asad Bhaijaan's wife? She's the one who donated blood for me when I was shot. She had a picture of this woman who lived in their house, and I sent it to Abbu. Abbu said it's the same woman."

She looked up sharply as her mother made a choking sound. Raziya's face was grey, her lips white.

     "I'm sorry Ammi. But that's why I called. I think this woman is scamming Abbu. She's the reason Nikhat's engagement broke. She had a relationship with that Imran. Can you believe it?" 

Anger flashed across Humaira's face.

     "She pushed Zoya Bhabhi down the stairs! Ammi, I can't bear to think that I could be related to such a person!" 

Tears were streaming down Raziya's face.

She tried to kill you too, she wanted to scream. If you can't stand to be related to her, wait till you hear about what I did to Zoya! And when you find out that I was the one who planted Tanveer there—! 

Raziya broke down, hopelessly covering her face in her dupatta. It was all over.

     Humaira rushed to her side to console her. "Ammi, I know it must be so hard for you. I'm sorry I brought this up." She massaged her mother's shoulder and back. "That's why I was thinking of coming back home. I want to protect Abbu and you from this woman." 

Raziya gripped her hand in gratitude and relief. Yes! Please come home. I've missed you so much. But she was scared too. Would she want Humaira under the same roof as hers? Expose her to Tanveer's tumorous malice?

     "But, there are some conditions," Humaira asserted. "I need to know everything about why you did what you did to Rashid Phupha. I know that Ayaan will not be happy about me coming back home. But I have to do this." Still gripping Raziya's hand, she continued wistfully, "and, I'll be going to Bhabhi and Bhaijaan's house everyday. I don't want you to stop me. Do you know, Zoya Bhabhi's pregnant?" 

Humaira's face glowed and Raziya's heart sank.

     "When I get married I'll be chachi!" 

No, you'll be Khala whether or not you get married, Raziya's tortured soul cried.  

Humaira went on, unaware of her mother's self-inflicted purgatory.

     "I know that in the past you've always badmouthed that family. Ammi you were so wrong about them! I've been living with them all this while, and they are the best people I know. I won't hear another bad word about them!" 

Humaira took a deep breath and crashed in the nearby chair, completely deflated.

Wow! She'd never talked this way, or said as much to Ammi before. She was already missing her new family.

But no, Abbu needed her. And Ammi seems completely different: broken and beaten. She wasn't wearing any of her resplendent and signature gold jewelry either. She patted Ammi's knee unable to see her in so much pain.

Raziya was screaming in her head. No! I can't tell you why I did what I did. You'll hate me forever. Your life will be ruined. I know, you'll never forgive yourself. 

     "Please Ammi, tell me. Apki kya majboori thi that you took such a step? Why did you try to blackmail them? Ayaan told me that you threatened to hurt Dilshad Phuphi. Why Ammi? If you only knew how much they love me, and how they took care of me. Why would you do it?" 

     "Humaira! Bas karo. Don't ask me these questions. I can't tell you. I hate myself for the kind of person I was then. Isn't that enough?" she begged her daughter to be the grown-up. 

Humaira leaped out of the chair and stood ramrod straight.

     "Ammi! I want to believe that there was some desperate reason for why you did that. I want to understand how you could push me to get married to Ayaan when you had such a bad history with that family? I need to know. They still accept me, even after what you did. For that, I need to know. "

     Raziya stood too. "I'm sorry, but I can't go back to that dark time again. Don't do this to me." Or yourself.

     "Ammi, I have a right to know. If you don't tell me, I refuse to come back home!"

     "Humaira, ye kya zidd hai!"

     "No Ammi, I'm serious." Humaira dashed the tears steaming down her face. "I am your daughter after all. I can blackmail too!" she lashed out against her mother. Why, when I'm giving you the chance to redeem yourself, are you still resisting? Why can't you understand the guilt I feel whenever I look at Ayaan's parents? You have two days to think this over. I want answers, and 'no' is not an answer I'm going to accept!" She picked up her bag to march off. 

     "What will you do if I say no?" Raziya taunted desperately.

     Humaira spun on her heel. "I will take out an ad in all the city newspapers and the Badi Masjid bulletin to publicly disown you as my mother. From that day, I will be dead to you."

     "NO!"

     "Two days, Ammi." 

 

Asad looked in the backseat and smiled as he shook his head. A tearful Zoya was hugging a quietly sobbing Najma. He heard Zoya whisper soft words of comfort and his heart warmed. As he backed the car out he heard the sobbing get louder. Alarmed, he twisted around, worried for Najma. 

But it wasn't Najma. 

     "Zoya? Are you OK?"

He looked at Najma wondering what had happened. Both were wrapped in each other's arms and crying uncontrollably. Asad pulled over.

     Retrieving his handkerchief from his pocket he asked gently, "Zoya?" 

Najma raised her head and began wiping Zoya's tears. She took the handkerchief from Asad's outstretched hand to wipe Zoya's tears. 

Zoya wailed louder.

Najma's sobs were receding. Shock and fear were taking over. She too was wondering about her Bhabhi's breakdown. 

     "Zoya!" hollered Asad. "What's wrong, tell me. I can understand Najma crying but why ... ?" He got out and dashed to open her side of the door, looking worried. 

Najma patted her back, still sniffing herself. 

     "Zoya? Talk to me. Why are you crying so hard? Is everything OK?" Asad continued to panic. Was it the baby? How far was Dr. Sharma's clinic from here?

     "I can't bear to see Najma be so sad. But now I can't stop crying," Zoya wailed. 

Asad and Najma looked at each other. Najma giggled and dashed her tears. Asad raised his eyes heavenward, in exasperation or gratitude, who knew. But he grinned. At least Najma was smiling. 

     "I see a kulfi wala, Najma would you like some?" Asad teased. 

     He heard a loud sniff. "Me too!"

He chuckled. Of course! Why else would he even offer? 

     Asad helped the girls out of the car and hugged each of them close. He dropped a kiss on Najma's head, asking anxiously, "are you OK, Tamatar?" 

     "Ji, Bhaijaan! I'm much better now. Thanks to paagal Zoya," she pinched her Bhabhi's cheek and handed her Asad's handkerchief.

Zoya wiped her face in the same handkerchief she'd used earlier and eagerly stepped forward to place their orders.

Najma slipped her arm around Asad's waist. 

     "Bhaijaan, I'm really happy for you. I'm sorry I've been upset and all weepy, par main aap dono ke liye bahut khush hoon." 

     Asad hugged her tighter. "I know Najma! You don't even have to say it. And you have every reason to be upset. It's not easy for us to live without these crazy Americans." 

     "Bhaijaan!" Najma gasped with pleasure and embarrassment. It was so rare for Bhai to joke with her. That too when she had been crying.

Zoya popped over with a bouquet of kulfis, eyes sparkling, a sky swept clear by cleansing rain. 

     "Najma, I got us two each. And, Mr. Khan, here's one for you." 

They slurped over their treats and scrambled to get in the car when the first raindrops started to fall.

 

Dropping them home, Asad'd gone to office to catch up with work.

The rain didn't let up all evening.

When Asad returned much later, the neighborhood was darker than usual. No electricity. Generators and inverters feebly chugged and pumped energy into rationed lights and fans. 

When he let himself in, he could smell pakoras being fried. Songs played on Zoya's iPad as she scooped and folded fat chillies in the batter and dropped them into the hot oil. The oil spluttered and sizzled.

She chatted loudly with Humaira and Najma as Aapi pulsed green chutney in the blender. 

Ayaan lounged against a counter, head deep in a bag of potato chips. Asad had already seen his bike parked outside. As Humaira ladled the deep fried goodies onto a plate, Ayaan popped a chip into her mouth. Next was Zoya's turn and then Najma's. 

     Dilshad sighed as she poured out the adrak elaichi chai to hand to Asad. "Why are you people frying so many pakoras jab pait chips se bharna hai?" she groused. 

Zoya looked up to beam at her husband. With the back of her hand she pushed her hair off her face. A smear of batter coated her hair. 

     "Hi Mr. Khan! You have to try these pakoras! We've stuffed the chillies with dhokla masala and it's so yum." She licked her lips in anticipation.

His mouth watered. She looked good enough to eat herself. Najma brought over a plate heaped with sizzling pakoras with a bowl of chutney in the center. He grabbed a napkin and a pakora, and dipped it into the chutney. 

     "Asad! Wash your hands at least," Dilshad scolded, wondering why her adult children needed to be reminded of simple things like little kids.

The first bite was delicious. He nearly moaned at the explosion of flavors and the accompanying heat.

Zoya ran over, dying to know his verdict. She took a quick sip of his tea and pushed back her hair on the other side. Now both sides of her bangs were evenly coated. Asad munched while tucking her hair behind her ear. 

     "Aap pehle se hair band ya clip nahin laga sakti theen?" he asked, bemused and smitten. 

     "I forgot!" 

     "Of course."

Handing her his mug and wiping his hands, he strode into their bedroom to return later with her hair scrunchie. As everyone looked on, he deftly secured her hair in a neat ponytail. 

Ayaan sniggered. Humaira glared at him. It was so sweet the way Bhaijaan took care of Zoya Bhabhi. She was beginning to suspect that Ayaan would be totally useless as a husband. 

Najma sniffed and burst into tears. 

     "Aww, chhota baby," Zoya wrapped her in her arms and promptly started crying too.

Asad rolled his eyes. This was getting worse and worse. How many times in a day was she going to be crying in the next nine months?

Setting his mug down on the coffee table, he hugged both of them and rested his chin on Najma's head.

He fished out his handkerchief to hand to his wife. She sobbed harder.

     "What now?" Asad asked. 

     "It's the same one from this morning when Omar said it was my hormones!"

Najma wailed with new intensity now. 

     "Kulfi? Any one? Diet Coke?" Asad asked desperately. 

Dilshad came over to hug Najma and make cooing sounds.

Humaira took a video of this unfolding scene and smiled. Ayaan lumbered over.

     "Why take a picture of them being all emotional?" 

     Humaira giggled. "Because Omar gave me strict instructions to take multiple pictures and videos of Najma all day, and send them to him. This way he can feel that he's with her. Isn't that sweet?"

     "No. It's retarded!" 

     "Ayaan!" 

     "Just kidding! He begged me to help Najma with her TOEFL and GRE applications and chauffer her around when she needs her transcripts and letters of recommendations." 

     "Aww, so cute! I wonder what instructions he left for Phuphi," she mused. 

     "What's cute?" Najma asked holding up the pakoras for them. Seeing Zoya cry made her tears myseriously vanish. She found an overemotional and bawling Zoya too comical to stay sad for long. 

     "Bhabhi and Bhaijaan," Humaira said shyly. She didn't want to mention Omar's name for fear of making Najma cry. 

They all dug in.

 

Dadi and Rashid were speechless.

     Shireen sobbed quietly. "Why?" she kept repeating.

     "Ammi, please. I'm sorry, but I can't do it. Please try to understand." Nikhat knelt in front of her mother and begged.

     "Lekin beta, every girl gets married. We'd like you to find a loving partner who you can spend your life with. Have kids, be happy." Dadi said, perplexed at her quietest granddaughter's firm refusal to get married.

At Shireen's behest Rashid had talked to Omar's parents and then Feroze's. Everyone had seen them get along well at the party and the get-together the next day. They had all conferred and decided that Feroze would be a perfect match. Then why this? 

     "It's because of that weasel Imran, isn't it? I could kill him!" Fumed Rashid.

He paced up and down, helpless and furious as Haseena bi's cruel words and Imran's betrayal came rushing to choke him. 

     "Abbu, please calm down." Nikhat ran to hug her father.

     Shireen wiped her tears and blew her nose. "But beta, you seemed to get along so well with Feroze. We thought this was the right thing to do."

     "Ammi, Feroze is very nice. I have nothing against him. But I don't want to get married now. I want to study, and work. Please!"

     "Par beta, you can study after marriage. Dilshad was telling me that Najma plans to apply for a masters in the US," Shireen persisted. 

She rose to cup Nikhat's face. Fear stabbed her heart. What would happen to her daughter in this world if she didn't get married? Their small world was so cruel to girls who remained single. Had she failed as a mother? 

     "Ammi, Kya hoga meri bachhi ka?" Shireen whispered helplessly.

Nikhat clasped her hands in her own and smiled.

     "Ammi, look at me. Main apna khayaal rakh sakti hoon. For the first time in my life I feel strong and confident. And then I have all of you. Please give me a few years to find myself."

     Badi Bi came over and put her hand on Nikhat's head. "Beta, I can understand your point of view. And I support you. But right now your parents are feeling they've failed you in some way. Maan-baap ko lagta hai beti ki acche se shaadi ho jaye, then everything will be all right."

     "But Dadi, what if I had gotten married to Imran? Can you imagine what my life would have been like with a mother-in-law like Haseena bi?" She wrung her hands and spoke quietly. "I am scared of the idea of marriage. But I'm more scared to give up this sense of self I've found over these past few months. Aapko pata hai how hard it is for girls to be paraded in front of prospective grooms and their families, wait for their verdict, face rejection and then start all over again?" She ran to Rashid, "Abbu please don't make me go through all that all over again." 

Rashid held her to him as she sobbed. He stroked her back. Shireen sobbed too, frightened and heartbroken. Nikhat was right. It wasn't fair for girls to have to go through this kind of sabzi-mandi evaluation. But what could parents of daughters do? Did Nuzzhat think this way too? 

Rashid offered his handkerchief to his daughter and patted her shoulder as she wiped her eyes. 

     He then held at apart by her shoulders, "Nikhat, we never realized that this was so hard on you. But there are two things I want to say to you: One, there will be no dekhna-dikhana. Feroze and his family have already agreed to the nikaah." Nikhat started to protest, and he held up a hand. "But, if you're not ready, I will talk to Abdullah saheb and we'll say we're sorry. Doosri baat. I am proud to see you so strong. We will support you in whatever you want to do, right Shireen?" 

He looked at his wife deliberately.

Shireen took a deep breath. They had been traditional and mindful of cultural conventions and reet and rivaaz. But it had brought her daughter only grief and humiliation. Maybe it was time to stand tall with their heads held high with their daughter, instead of bowing their heads in front of greedy ladkawalas like the Qureshis. 

     She wiped her tears firmly. "Jee, aap sahi keh rahe hain. Although Feroze and his family are nice people, if Nikhat wants to wait for marriage then I can wait too."

     "Ammi! Thank you so much!" Nikhat threw her arms around her mother's neck and kissed her cheek.

Dadi hugged her too and told her to go freshen up. As she started to leave, Rashid called her back. 

     "Nikhat?" 

     "Ji Abbu?" 

     "If you want, you can work at our office and get some experience as you apply to other places." 

     "Really Abbu?" 

     "Absolutely!"

His heart lifted to hear her squeal in delight and skip away to tell Nuzzhat the good news.

     "Rashid, what are you going to say to them? Ek ladki unke ghar mein byaahi hai, and now we are breaking off the rishta for another daughter. I'm scared. What if ..." Shireen twisted the end of the dupatta nervously. 

     He brushed his hand through his hair. "I don't know. I'll talk to Asad and Dilshad first." Shireen came to pat his back, worried about how hard it would be for him to talk to Feroze's or Omar's parents. 

     He put a comforting hand on her arm, "It'll be hard," he said, reading her mind. "But Nikhat is so fragile right now and we have to think of her first. That Imran business really left her scarred it seems. I don't want us to push her. Let's give her a chance to breathe free with no pressure." 

Shireen nodded. 

Dadi rolled her prayer beads between her fingers and covered her head to murmur her prayers.

     "Tum theek keh rahe ho Rashid. Kaafi gehra sadma pada hai bacchi par. Let's back off and let her be." 

     He sighed. "Shukar hai Allah ka that Omar's parents are such fine people. And so are Feroze's parents. I feel terrible that we won't have another son-in-law from that family. Feroze is a good boy. But if that's Allah will, then ..." 

 

Zoya held up another pakora for Asad to bite into. Their eyes snagged as he took a slow bite, his tongue snaking out to lick her finger. This one was spicier than the last one. His mouth was on fire. He hissed. 

Suddenly the lights blew out. 

     "Uff! I told the guard to get the inverter fixed," Dilshad muttered in exasperation. "Najma beta, get the candles." 

In the pitch dark, Asad seized Zoya by her forearms to crash her to him. A soft gasp escaped her. He sucked her lower lip and thrust his tongue in to mate with hers and bank the spreading fires. The heat index of the chilli peppers lowered as she melted against him. He broke away just a second before a couple of candles flared up in the kitchen. 

Brushing his hair off his forehead, Asad sipped the last of his tea and went to sit on the couch. Zoya swiped her mouth. Her lips burned as if branded. Her mouth was on fire as if she'd eaten ten chillies in one go. 

     "Mirchi!" she yelled and ran to get chilled water and rinse her hands.

     "How are the pakoras?" she asked Humaira on the way. "I still haven't had one," she grumbled. 

Humaira's eyebrows arched. But didn't Bhabhi just say ...? She watched Zoya wash up and take a bite and moan in delight, "so good!" As she threw her head back and closed her eyes, Humaira saw Asad Bhaijaan look at Bhabhi with a long and hooded gaze. She noticed a batter-smudged handprint on his dark shirtfront, and Humaira blushed. 

     Aapi patted Zoya's shoulder, "zyaada mat khana. You'll get indigestion."

     "Mmm, Aapi it's worth it!" 

     "Badmash ladki, koi baat nahin sunti ho meri! Dekhna, your kids are not going to listen to you too!" Zeenat pulled her ear playfully. 

     "Phir main aapki tarah, unki choti kheenchungi! Or better yet, I'll send them to you."

     "Ya Allah! You're impossible!" 

"Koi shaq?" came the cheeky retort. "I'm KIM-possible!"

 

The mellow candlelight wrapped them in its moody ambience. The soft chatter in the room occasionally spiced with Zoya's giggles and sass made him smile.

Asad thought back to another evening, months ago, when he had returned similarly from work and found the neighborhood shrouded by another electrical outage.

They had all gone out into the backyard. A minute later Zoya had come out carrying a tray of mugs of steaming ginger and masala tea. A candlestick on the tray cast a soft halo of light on her face. 

     She had handed him his mug tentatively, a fragile peace offering, "umm, Mr. Khan, tea?"

They had barely been civil to each other since his bitter outburst over the gas leak.

He'd stiffly stuffed his hands into his pockets and she had ducked her head.

     "Asad, try it, it's really good," Ammi had encouraged. 

He had taken the mug from her without a word. He didn't have tea, only when he got a cold once in a while and Ammi forced him to have some. Asad took a sip of the light sugary, milky concoction just so that he wouldn't have to say a word in repsonse. The strong ginger flavor blended with cardamom had made him sigh in pleasure. 

     "Zoya, I love your adrak elaichi chai," Najma had said.

And since then, so had he. 

Ammi had shivered, and just as quickly, Zoya had dashed inside to get a shawl. They had all heard her cries of "ouch!' as she blundered about.

Najma giggled, Ammi smiled fondly and sighed, and he had rolled his eyes. But she had hobbled out and tucked Ammi snugly in a shawl and given another one to Najma. She had been excited and gushed about the fun of sitting in the dark together and looking up at the moon. This didn't happen in New York, she pouted. She didn't know there were so many stars in the sky, Zoya whispered in awe. 

     "Phuphi, you know you can barely see the stars in New York. The skyglow there is so bad." 

     "What's skyglow?" Najma had asked.

     "Light pollution. From the night lights in the city." 

Later, she and Najma had nagged everyone to play Antakshari.

Five seconds later, Tanveer had pretended to be cold, rubbing her hands together and hugging herself. And Zoya had nearly gotten up to get her a shawl too.

     But Tanveer had purred, "rehne do Zoya, Jammy can give me his coat."

Asad'd been forced to part with his jacket and drape it across her shoulders. Zoya's smile had slipped. And his heart had twisted. Those were the days when his rigid self-control wouldn't allow him to admit even to himself how attracted he was to her. But he would catch his eyes following her, alerting to the sound of her voice or giggles. He would watch her, many a night, sitting alone on the bench caressing her father's music box and his fists would clench. 

Thank god, that night Najma had put the 440-volt smile back on her face. She had invited Zoya to share the shawl with her and they had snuggled together under it as they sang off tune, eventually winning the competition against Ammi, Tanu and himself. Asad had been surprised at Zoya's knowledge of Hindi songs.

Najma and Tanu had then pestered him to play his guitar and sing for them.

He had, and with a pang watched Zoya's lashes brush her pale cheeks. 

Her yearning to belong and fear of being an outsider had only registered with him much later. Zoya had hurriedly plastered a smile on her face and watched them sing a song she didn't know the words to. She clapped in rhythm and gradually joined in when the lyrics and tune became more familiar.

He'd been mesmerized by her hungry eyes eating up Ammi and Tamatar, as she tried to master the song. And to belong.

Quick to recover, pick up and dust herself off, always ready for a new experience and adventure with no grudges or hard feelings. She was Sheherzade and his Lucille Ball. Fun and daring of the West, wisdom and grace of the East. 

Irrepressible!

That was his Zoya! 

 

     Now, under the cover of semi-darkness, he texted her, "room. Now"

     "Y" 

     "Y do U think? After teekha, I want meetha." 

     "No!" she texted back, "can't."

     "I know how to turn a no into a yes! Yes! YES!" 

Zoya squeezed her eyes shut and silenced her phone so that the others wouldn't hear the rapid successive pings as their lust ping-ponged across cellular devices, from the couch to the kitchen. But thanks to that fiery kiss and these sexts she was mighty close to a steamy YES! right now. 

     "Stop showing off! And I have to help with dinner" 

     "I'll help with dessert" 

     "Aaahhh! U're killing me" 

     "U have batter in your hair & are half-done already. My turn to stuff and gorge on my laal mirchi" These words were followed by a string of hot red peppers. She was wearing red after all! 

     "I thought I was meetha!' she shot back. 

     "You will be, after I'm done with U" 

He heard her groan and grinned. 

Bingo! 

     "Ammi, I'm going to change," Asad announced and left for their room. 

Zoya had to hold herself tight so that she wouldn't bounce restlessly on her feet or rush in after him as if attached by an invisible elastic band. 

Not fair, Mr. Khan! 

But he was right. She was nearly done. Undone rather! 

     She raised her hand to her hair remembering his text. "Allah miyan! What's wrong with me?" she squealed. "How do I have all this batter in my hair? Humaira, Najma, why didn't you guys tell me?" 

They laughed and shrugged.

     "Here, Bhabhi, let me help you wash it off in the kitchen sink," offered Humaira. 

On the iPad, Adnan Sami crooned, "ishq tera garam masala ..." and Zoya clenched her thighs. She hugged herself. 

     "No! umm ... er ... I'll go do it in the restroom," and she fled gratefully for a promised saucy and spicy treat. 

No, feast. 

 

He was shirtless and barefoot. Just a pair of unfastened jeans. 

Waiting. Stalking.

     "Are you wearing anything under those jeans?" she asked, already knowing the answer. Zoya tugged her hair free and shook it loose.

     "Come find out."

Asad yanked her to him. Before she could catch her breath, he whipped her shirt off over her head. And before she could clear her vision, he unhooked her bra and sent it sailing to land on the headboard. He lifted her by her hips aligning her breasts with his mouth to suck and feast. Zoya arched like a bow strung taut, arrowing herself deeper into his mouth. The touch, the sounds of his lovemaking, made her head rear back helplessly; her hair swept his arms at her waist. On their own, her knees bent and toes pointed toward her swaying hair.

Jeans-clad hips crushed and ground against jeans-clad hips. Their bare upper bodies one, she thrashed. 

     "It burns," Zoya protested as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed him closer. 

     "Good," he taunted after a deep tug that turned her molten. "Cos. babe, you burn me up!"

He grunted as she scissored her legs around his waist tightly. 

     "Oh really?" she asked innocently and rubbed herself against him more for herself than to punish or tease him.  

He carried her to the settee and gently slid her down. The faintest moonlight streamed in from the window when a cloud passed. Unsnagging her jeans he peeled them off along with the flimsy lace. His urgency inflamed her more. 

     She gripped his hands, "Asad, slow down!" 

     "No," he growled, pushing her hands away. "Now!" and her jeans landed in a tangled heap at the floor. 

Her breath caught. Zoya trailed a lazy finger across his taut stomach inching lower to the open fly. Eyes raised to meet his her mouth homed in— 

He flipped her over and raised her on her knees, kissing her shoulder.

     "Asad!" she hissed.

     "Shh," her husband swatted away her protests.

Zoya reached out to push the windows open as he undressed. Then she grabbed a cushion to rest her elbows on it, waiting for him. He entered her swiftly. 

Deep.

To the hilt. 

     She bit the pillow and whimpered into it, "oh god, yes!"

     "Told you!" he crowed softly. 

     "Shut up, Mr. Khan!" she scolded, arching, writhing. Reveling. One hand gripped the windowsill to brace herself. 

The rain danced and pattered outside. A soft breeze swirled the billowing sheers and sprayed her face. 

In the living room she could hear soft strains of singing and some laughter.

     "Humnein tumko dekha, tumne humko dekha ..." sang Ammi and Aapi.

They were playing Antakshari? Without her? 

His fingers dug into her waist. And he started to burrow and bore deeper. 

     "Asaaddd, please," she hissed through clenched teeth. Her knuckles were white against the sill.

     "Please what?" he panted, relentless. 

     "Harder, pleeeaaase!" She swished her hips this way and that.

He jerked and went still. 

     "Asad?" Zoya complained. Don't stop!

     "Shh, give me a second." 

And he began moving inside her again. Hard and fast. Her teeth dug into the cushion. She wished it were his shoulder but she loved this way best. This was when she'd feel him sink in deepest. Closest. Nudging her womb. 

So erotic. So damn hot.

     "Ooh, so good!" she moaned biting her lower lip. 

     "Suraj hua madhyam, chaand jalne laga," Ayaan and the girls sang outside. 

Zoya wiggled impatiently, rocking him in further.

     "Please, please ... harder" she crooned. Her hips begged, luxuriating, going wild. 

     "Oh god, Zoyaaa! Don't say—!" He threw his head back, helpless. "You make me lose all control!" 

His roughened words through clenched teeth and breaking self-restraint were enough to drive her over the edge. 

     "Main theheri rahi, zameen chalne lagi ..." 

     "Yes! Yeesss!" Zoya buried her face in the pillow to smother her cries.

Her hair cascaded off her shoulders now dewy from the rain.

 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Once Upon a Time in Mumbai (2010) "Tum Jo Aaye" 


	80. Tu Bhi Aankhiyon Se Kabhi Meri Aankhiyon Ki Sun

 

 

  

     "BTW, this mirchi is already stuffed, thanks to you and Baby Ahmed Khan," she texted him just after dinner.

     "You're getting slow Mrs. Khan. I was expecting you to say that 2 hours ago!" He messaged from the living room. 

The lights were back on.

Asad was working on his laptop, overseeing Ayaan create a report for an important presentation tomorrow. In between, he was fielding texts from his wife hellbent on sassing him and destroying his concentration.

It was going to be a big day for Ayaan tomorrow. His big chance to be in the big leagues. Humaira was more nervous for him and peeked over their shoulders every now and then. She rolled her eyes, wrung her hands and crossed her fingers when he seemed to space out. She wanted to rap his knuckles for flaking out. Ayaan, focus! she wanted to scream.

     "I was distracted!" Zoya tried to save face. "And just for that, Mr. Khan, no meetha 4 U tonight! Bet you didn't expect that!" 

     "That's OK, I'm in the mood for khatta now," his text retorted.

Zoya stomped her foot. Was she really getting slow? Allah miyan, if it's true then that's so not fair! 

     "Oh really, you want some imli or pickle?" she sassed back. "I thought I was the 1 who's pregnant. When's your baby due?" 

She heard him laugh and pumped her fist. Yes! Not so slow after all. 

     "Same day as yours!"

Annnhhh! She mentally groaned. The man was keeping up. She must be slowing down after all.

     "Aapi! Soak more badaams for me!" she harrumphed.

 

When Dilshad came down for water late at night, she saw Asad in the backyard, deep in thought, and pacing furiously. She watched, worried, as he ran his hand through his hair and cracked his knuckles.

     "Asad? Why aren't you asleep?"

     "Kuch nahin, Ammi. I'm just ... thinking." 

     Dilshad took at sip of her water and sat down on the bench. She patted it, inviting him to join her. "Tell me what's bothering you. Is it Nikhat?" Rashid had called and briefly told them about Nikhat's decision earlier that evening. 

     Asad sighed. "Ji, Ammi. I support Nikhat. But I hope it won't affect how Najma will be treated by their family." 

     "They are really nice people. From what I've heard Zeenat say about Omar's parents, and what we've seen of them, they seem warm and kind. And incredibly open-minded. Najma will be fine. That's what I told Rashid too." 

     Dilshad sighed and continued, "poor child. Your Abbu told me they fear that incident with Imran seems to have scarred Nikhat in some way. My heart goes out to her. Such terrible people! And now she's scared to trust such wonderful people because of that." 

He bowed his head and exhaled deeply. Dilshad put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

     "There's something else, isn't there?" 

     "I'm worried about Zoya, Ammi." 

     "Why? Has something happened?" She half-rose in panic, clutching her heart.

     Asad gently pulled her back by her arm, "no, nothing's happened. But she's crying too much these days. I read about this, and Dr. Sharma also told us that it's only hormonal."

     "But you're not convinced it's just that." 

     "No. I think there's something deeper ... ek gham hai jo Zoya ko undar se khaye ja raha hai. I know she desperately wants to be reunited with her father. She wants him to acknowledge her as his daughter. Ammi, I know ... it's killing her that he's so worried about Tanveer and doesn't know the truth about her. She aches for Humaira to call her Aapi or Baji, not Zoya Bhabhi." 

     Dilshad spoke wistfully, "now that she's going to have a baby, she must yearn for him even more." 

He rose and started to pace again.

     "I shouldn't have listened to her! I should've taken her to meet him as soon as we found out." Asad stopped in front of her. "You know Ammi, she doesn't hold her music box any more. I think she's hidden it somewhere. It's not in its usual place ... She either doesn't want Humaira to catch her with it, or, I think she's done it because of all the buzz about pregnant women staying happy and thinking only happy thoughts." Asad knelt before her, "she's trying to repress her feelings for the sake of the baby, and me. That's not right, is it Ammi? This can't possibly be good for her or the baby." 

     "Mera bachha," Dilshad whispered, stroking and smoothing his hair. "How much is Allah going to test her?" 

Asad paced long after Dilshad went up to bed.

Should he go meet Siddiqui saheb? Or should he just let nature takes its course? If he did go, then what proof did he really have? Why would the man believe him? Especially when they were business rivals. He didn't even have the music box to show him. Where had she hidden it?

Asad went to bed only when he felt a pair of arms embrace him and his wife's lips at his neck. She dragged him away, complaining that she and the baby couldn't sleep without him by their side. 

 

When Zoya went to open the door the next morning she was greeted by a gigantic bouquet of roses. She squealed with delight. Her husband was back to spoiling her instead of razzing her. She reached her arm out ... 

     Feroze peeked from behind the mountain of roses. "Hi Zoya Bhabhi! I got these for Najma. Omar's strict orders." 

Zoya's face fell. Not for her? But then she perked right up and squealed again.

     "Najma!" she yelled up the stairs. "Special delivery for you!" Everyone spilled into the living room. New morning, new show. 

Zoya waited at the bottom of the stairs dying to see Najma's reaction.

She wasn't disappointed.

Najma shrieked and sobbed. Humaira dutifully took pictures and videos, as did Feroze. 

     "But he hasn't reached home as yet. How did he contact you?" Najma inquired of her brother-in-law after wiping her tears. He had called her when he landed in Dubai. There was a five-hour wait there and then a sixteen-hour flight to San Francisco. 

     "He told me before leaving. I was instructed to buy the biggest bouquet of roses today and appear at your doorstep to take you to Khala's house where you are to spend the rest of the day with all the cousins, and aunts, and uncles. They've been told to spoil you rotten and treat you like a princess."

In fact, Omar had ribbed him about may be having Najma bring Nikhat with her for company, but there was no chance of that now. 

Najma blushed with pleasure.

     "Haww Tamatar, this is your big test! You better be on your best behavior and represent the Khan family well. Aakhir humari izzat ka sawaal hai!" Zoya teased.

Feroze grinned. Zoya offered him a drink and snacks as Najma went to get ready for her big day at her sasural, Cinderella at the castle in the absence of her Prince Charming. Dilshad and Aapi clucked loudly and followed her to wave their maternal magic wands. Humaira, the trusty photographer and videographer charged after them to memorialize the moment for everyone's favorite Jeeju. 

     "How are you doing Feroze?" Zoya asked cautiously.

Asad had told her about Nikhat's decision. Admiration for Nikhat had warred with regret that she was missing out on being with such a nice guy. She had met Omar's cousins as kids at birthday parties and religious holidays back in the US. He was the older, quieter and shyest one. The observer and confidant, and everyone's secret keeper. And he was also the one with a wicked sense of humor once he became comfortable around people.

If only ... 

Feroze ducked his head and she saw his smile slip. Her heart melted for him. These Khans! Breaking hearts all over the place. 

     "I'm fine ... Bhabhi. Thanks for asking." 

     "Call me Zoya. And I'm sorry it didn't work out with Nikhat," she said softly. She wanted to blurt out about Imran, assure him that Nikhat was neither heartless nor a snob. She wanted to ...

     "Me too," he sighed. 

Impulsively, Zoya went to the side table and picked up the address book, a pen and post-it note. Asad would totally kill her. Thank god he'd left early today! Checking the address book she wrote something and then handed him the note. 

     "She's going to be here all day. Talk to her."  

He looked at her and then at the paper clutched between her fingers. And then slowly he took the yellow scrap and slipped it into his shirt pocket.

     "Wish me luck." 

     "You won't need it," she patted his knee. "Keep me posted," she said hurriedly as everyone trooped down the stairs. 

 

Nikhat was loving it in Abbu's office.

At first everyone treated her with kid gloves but when they saw that she wasn't about to be coddled and oohed and aahed over, they all went about their business and left her alone. Abbu's secretary had given her some simple computer tasks that she wasn't completely bored with as yet.

She had silenced her phone and ignored the thousand and one frantic text and voicemail messages from Ammi and Nuzzhat. Even Ayaan Bhaijaan had left a few teasing notes. Zoya Bhabhi has sent a simple, "I love you and am so proud of you. Good luck." It warmed her head to toe. Humaira had sent her an inspirational quote and Najma had called to talk to her. 

     "I would have loved it if things had worked out. But you know that both Omar and I love you so much, right?"

Najma, like the rest of the family, heartily approved of how close Omar and Nikhat had gotten. The two of them were the perfect foils to one another, sharing an odd and unexpected kinship. Nikhat felt so guilty when she saw Najma's name flash on her screen. Allah, please don't let Omar hate me! 

Nikhat assured everyone that she was fine. Asad Bhaijaan had come to pick her up and take her to Abbu's office.

     He gave her a small bunch of flowers, "Zoya sent you these. I think they are from our backyard." 

     She'd buried her face in them inhaling the sweet scent and he'd hugged her sideways and kissed the top of her head, "have a great day! And remember, if you hate it here, you can always come work for me! We're bigger and better!"

     "Bhaijaan!" 

     Remembering Ayaan Bhaijaan's first day at work, she had expressly forbidden Ammi to send lunch. "I'll eat with Abbu, please don't worry about me, Ammi." 

She sighed with pleasure. This wasn't so bad. For a second she thought about Feroze and felt a pang. "No, it's for the best," she told herself. She got back to work after checking the clock. Half an hour before everyone broke for lunch. She wanted to run something by Abbu when she joined him then. 

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around. It was Mala from the front desk. 

     "Ms. Khan, Ma'am, there's someone here to meet you." 

     "Who?" 

     "He won't give me his name. But he's been waiting for a long time. The guard wouldn't let him in. When I stepped out, he explained that it's urgent. He seems well-dressed and from a good family. So I thought I'd come up and tell you myself."

Nikhat just knew. Her heart chugged and thumped. Oh god, what now? And on her first day at work too! She thanked Mala and rose to face him. For a fraction of a second she had been tempted to tell Mala, "tell him I'm not here."

But no. She owed him at least this much.

He leaped up from the chair as soon as he saw her descending the steps. His helmet nearly went flying.

     "Hi," Feroze said shyly.

She smiled tremulously.

     "Umm, I'm sorry to bother you here. I shouldn't have come." He gripped his helmet tight. 

     "No, please, it's OK. Have a seat." Nikhat led him to a nook with potted plants and two comfortable chairs. 

     "Can I take you out for coffee? Please?" 

She wanted to go. But she didn't want to go. If she didn't go, it would all end here. She'd probably never see him again. If she went with him, she knew there would be no turning back. It would be that clichd jhatt mangni, patt byaah. She wasn't the kind to flit from romantic dalliances to flings. If she went out today, it would be a permanent declaration of a lifelong commitment. 

     "It's fine. You don't have to. We can talk here." And he took a seat. 

She had seen the light leave his eyes and it had done something to her heart. Had he been hurt by her reluctance? Did he actually like her? 

Oh god, what are these feelings? 

Nikhat sat too and waited for him to say something. She felt too tongue-tied.

     He seemed to make a sudden decision. "I just wanted to know why you said no," he asked simply, calmly, with no rancor or recriminations. 

Feroze was dying to ask: was it me? I thought you liked me. I liked you. I like you. Otherwise I wouldn't be here. I've never done anything like this before.

But he remained silent. He wanted her to answer without him trying to fill in the uncomfortable silence between them with defensive excuses or pleas. 

Nikhat looked at him. He looked so vulnerable. Had she hurt him by refusing him? Did guys feel this way too? 

     "I ... I want to study and work. I don't think I'm ready for marriage yet."

     "Women study and work even after they get married. Najma—" 

     "I know Najma will study further. But it's different for her. Theirs was a love marriage."

     "Ours could be too," he whispered roughly.

Her eyes flew to meet his. She saw hope and fear, and something else blaze in his direct gaze. Nikhat blushed and lowered her lashes. He looked down at her bowed head and made a split-second decision.

Where had all this boldness come from suddenly?

     "Let's get some coffee, or ice cream, or ... whatever you wish." Feroze stated more firmly this time. 

     "OK," she whispered.

     He held the door open for her. "Do you want to get your bag or ... tell uncle?" 

Nikhat looked up at him blankly and then at her empty hands. She looked up in confusion at Mala at the desk. 

     "Go ahead Ma'am. I'll tell sir," she reassured her. 

She was rooted to the spot. 

     "Nikhat?" Feroze held out his hand to her. 

She looked down at his open palm and slipped her hand into his. She felt him tug her toward him and allowed him to lead her out. In a daze Nikhat watched him mount his bike, secure his helmet and turn to her. She sat in the backseat and bravely slipped her arm around his waist. 

Ya Allah, what am I doing? 

Was she just experimenting with something new and forbidden? Would she do this with just anyone? If Imran had come up like this would she do the same? Unconsciously she clutched his shirt. Her friends would sneak out on dates with boyfriends. Is this what she was testing and trying on? 

She felt confused. She wasn't the kind. Nikhat had haughtily defined herself as too old-school. Too sure that she'd never be those types who sneaked around behind their parents' backs and led double lives as goody-two shoes at home and risk-taking rebels outside.

But she felt bold too. 

She wanted to see where this went. She felt in control. Her fingers started to loosen their tight hold on his shirt. And she felt his palm press down on the back of her hand. He pulled over to the side of the road and removed his helmet. 

     "I have no idea where I'm going. Do you know where we can find a good place to talk?"

 

     "When are you leaving for New York?" were her first words to him after they placed their order. 

He looked at her in surprise. Why are you really here, she was asking. 

     "When I've convinced you to give us a chance."

He saw delight bloom in her eyes, but then, just as swiftly, they were shadowed by pain.

     "Why? Is it because I was the first girl to say no to you?" She asked defiantly.

     He chuckled self-consciously. "You aren't the first!" 

She felt raw acid course through her. Whoa! What was that? Jealousy? 

What nonsense! 

     "Did you go after every girl who said no to you?"

     "No. Just you." 

Now that felt really nice. She didn't want to explore why as yet. 

But then she frowned. 

     "Why? Am I that easy to demand an explanation from? I hurt your ego because you didn't expect a girl like me to say no, right?"

     "Wrong. At first I thought it was because you didn't think me worthy of you." 

She nearly snorted. Him worthy of her? Never in her life had she ever wondered if a guy would be worthy of her. It had always been about if any guy would even like her for herself. 

     "But now I know it's not me you turned down, but some vague idea of marriage which you see as unequal or repressive." 

Nikhat gasped. How had—? 

     "And you are here to convince me otherwise?" She asked more playfully now. He was right. That's exactly what she feared an arranged marriage would be like. Asad Bhaijaan's and Najma's marriages seemed hauntingly beautiful, but she was sure that would never happen to her. 

She was ordinary. 

But her darkest fear went deeper. She had never fully admitted it even to herself. She loved Abbu to pieces, but she wondered if he could leave someone as beautiful and graceful as Badi Ammi, then there was no way that she, a plain jane, stood a chance to save her marriage even if she did end up marrying. On bad days, she thought: who would want to marry me? On worse days: why would someone want to stay married to me?

She didn't want Feroze to breach her carefully erected walls of tangled insecurities and self-defense. 

But he did. 

     "What happened Nikhat? Why are you so scared of marriage? Someone hurt you. You've taken their rejection to heart."

Nikhat's eyes widened and teared as she looked at him in panic; the wall came crashing down. Woodenly, unexpectedly, the words spilled out. 

She had been engaged not long ago. She thought she had no choice. She thought she should be grateful that someone was willing to marry a dark-skinned girl like herself. She thought he actually liked her. For a moment she had allowed herself to dream dreams and weave fantasies. She had made herself perfect in everyway: she could sew, cook, bake, paint, dance, run a house. She had tried her best to compensate for that one glaring defect. 

But it had all been an illusion. 

She wasn't a person. She was a damaged marker of her parents' and uncle's wealth. Just an unfortunate carrier of a name and legacy. His mother missed no opportunity to remind them of their charity in choosing her despite her darkness. Each visit was punctuated with suggestions for trying out new whitening creams and technologies. And he had betrayed her by carrying on with another woman on the side. 

Who was fair. 

Who was beautiful.

Who was also pregnant. 

Nikhat fled to the restroom to break down into tears.

She had never said these words out loud to anyone. She didn't want to upset her parents or siblings. Only Dadi knew a little bit about how wretched she felt. 

When she stepped out she saw Feroze pacing in the empty hallway, just outside. He handed her a water bottle and his handkerchief, both of which she accepted gratefully. 

     "He's a bastard!" He spat out. Nikhat's eyes flared. Not the language she thought she'd hear Feroze use. Omar may be. No, for sure. 

But not Feroze. 

     "And not just because he stepped out on you. Because he didn't stand up for you!" 

How did he know Imran didn't stand up for her? 

     "How do you know he didn't—?" 

     "If he had, his mother wouldn't have had the nerve to say those rotten things to you! Say no to me, but don't let scumbags like that dictate what you think of yourself." 

Everyone, Ammi, Dadi, Abbu, Ayaan and Asad Bhaijaan, had all said the same thing. But that was because they loved her, she was family. But hearing Feroze say it, meant a world of difference. 

Her heart lifted. Nikhat beamed up at him.

     "Get out your phone," he ordered. 

     She blinked. "I don't have it. I left it at the office. Why?" 

     "Here, take mine. Have you seen Jab We Met'?"

She nodded, perplexed. 

     "My cousin sister forced me to watch. Call that ass and call him every swear word you know." 

Nikhat gasped and then grinned impishly. 

     "Seriously?" 

     "Seriously!"

And his earnest outrage on her behalf and his cheerleading just got to her. It hit her right in the gut. She punched in Imran's numbers surprised that she still remembered. 

     "Imran? This is Nikhat." She looked into Feroze's face for courage. He nodded and lifted his chin. 

     "I wanted to call you and tell you that you're a ... a weasel, an ass ... a gadha, suar, kutta, kamina  ullu ka pattha!" Her voice grew stronger with each word. "Did you think your rotten mother and you could walk all over us? Over me? You smarmy son of a bitch ... you luchha, lafanga, cheapster ..."

     "Asshole," prompted Feroze.

     "Asshole!" she repeated. 

     "Dickbag," he suggested. 

     "Umm ... Dickbag!" 

     "Major scumbag!"

They continued to collaborate as they poured over every bad word in their mental thesaurus and urban dictionary. 

     "Loser!"

     "Jerk!" 

This was fun. Especially since she could hear Imran sputtering at the other end. What a moron! He didn't even hang up!

     "Douche!" 

She repeated it not even knowing what the words meant anymore. 

     "Shitface!" 

     "Asswipe!" She choked at that one. 

     "Devil's spawn!" She loved that one. It was perfect. 

     She remembered what Ayaan Bhaijaan had called his mother once. "Bhainseena ka toota hua seeng," she yelled. "Teri maan ki—!!!" she shouted for good measure and covered her mouth guiltily.

She felt exhilarated. Vindicated.

Grinning, Feroze took his phone from her and held up his hand in the air to high five her. She smacked her own palm against his. 

They walked out, giddy and guilt-free, half-drunk coffee and cappuchinos long forgotten. 

     A young girl with a heap of balloons ran up to them, "Uncle, uncle, aunty ke liye balloon kharido, please!" 

Feroze looked at Nikhat and pulled out his wallet. And he bought all the balloons she had. 

     Replacing his wallet, he gave Nikhat one balloon from the bunch. "I read this somewhere. Imagine this is one of your biggest fears. Release it." 

Smiling, she closed her eyes and let it go. They both watched its trajectory, wishing upon it. It floated and bobbed in the air. It brushed against a branch and an electric line and snaked higher. 

     He handed her another one. "Your biggest doubt." 

She released it too with a laugh. It snagged on a branch and then popped. Nikhat giggled. 

     "Your anger."

She looked up at him in surprise. Anger? She had never articulated anger before. If she ever felt the emotion, she suppressed it. Nice girls weren't supposed to be angry. 

With a delirious sigh, she released her anger into the universe too.

     "Your insecurity." She grabbed two-three more from his hand and released them together, nearly hopping and skipping. Feroze laughed. Her glee was contagious. By now little kids had surrounded them and were clapping for each balloon that broke free.

     He handed her another, but she stayed his hand, "your turn now."

She repeated the same instructions, and watched his face as he let each go.

     She took one balloon from him and handed it to a little boy, "for hope," she said. 

     Following her cue, Feroze handed one to another child, "for new beginnings."

     "For ... friendship," she said softly.

     "For fun!" he responded, as a little girl squealed and skipped off with his balloon. 

     "For teamwork," sighed Nikhat.

     "For champions," a little boy beamed a toothless grin. 

     "For ... yes," she said loud and clear. She waited for his reaction.

Feroze blushed but remained silent.

     "Feroze?" 

     "That's way too soon! Sorry," he said distantly. "I don't want your gratitude or pity!" 

She gasped. What! 

The string in her hand released from her feeble grip.

He distributed the remaining balloons quietly and walked over to the bike. He donned his helmet and waited for her climb on. 

Nikhat felt disoriented. Had she offended him? Didn't he like her any more? Her heart plummeted and shoulders drooped. She looked up into the sky one last time. She saw tiny colored dots getting tinier. Their fears, doubts, anger and insecurities floated away. Their hopes, friendship and fun were clutched in tiny grubby hands not a few feet away. 

Her chin lifted and shoulders squared. 

Feroze dropped her off at the office. 

     "Thanks," he said shyly. "And I'm sorry for taking you away from work for so long." 

     "Give me your phone," she ordered. "I have to make an important call." 

He handed it over obediently.

     Nikhat called her number and left a missed call. Handing him his phone she said, "now I have your number, and you have mine." 

     "You're going to study and work, and in a few days, I'll be going back to New York to teach a summer class on International Relations. What's the point?" he asked looking away. 

     She looked at him archly, "International Relations IS the point. You'll take me out for lunch tomorrow. Half a cup of coffee doesn't qualify as a date for a girl like me!"

     "And if I say no?" 

     "You're a Ph.D. and already working. You don't get to say no," she said cheekily. "I'll be waiting here. Tomorrow, high noon." 

She didn't know how hard she was gripping her hands, or how deep her nails were gouging her palms till she saw his eyes light up and lips curl into a full smile. 

Wait, was that actually a dimple in his cheek and chin? OK, the kids better inherit that! 

     "Yes ma'am!" he replied simply.

As he kickstarted the bike to leave, she tapped his shoulder. Again, she wondered at her own audacity. He lifted the visor. 

     "Feroze?" 

     "Yeah?" 

     "You're such a liar! I can't believe any girl said no to you!"

Their eyes met and held for a long time. He turned the bike off and pulled off his helmet.

     "They did. But they may have regretted it after finding out what a prize catch I am!"

Her laughter pealed across the parking lot.

     "Will I have to fight off a long line of no-sayers and regreters?" 

     "Probably," he counted on his fingers and she slapped his shoulder. "Four or five of them. But you could do it with all the gaalis you know." 

She leaned back weakly against the bike as she doubled over with laughter again. 

     Nikhat held out her open hand, "done!"

He looked at her open palm. Qubool hai? He low-fived her. He wanted to pull her by that hand into his arms and plant a kiss on her lips. 

Too soon?

May be tomorrow.

     "I think the bigger question is: how many said yes?" She asked, an eyebrow raised, still not wanting him to leave. 

     "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell." 

     "Feroze! All that 'main bechara' charm was just to reel me in?" 

     He shrugged, "it worked, didn't it? See? You're putty in my hands." 

     "You—!" 

     "Luchha, lafanga, kutta—?"

She rushed to put her hand on his mouth. Both blushed. She jerked her hand back as if burned and clenched it. A plesant and comfortable silence stretched between them.

     Nikhat hugged herself. "What a first day at work!" she quipped. 

     "Just imagine what your first day back at school will be like." 

     "Really interesting, if I had you for my professor. And I'm such a good student too!" 

She gasped, unable to believe that she had actually said something like that. Where had THAT come from? Her hands flew to muzzle her mouth. Good god, what was happening to her? Who was she?

     "Miss Nikhat Khan, I do believe you're flirting with me! Besides, it's against policy for professors to date their students, even the best ones. You'd get me fired. Then we'd have to make do on your salary alone!" He fastened his helmet and roared off. 

 

Rashid watched from four floors above.

Is that why she had said no to Feorze because she liked someone else? He had told the guard to buzz him when they came back after Mala came to tell him that Nikhat Ma'am had gone out for coffee with someone. He had pressed her for more details, but that's all she knew. He nearly called down to order the guard to note down the bike's license plate number. But no. He trusted Nikhat. And having the guard snoop around would just make the staff talk and speculate among themselves.

He couldn't see the boy from up here, but he saw her body language. She looked happy and confident. Her shoulders were thrown back and her head was held high. She actually touched him and laughed with abandon. He had rarely seen Nikhat laugh like that. He saw him slap her hand in a breezy low-five, and then her hand lifted to his mouth! His Nikhat? So free and at such ease with a young man? Rashid continued to watch as the young man rode away and Nikhat's eyes followed him. She crossed the lot and entered their office building, a spring in her step.

Rashid was happy for his daughter. But he was worried too. How long had she known this man? Why didn't she tell them? Was he a Hindu or Christian boy? Would that matter? Yes, and no. 

 

She had kept track of his meetings by chatting up Prasad. At around 2 o'clock Zoya called Prasad again. 

     "I'm sending a gift for Mr. Khan. Let the delivery boy through the side entrance. 

Someone knocked. When Asad looked up from his laptop, he saw the tallest and widest flower arrangement he'd seen in his life.  The fragrance of tuberoses filled the room. Grinning broadly, he rose to supervise its accurate placement on the coffee table. He grabbed the small card while retrieving his wallet to generously tip the delivery boy. 

His hand arrested in mid-air as he read the words. His favorite, Rumi. 

     "When I am with you, we stay up all night.

     When you're not here, I can't go to sleep.

     Praise God for those two insomnias!

     And the difference between them." 

     From the corner of his eye he saw the delivery boy turn to leave. "Wait, please. Here's ..." 

He looked at the baseball cap, the slight back in the loose shirt, the skinny jeans. Hmm, why did the delivery person have the cutest butt? Just like his wife's. 

He quietly snuck up behind her and pinched her butt. 

     "Mr. Khan!" she squealed turning around. "How did you know? I hope you don't go around pinching random delivery walas' butts!" 

     "I can recognize you in any disguise, any where, that's how," Asad flipped the cap off and watched, mesmerized, as her hair tumbled down. "Besides, isn't that my shirt?"

     "So it was the shirt you recognized, not your wife!"

     "Why the flowers?" he asked tucking her hair behind an ear.

"Just like that! I was missing you. Najma's gone to her sasural. Ammi and Aapi went shopping. Humaira's disappeared somewhere too." 

He pulled her in for a hug and kiss and led her to cuddle on the couch.  

     "How did Ayaan's presentation go?" 

     "Pretty good. He's a natural at this. I have to slog hours getting the littlest details right, and he just breezes in, oozes charm and confidence. Within minutes, he has them eating out of his hand." Asad proudly recapped for her. 

     "Humaira was so nervous." Zoya mused. She planted a kiss on his cheek and rose to go. "I know you're busy, I'll see you at home in the evening." 

     He pulled her back to land her in his lap, "don't go." 

     "But you have a meeting at 4!" she complained, snuggling in deeper. 

     "How would you know?" 

     "I've been keeping tabs on you."

     "Prasad?" 

     "Shhh," Zoya smoothed his brow, "a detective or reporter never gives up her sources." 

     "You're bored right?" 

     "Totally! How long can I help Ammi and Aapi, chat with Humaira and Najma, catch up with my blogging, and read?" 

     "Join work here." 

     "Really?" 

     "Sure!"

     "No. No one will take me seriously since I'll be the bossni, and you won't get any work done!" 

     "Bossni?" 

     "Boss' boss!" 

     Asad chuckled and stroked her cheek. "Then work from home. Get involved with or supervise the work that's about to start at the children's center." 

Even before they got married, they had talked about showing their gratitude for finding each other by doing something good, some kind of public service or community outreach or enrichment program. Asad had talked to Jeeju to find out the name and whereabouts of the orphanage where they had found Zoya. And since then they had committed to building an extension to the existing structure which would house additional classrooms, a computer lab and sports facilities. The ground-breaking ceremony would be in a few weeks.

     Her eyes sparkled. "Yes! We can do a fundraiser to raise more money for equipment."

     "Sounds good. Talk to Prasad and get started."

His desk phone rang. 

 

Zoya let herself out quietly after a quick peck on his cheek. Asad had pulled her to him letting his palm linger and rub her stomach gently. Every morning he still chanted Allah's name ninety-nines times, hand possessive and protective over her belly. They would talk softly to, and through the baby after this ritual: tell Ammi this, watch Abbu do that ... 

Still talking over the phone, he took her hand in his, and raised it to his lips. 

     "Yes, I'll see you there," he told whoever was at the other end, and then bit down on her thumb pad. 

She hissed. 

 

As Zoya got into the car, her phone pinged. A new message.

     She looked at the screen and pumped her fist in the air, "Yay! Good job, Zoya!" 

     "We're going out for lunch tomorrow," reported her latest matchmaking client. "I owe you."

 

 

Song in title:

Veer (2010): "Surili Ankhiyon Wale"


	81. Zulf Ke Neeche Gardan Pe, Subah Sham Milti Rahe

 

 

Asad had an idea but he needed her music box for it. And he had searched everywhere in the room. He had been systematic and thorough in his search: starting from the top to the bottom, clockwise from the door. Meticulously, he had worked his way around the room.

No luck. 

Incredibly foolish!

Absently he looked at Zoya's bedside table and smiled. Zoya had insisted on hijacking and displaying the jar of marbles from his treasures of the past. When they talked in bed, her hand would often lift to caress the glass, or rattle the marbles playfully next to her stomach. Her fingers would tap on the glass or the metal lid, beating some improvised rhythm. Next to the jar sat a fine bone china bowl and in it nestled the scruffed up cricket ball from his high school days. Some lazy, langorous nights, he would show her how to hold it just right: the correct placement of the fingers and thumb, how with a deft flick of the wrist, you could make it spin to rattle the opposing batsman.

     "When can I watch you play?" she'd begged countless times. 

Treasures of the past ...

Asad's eyes widened. 

Of course. He should've thought of it sooner.

He dashed to the storeroom to retrieve the beat-up cardboard box with his childhood toys and collectibles that she had insisted they pour over, and root through, not long ago. There, on top of the hardbound books sat her music box. Her fatherless past and his, jostled and bumped together offering mute, but mutual comfort and companionship.

He lifted it out carefully.

 

Raziya thought long and hard about Humaira's ultimatum. She had seen the fire of angry determination on Humaira's face. 

And it scared her. 

     "I want to protect you and Abbu ..." She'd said earlier, before the furious stipulation. 

My baby! So strong and so loving ... 

I did this. My daughter will cut me out of her life because ... 

Wouldn't that be better though? She wouldn't have to find out the ugly truth ...

Tell her the half-truth may be?

The same tired thoughts keep battering her conscience and mind. The endless self-negotiations had shredded her spirit by now. She had no energy to carry on. The only reason she did anything now was to ensure her daughter's safety from a madwoman. 

A madwoman that she had unleashed upon the two families. 

Listlessly, she would hang out at the doctor's office, morning to evening, on most days. Once, in snooping through Tanveer's things, she had found doctor's reports and noted the address. She hoped that Tanveer would put in an appearance here one day, and finally they'd know her whereabouts. 

Even she knew that Tanveer wouldn't just disappear. She was here, for sure, lurking around, biding her time, ready to strike like the poisonous viper that she was. 

But it was a long shot. 

A smart woman like Tanveer could just as easily have changed doctors.

Raziya sat in the waiting room, stifling in a burqa, face covered, only weary eyes showing. She looked up in surprise at the young, slender woman who had just walked up to the front desk. Jeans peeked from under the burqa edge. She lifted her veil, and Raziya gasped. 

Zoya? Here?

  


     "Hi, I'm new to the city, and my friend recommended Dr. Jain."

She went to sit down to fill up the paperwork that the receptionist handed to her. Raziya watched, puzzled and intrigued. 

That was Tanveer's doctor. Was Zoya here for the same reason as her?

My god! Zoya shouldn't have come here on her own. What if that witch is lurking around? Raziya twisted her head around to scan the faces of the people in the waiting room. 

Some women, some with husbands or relatives. 

No Tanveer. 

She breathed a sigh of relief.

She was sure that no one at home knew that Zoya was here. The child had a mind of her own and was fiercely protective of those she loved. Humaira and the girls had told her long ago of this girl's exploits, the maniacal lengths that she went to for justice and family security.

Then, Raziya had waved this hero-worship aside, only worried at the growing closeness between the two families. Then, she had worked tirelessly to get rid of this girl, eager to sabotage any budding warmth between the two families.

But now ... 

She pretended to pick up a magazine from a side table and went to sit next to Zoya. Surreptitiously she peeked at the information she was filling out. 

Raziya nearly moaned aloud.

In the box for the patient's name, Zoya had filled out: Zainab Siddiqui. 

Ya Allah! Her mother and father's names. She watched as Zoya's fingers traced over the names.

Raziya's eyes prickled unexpectedly. The magazine slipped and fell with a thud from her slackened grip. 

Zoya bent to pick it up for her. 

     "Shukriya," she said in a strangled voice. 

Zoya returned the forms to the front desk and came back to sit down in the same seat. Her hands gripped each other tightly. A leg bounced nervously.

     Soon, the nurse called out, "Zainab Siddiqui!"

Again, and then again.

Raziya looked at Zoya in surprise. Why wasn't she moving? She watched in alarm as Zoya fled outside with a strangled cry. Curious and concerned, she followed her out into the lobby.

Zoya was leaning against a pillar, distraught and nearly in tears. She stumbled blindly, and would have fallen down the stairs. Raziya quickly grabbed her elbow. 

     "Beta, are you all right? I saw you run out of the doctor's office."

     "Ji, shukriya." Zoya looked up gratefully at the burqa-clad woman. Her voice sounded kind and eyes seemed ...

She didn't know what had made her come here. 

So dumb! Asad would be livid. That's one of the reasons she couldn't go through with it. 

Zoya had decided to pretend that Tanveer was the friend who had recommended Dr. Jain. 

That would be her cover.

     As the doctor examined her, she would casually ask: "I talked to her last week and she told me about you, and gave me your number. But since then, her phone's been switched off and no one's home. I'm worried, especially since she seemed upset about the baby's health. I'm so scared for her. Would you know anything, or have any contact information for her?"

But she lost her nerve as soon as she wrote down Ammi's name on the form. Doubt and fear plagued her: what if the doctor refused to tell her anything? What if Tanveer did come to meet the doctor later, and Dr. Jain told her about her friend, Zainab Siddiqui? Tanveer was sharp; she'd immediately guess who that was. That would make her even more cautious ... and dangerous. Zoya's palm had cradled her tummy instinctively.

Besides, even if she did find out anything, she'd have to tell Asad or Rakesh. And then Asad would go ballistic and really handcuff her for eternity. 

She shouldn't have come.

But she needed to find Tanveer, to expose her to Abbu so that ...

     "I shouldn't have come ..." she whispered. "My husband will kill me." 

     "Kyun beta? Does he hurt you? Do you need protection?" 

Raziya just kept asking random questions. 

God knows why. 

She knew that Asad would never hurt her. He would kill anyone who hurt her. Like herself. 

She had seen his rage at the clinic that day when Zoya had donated blood to Humaira.

     "No! He would never—" Zoya's voice rose and her hand flew to her stomach.

     Raziya's arm reached out reflexively, and she held Zoya's hand. "Come, sit down for a bit. Let me get you some water."

     "No thank you, Aunty, I'm fine. Aap bahut acchi hain."

     Raziya's heart thumped with guilt and remorse. "You look upset. Can I drop you somewhere?"

Zoya looked at the woman's kind eyes. She had asked the driver to wait for her outside Badi Masjid. Inside, she had donned her burqa and caught an auto-rickshaw to this address. She did need a ride back to Badi Masjid. 

     "That would be great! Can you drop me off at the Badi Masjid? My car is there." She didn't know why she blurted out that last part.

     "You didn't want anyone to know you were coming here." Raziya asked in the car. "Is everything OK?" 

     Zoya ducked her head. Yes, she didn't want anyone to know. "Ji, I was wrong. I should have told my husband. He would have come with me."

Maybe, she could get Asad to come with her. They could pretend to be new to the city, just transferred, looking for a new doctor ... her mind ran a mile a minute. 

     "I'll drop you off and then I have to go to the Yateemkhana on Masjid Road." Raziya nearly choked. Now why had she included that bit of information? Her tongue was no longer under her control. It flapped and wagged incriminating and indicting her more and more. 

     "Really? I go there all the time too! We are building an extension there. It'll have my Ammi's name." Zoya nattered on excitedly about the project, their plans for it, the fundraiser ...

     Impulsively, she reached out her hand to put it on Raziya's knee. "Aunty, you have to give me your number. I'll call you to let you know about the ground-breaking ceremony that'll be in a few days. Here, just add your phone to my contacts."

Raziya was dazed but did so as if on auto-pilot.

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with me! I didn't even ask your name." 

     "Ra—  Raqiba."

     "Oh, what a nice name. It means watcher' doesn't it or 'follower'? Does it have two e's or an i'? I'm Zoya, by the way." 

     "Umm two e's," Raziya wasn't too sure herself. 

Zoya's thumbs worked furiously to add Raqeeba Aunty's name to her contact list. 

     She thanked her new friend profusely as she covered her face again and got off the car. "Bye Aunty, thank you so much for talking to me and giving me a ride." 

     Raziya gripped her hand and felt compelled to warn her, "beta, be careful. If you ever need help ..." 

Raziya watched her cross the street and get into a car which pulled out and drove away. She wiped her eyes and was about to ask the driver to turn around when she saw another car pull away from the curb and follow Zoya's car. 

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. 

She urged the driver to follow the car and get close to it.

     "Aur tez chalao!" she ordered him desperately.

She tried her best to peer into the other car. In the backseat sat a woman in a burqa anxiously pointing in the direction of Zoya's car. 

It must be Tanveer. It had to be.

Raziya's heart beat faster. She pulled out her phone and took a picture of the car's license plate number. Then she called Rakesh, but could only reach his secretary. 

     "I see a car following Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan's car. Is it one of your people? No? Let Rakesh know immediately. There's a woman in a burqa in it. I think it's Tanveer. I'm sending you a picture of the license plate number." 

Idiot! Why weren't Rakesh's people having Zoya followed knowing that Tanveer would show up eventually? Just having a bodyguard in the car obviously wasn't enough! Especially when Zoya was so good at evading any restraints against her independence. 

Zoya went straight home. Tanveer's car stopped at the end of the street. So did Raziya's, just a little behind. She watched as Tanveer's car waited for about fifteen minutes and turned around. She ordered her driver to continue following the car. It stopped in front of a mid-level unobstrusive guesthouse not too far from the Khans'. 

Was this where she was holed up? 

She watched the woman disembark and go through the gates. She walked slowly, favoring her back. There did seem to be a slight baby bump. It had to be her. She dialed Rakesh's number again. Same secretary. 

Useless! 

Should she call Asad? 

No, he scared her. The cold fury and contempt in his voice made her shrivel inside herself. 

Impatient with her thoughts, she decided to check out things for herself. She walked up to the main desk and sniffed loudly.

     The manager looked up. "Can I help you madam?"

Raziya started to cry. 

     "Ma'am?" he panicked. 

     "Please, I need your help. My daughter ..." She wailed loudly for effect. 

The manager looked stricken. 

     "That girl who just came through. She's my daughter. She's run away from home and her father's in the hospital. I need to know which room she's in."

     "I'm sorry ma'am, we can't give out that information." 

     Raziya slid two thousand rupee notes toward him, "please, have pity on a poor mother ..." She bawled louder. 

     "But ma'am ..."

     "I understand that you are not like that. Don't tell me, just let me take a peek at your register." She slid another couple of thousand rupee notes toward him.

He palmed the money, pushed the register toward her, and stepped away from the desk to tinker around in the cubby-holes behind him.

She eagerly looked over it and flipped the pages over to the day that Tanveer had left their house. She ran her finger down the names not seeing hers. But one name made her gasp: Zoya Siddiqui. 

That evil tramp!

Raziya texted Asad the address and room number, and finally, with shaking fingers, the alias Tanveer was using. 

 

Rashid had decided against telling anyone about what he knew. But he fretted over the decision. Should he tell Asad? Ayaan? 

No. 

His sons might actually go and beat the man to a pulp.

Talk to Nikhat, maybe? 

Zoya! 

     "Beta, I have a favor to ask of you." He called her from his office. 

     "Ji Abbu, anytime! Boliye."

     "It's about Nikhat ... It's really delicate ..." 

     Zoya frowned, "what happened Abbu? Is everything OK?" Oh my god! 

     "Yes, everything's OK. But I saw Nikhat with this boy. I don't know who he is, and I'm a little concerned. Can you talk to her and poke around to find out more about him?"

     "Ahh, sure Abbu, don't worry. I'll take care of everything." She giggled as she hung up. Damn, she'd better warn Feroze. They had decided to not tell Nikhat about her knowing anything about them as yet. 

She had teased Feroze mercilessly though, and christened them FerNi—a combination of both their names as the media was wont to do with TV and film celebs.

     "FerNi pak rahi hai?" she'd ribbed him earlier.

     "Dude," he'd said, grinning and rolling his eyes.

     "Abbu saw FerNi cooking," she texted him now. "I've been retained to investigate and report on his daughter's secret admirer." 

 

When Feroze saw the text he didn't know whether to laugh or hide.

     "What?" Nikhat asked him. 

     "Later. What do you recommend here?"

     "I have no idea. I've never been here before. Do you feel like Indian? Do you like Indian food?"

     "Love it. And Indian food in India is the best!" 

She beamed. 

     "We have many Indian places to eat there, but it's not the same."

     Nikhat couldn't resist asking after they'd placed their order. "By the way, how did you know where to find me yesterday?" 

     "I have friends in high places. Some day I'll introduce you to that friend." came the simple reply. 

When the food arrived he chuckled. 

     "What?" she asked defensively. So weird. She felt the need to defend everything Indian all of a sudden. 

     "I can never get over this. Why are the servings so small?"

Nikhat narrowed her eyes at him.

     "I'm just saying. In the US, the portion sizes are huge. Even in Indian restaurants."

     "May be that's why Americans are huge too?"

He laughed out loud.

     "Touché! I can see why Omar's so fond of you."

     Nikhat glowed. Resting her face in her hand and her elbow on the table she sighed, "tell me everything about you and Omar and ..."

     Feroze looked at his watch and quirked an eyebrow, "everything? I'll give you a trailer. We'll have to meet again for the film."

She blushed.

     "Lunch tomorrow?" he asked.

     "At this rate, I'm going to put on a lot of weight."

     "Great! Then you'll be American!"

     "Feroze!" her laugh and mock-outrage pealed in the room and she covered her mouth self-consciously. She'd never laughed this loud before.

     "Besides," he teased. "Aren't you all going to be learning Taekwondo? That's good exercise."

     "We start tomorrow. The girls already hate me because they have to get up early in the morning just so I can get to work on time."

     "So let them do it later in the day. I can teach you by myself," he offered, his gaze holding hers in an open challenge.

Her breath caught and lashes lowered. She nearly accused him of flirting, but couldn't. She imagined him teaching her, just her. And the blush on her cheek deepened.

     "Nikhat?"

     "I would love that," she whispered. "But I don't want anyone to know about us as yet."

     His jaw tightened. "You're ashamed of me? Or are you just experimenting having a secret boyfriend?"

     "Feroze, no!" She rushed to cover his hand with hers and blushed again when he looked up at her.

     "I could never be ashamed of you! And would it be so bad if we keep it a secret? I ... I just want it to be us right now. I don't want the families going crazy with preparations and shopping and ... all that. Please?"

She started to remove her hand from his but Feroze moved his own to cover hers.

     "Fine. So girlfriend and boyfriend for a few days?"

     "Yes, please," she whispered, guilty yet jubilant. He squeezed her hand.

     Feroze rubbed his face with the other hand. "I want to take you out for dinner, a movie. Dancing."

     "I love dancing!" she moaned.

     "I don't, but I'd like to see you dance."

Nikhat's eyes gleamed.

     "What?" he asked warily.

     "I've always wanted to take salsa classes but was too shy to partner up with anyone. There's a place close by which has evening classes," her eyes pleaded hopefully.

     Feroze slapped some money on the table and rose to offer her his arm, "Senorita Khan, let's get us signed up for some salsa classes!"

 

     "Asad, we should have a friendly cricket match with Omar's family!" Zoya proposed a few nights later. 

Now why hadn't she thought of this earlier? It would be such fun! The perfect excuse to get the families and extended families together.

     She squealed, already in love with the idea. "Us vs. them!" But her face became serious just as suddenly, "but whose side will Tamatar be on? She'll be so torn."

     "Not a good idea." Asad countered, coming out of the restroom after brushing his teeth, towel still in hand. She pouted, and he held up his hand to appease her, "the Nikhat thing is still fresh." 

Zoya's eyes twinkled and she couldn't resist giggling. 

She gulped. 

Dude, shut up! Do NOT give this up, she scolded herself.

But Mr. Khan was a keen observer and a trained expert in reading his wife's facial expressions by now.

Asad stilled, hand arrested in wiping his face. He looked at her closely. She thought of herself as Sherlock, and him as Watson, but once in a while he turned the tables on her just to keep her on her toes.

     "Zoya? You've got something to tell me, hmmm?"

     "No!" But her guilty expression was a dead giveaway.

     "What aren't you telling me?" He paused to think back to what he had said last.

     "It's something to do with Nikhat, isn't it?"

     "What you don't know, won't hurt you!"

     "Zoya!"

     "Allah Miyan, stop shouting Mr. Khan! You'll scare the baby."

     "You said so yourself, the baby's smaller than a gnat, so that blackmail won't work on me."

Damn! She'd trained the man too well.

     "And, stop distracting me. Is she seeing someone and that's why she said no?" He knew he'd struck gold when he heard her gulp. "Who is he?" he towered over and glowered at her.

     "Really Mr. Khan, has that tone or that look EVER worked on me? Besides, he's a good guy, in love with her and she's in love with him. That's all that matters."

     "In love? But why hasn't she told us? Is it because he's Hindu? Or Christian?"

     "Would that be such a big deal?"

     "Not between them, or for us. But with the families it could get tricky."

     "OK, before you start going crazy, no, he's neither."

     "So he's Sikh?"

     She rolled her eyes, on much safer ground now. "What if he's Jewish?" she teased.

     "Oh. My. God. Where did she find a Jew in Bhopal?"

     "Why? Aren't there many Jews in India?"

     "Not too many."

     "Whoa! I'm from New York. I have many Jewish friends. I taught them gaalis in Hindi and they taught me bad words in Yiddish! And besides, wouldn't a nice Jewish boy be far better than a Hindu, Christian or Sikh boy?"

     "Why?"

     "Well, he'd be circumcised for starters!"

     "ZOYA!"

She rolled on the bed and laughed till tears ran down her cheeks.

     "Mr. Khan! He's Muslim, all right?"

     "Then why all this secrecy? Oh my goodness, he's married! I'll kill him!" He staggered to sit down heavily on the bed.

     "No! Stop it!" She rose to hug him from the back. "He's not married! Asad, it's her secret to tell, not mine. May be, for the moment, she wants to keep it to herself. She just took this big decision, and probably feels embarrassed that she's back to square one." She kissed his cheek, "remember, we didn't want anyone to know about us in the beginning. The longing looks and stolen kisses had their own sizzle factor. Chill, and stop being Dracula Ahmed Khan."

     "You're sure he's a good guy? He'll be good for her? You've met him?"

     "Umm hmm. He's perfect! Trust me," Zoya glided into his arms to seal her reassurance with a kiss.

     "Can't you at least give me a hint?" Asad coaxed.

She studiously looked at her fingernails.

     "Zoya?" he breathed in her ear, nuzzling her neck and trailing his hands over her.

     "Mr. Khan! Stop trying to seduce it out of me!" But she involuntarily lifted her hair to allow him more nibbling access.

     "So I will be able to seduce it out of you?" He nipped the throbbing pulse at her throat. Asad slid his thumbs under the straps of her silk negligee and slowly stroked her back. Expertly tugging them off her shoulder, he dipped his head and nibbled some more.

     "If you promise me the cricket match," she gasped, arching.

     "Done!" He trapped her flailing arms and held her wrists behind her back.

     "And a 3-alarm orgas—" he swallowed her blackmail and set about to work hard for his bounty.

     "How about a midnight family picnic to watch the meteor shower tomorrow?" Asad offered, after the raging fires had been banked and breaths returned to normal.

     "Really?" Zoya squealed in glee and rose to lie across his bare chest. 

She flicked her tongue over his nipple; he jerked and she giggled with satisfaction. Across his chest, her charged fingers traced familiar patterns, initials and words in her favorite afterplay ritual. Sometimes she would make him guess the erotic calligraphy on her own personal canvas. Lately, he would do the same on her still-flat stomach.

     "Not cursive!" she would moan. "I can't understand anything. Use all caps, please." 

     "Shh, it's between Abbu and his baby. I'm writing a secret letter." 

     "Meteor shower! What a great idea!" Zoya still couldn't believe it. How did—? Just for that, Jahanpanah, not only will I tell you about Nikhat's mystery man, but you could get very, very lucky, very soon." Her fingers skittered over and drummed his six packs. "Well, as soon as you're ready to get lucky!" 

     Asad flipped her on her back and pinned her under him, "tell me now. By then I should be very ready!" 

     "No, first things first. How did you think of a meteor shower picnic? You do remember our last meteor shower, right?" 

He groaned and rolled away on his back. 

     "Yeah, you better cover your face, Mr. Akdu Ahmed Khan! You were a total beast that day! Chalta phirta Tehzeeb ka doctor and tameez ki dukaan!"

He grinned.

     "You reserved all that rude Akduness just for me, right? I hope you never behaved that way with any other woman!"

     "And you better not have sassed any other man that way! You really pressed my buttons. Wouldn't back down one bit! We were even. You couldn't shut up and let me be. You had to give me a piece of your fine mind!"

     "You deserved it!" 

     "We both got what we deserved and wished for each other," Asad said softly as his fingers fanned out on her stomach. "And believe me, if I hadn't been so furious I'd have just ended up taking you in my arms and doing this!" 

He settled between her legs. Oh yes, he was ready now.

     "You did take me in your arms then, remember?"

     Asad nuzzled her nose with his, "you tripped, as usual! That counts?"

     Her voice broke, "every look, every touch counts. And that night each shooting star conspired to bring us closer."

     "So sentimental, Mrs. Khan? Where's my spitfire hell-raiser who made my blood steam even then?"

     Zoya wiped the corner of her eye, "gee thanks, Mr. Khan! All that fiery temper, character assassination and flaring nostrils was meant to be foreplay?"

     "Babe, if you have to ask, then I haven't shown you what foreplay is! Your lesson starts now." he deftly silenced all sass and post-fight analysis.

Class was now in session. 

With his fingers and mouth on her skin, he defined and illustrated the term in slow, painstaking detail. He demanded complete attention, punishing insubordination and any challenge to his authority.

     "There will be a test," Mr. Khan instructed gruffly while exploring the back of her knee with his tongue. He shushed all hisses and moans, "and it'll be 90% of the final grade."

     "And the other 10%?" she breathed, eyes closed, body thrashing in reaction to the liquid fire ascending up her thigh. 

He pulled her on top of him.

     "Shh! No questions! The other 50% will be based on how many syllables you add to my name as you scream it ..." His fingers kneaded her molten flesh and his mouth rewarded her with twin bonus points for excellence in riding and arching. " ... and 60% for the perfect arc of your back as I do this ..." His thumb traced each bump of her spine, and she convulsed, suctioning him. 

     "Aasaaaddd!"

     "Good girl! A+!" he pronounced through gritted teeth and heart pounding in his ears; she graduated the class with full honors.

But in the cresting heat of the moment, the master had completely forgotten that the student still hadn't told him what he'd started, so diligently, to find out. 

Mission not accomplished. 

The crafty student, even under the threat of detention and failing the class, hadn't snitched yet on the secret admirer's identity. 

He'd just been Watsoned. 

 

     "I'll have to make my own ghee?" shrieked Najma. Dilshad and Zeenat laughed.

     "Not if you don't want to," Zeenat pacified her. "You get everything in the stores these days. Spices vagairah to ab mainstream grocery stores mein available hain. But home-made is still home-made. A lot of us still make our own ghee, white butter, cream, papad and masalas or achaars at home. It's just fresher, and you can't the trust the packaged and frozen stuff anyways."

     "Yeah, Najma you should see Aapi's friends. They are the best cooks! Some are Gujaratis, Punjabis, South Indians, Maharashtrians. She has a big Indian circle of girlfriends and they have a blast!" Zoya chimed in from the dining table where she sat chopping mounds of veggies for undhyun. She was craving it all of a sudden, and had begged Aapi to make it and treat the others to it as well. Aapi made the best undhyun; she had learned it from her Gujju friend back home.

She continued filling in Najma and Humaira who helped her.

     "They used to go for Hindi movies and girls' nights out, and Jeeju and I would order pizzas and watch old cricket matches. Not fair, haan Aapi! She even went on a cruise with her friends, humko akela chhod ke!"

     "Theek hi to hai, beta," Dilshad spoke gently. She too had a tight-knit, but small circle of friends who had supported her in tough times, sharing laughter and tears, trading recipes, and pick-up and drop-off duties of kids from school or tuitions.

     "Friends can be such lifesavers. They make you laugh and forget all gharelu responsibilities. Hai na Zeenat?"

     "I know," agreed Zeenat as she held Dilshad's hand. "We had a younger friend who had recently married and come to the US. At our get-togethers she'd say: main yahan aati hoon to lagta hai ki apne maayake aa gayi!' Friends are such fun!"

     "But Aapi, I won't know anyone there," Najma pouted. "Omar will be at work, main sara din kya karungi?"

     "Look beta, when we first went to the US, we were both new to the place. But Omar has lived there all his life. He has friends, cousins and a whole set up that he'll introduce you to. No worries."

     Najma twisted her hands nervously, "par Aapi, he'll have American friends and I'll feel so out of place."

     "Don't worry," Aapi assured her. "There are so many Indians in the US now. Ek patthar phenko, Indian ko lagega. Especially in the Bay area where you'll be."

Zoya wiped her hands on the apron and went to hug Najma.

     Kissing the top of her head, she said, "Tamatar! When I came here from the US, I knew no one. But I found the most wonderful people, didn't I? American ho ya Indian, you'll find wonderful people, no matter where you go. And you're going to California—they're waaay more friendly over there. New Yorkers can't be bothered being friendly!" she and Aapi high-fived.

     "I'm kidding! But New Yorkers are stereotyped as rude. Bechari Ni—"

She coughed to cover up. She better shut up. Asad had already wrangled Feroze's name from her breathless lips early this morning by withholding gratification. She thought he'd forgotten. But no, Jahanpanahs had great memories ... and great skills at making her forget in the throes of ecstasy ...

     "Bechari who?" Najma asked. 

     "My friend Nikki. She's moving to New York from Bho— Boston! No, but I love New York, you guys. Najma you have to go there. It's one of my favorite cities!"

     "Haan, haan, of course she'll come to New York," Aapi said. "Niagara Falls nahin dekhna hai kya?"

     "Unless Omar is like Jeeju!" Aapi and Zoya laughed, and everyone looked at them quizzically.

     "Dilshad Aapa, the country is so big, it takes six hours to get from one end to the other on a non-stop flight, and I'm not even including Hawaii."

     Zoya took up the narrative, "we would beg Jeeju to take us to the Grand Canyon which is more west. And kanjoos Jeeju would say: people in eastern US go to Niagara Falls, for those on the West, there's Grand Canyon. Dono dekhne ki koi zaroorat nahin hai!" 

     "Have you been to Hawaii?" Humaira asked wistfully.

Again, the Americans laughed. 

     "Humaira, jab aapke Jeeju Grand Canyon nahin le ke gaye, to Hawaii to bahut door ki baat hai beta!"

Everyone laughed. 

     "Humaira ke Jeeju le ke jayenge!" Zoya boasted, clapping her hands. 

Everyone cheered. But her face fell. They thought she meant Omar, but she had meant Asad ... 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Saathiya (2010) "Saathiya"


	82. Mere Aasman Se Jo Hamesha Gumshuda Thay Chaand Taare

 

  

     "Zoyajaan, who's this Nikki from Boston that I don't know?"

     "Aapi!" Zoya groaned. 

She was already drowsy from a full stomach and Aapi massaging oil in hair, and now this interrogation.

Me and my stupid mouth, she thought. 

     "You don't know her Aapi, she's a facebook friend. It's so cute. She just started going out with this guy—" 

     "And you must've played match-maker as usual? Sudhar jao! Now you give online dakhal in people's lives too!"

     "Aapi, that's so mean!" 

     "Take care of yourself, beta, and your baby. Eat healthy, sleep well." Zeenat tugged her hair playfully as she worked the oil into her roots. After so many days she had got her hands on Zoya and finally convinced her to say yes to some deep conditioning. 

     "Ow!" 

     "But Aapi, this is Zoya's true calling!" Najma butted in shyly. "In fact, I think she should start a business where she can make some serious money from getting people together." 

Zeenat and Dilshad laughed. 

     "No!" Zoya corrected her. "If you make money from it then it's not worth it. What if people I brought together broke up? They'll ask me for a refund!" 

     "Aur refund kahan se dogi, when you'll have spent all the money on movies, diet coke and pizza!" Zeenat teased.

     "True," Najma mused. "But I wish you could do something for Nikhat and Feroze bhai. It would have been such fun if that rishta had materialized." 

Zeenat watched Zoya duck her head. She pinched her shoulder and they grinned at each other unashamedly. Now she knew exactly what Zoya had been up to!

Dilshad watched them gratefully, despite the tinge of sadness. Zeenat would be leaving tomorrow and Zoya's tears were marshaled just at the brink. She glanced over at Najma who was pensive too, missing Omar even after hours of facetime and skype. Thank god, he had reached home safely! 

Dilshad's lips moved soundlessly, invoking a dua. 

     "Chalo bhai," she shook everyone out of their moodiness. "Zeenat, Najma ko aur American tips nahin dene hain kya?" 

     Zoya beamed in support of the wonderful idea, "aaj ka lesson: a freezer and ziploc bags are a girl's best friend!"

Najma groaned and Zoya snickered.

     "Main yahan raaj karungi and you'll have to be your own maid Tamatar," she teased Najma and stuck her tongue out at Aapi. 

     "Tabhi husbands ko train karna padta hai. Indian men are very well-behaved and domesticated outside of India! Jeeju's biryani tastes way better than Aapi's! And he's in charge of loading and unloading the dishwasher every night."  

     "If only I could get him to make rotis," muttered Zeenat.

     "Haaw, Aapi" Najma guffawed. 

She fantasized about the ups and downs of desi life in America. I'm not stepping in the kitchen the first week, she decided.

Nope, no way. 

 

His momentary joy at hearing about her whereabouts and safety was quickly dashed. Gaffoor Siddiqui couldn't understand why his daughter was being thus held and harassed by the police. She was in a delicate condition, had powerful connections and the best fleet of lawyers, then why? 

How could it possibly be? 

Soon, however, a grim portrait has started to emerge. His lawyers were bringing nasty reports of the crimes his daughter was being accused of. Multiple counts of attempted murder? And the accuser was none other than his former adversary and younger daughter's current benefactor.

The old man twitched in impotent confusion.

Why?

     "Sir, Mr. Asad Ahmed Khan to see you." 

And the next instant his nemesis stood before him, a leather bag by his grim side. 

     Siddiqui blinked several times. "Leave us alone," he instructed his secretary and waved Asad toward the sofa.

Siddiqui's facial muscles were frozen in dismay. 

Why was this man here? He wanted to confront and accuse him. But Humaira was still a guest in this man's home. Even that he couldn't fathom. She would tell him nothing about her decision to continue staying at that house. Raziya refused to say anything either.

One late afternoon, a few weeks ago, he had even gone to this man's house to bring his daughter home. But first, he'd made sure, that Asad was at work. This was unlike him, but it was necessary. It was not right that she stayed so long away from home, and so long away in a near stranger's home. In this man's home.

That afternoon, he had been ushered in nervously by this man's wife. He had sniffed in disapproval at her western clothing. But her eyes had lit up like a thousand lamps. She had stared at him for a long time with her hand to her heart and then turned her face away to quietly welcome him into her home. 

The abyss of hope in her luminous, beseeching eyes haunted him even today.

She had wanted to say something to him, of that he was sure. Her hand had almost lifted toward him but shrunk away at his stern frown. Her lips had quivered and she had pressed that hand to them instead. But then Humaira came up behind her, "Abbu, what are you doing here?" And the woman had just as quietly lowered her anguished gaze and melted away.

Humaira had told him simply and firmly that she needed more time.

On his reluctant way out, Siddiqui had longed for a glimpse of the girl who carried a well of wretched hope and screaming yearning in her eyes.

But those eyes remained elusive.

Asad cleared his throat, and it brought Siddiqui to the tangled present. Why was this man gunning for his older daughter while harboring his younger one? He wanted to shout at him, rail at him, but he had no energy to spare. 

     "I don't understand why ..." he felt powerless and frail. He wasn't up for any business or legal feud anymore.

He tried to speak again, "why are you blaming Tanveer for such terrible things? Why would she try to run your wife off the road? What kind of game are you playing?" Suddenly he couldn't stop talking. 

Asad's face was carved in granite.

Earlier he had refused to sit down with a shake of his head.

Siddiqui stuttered to a stop. The questions meant as piercing accusations fell away feebly.

Asad set the bag on the table and began to slowly unpack its contents. 

Gaffoor Siddiqui stared. 

He watched breathlessly, helplessly even, as the articles multiplied on the coffee table: was that Humaira's music box? How did this man have it? Was he now going to use Humaira to exact some kind of revenge? He nearly snarled in anger, but stopped as he saw the other treasures.

They nagged at his memory and picked at his soul. 

He picked up the music box first. It was dull from use, its paint faded. As the music floated out, he examined the figure inside more closely; its dress was frayed and the dancer tilted just a little to side. This was not Humaira's. 

His heart beat faster. 

That jewelry box was so familiar and yet so alien. His hand jerked toward it. His fingers traced the paisley designs he'd carved into it a lifetime ago. They were uneven, amateurish, but Zainab had loved them. She had kissed his calloused hands and ... 

He forgot the questions brimming at his lips and eagerly opened the lid to gasp at the simple pair of earrings he had given her.

His first real gift to her.

He had taken her to an Indian jeweler because American jewelry was rarely made with anything more than 14 karat gold. It had been a long but beautiful drive. He'd bought her these from his first paycheck.

His eyes watered shamelessly.

Now his gaze fell on other excavated exhibits from his past. That saree too was his gift to Zainab when they had decided to get married. Ribbons of memories swirled before his eyes. 

Asad was forgotten.

His hands blindly reached for a small photo album and his heart wrenched at a faded picture of Zainab holding a baby girl. Hungrily he flipped through the other pictures of a little child, a little scrap of dimpled sunshine. Yes, that little girl from a lifetime ago had dimples!

But Tanveer— 

Raising leaking eyes to Asad's implacable face, Siddiqui begged for answers.

     "How?" he croaked, beaten. "Where did you get these? What terrible game are you playing with me?" 

Asad still remained quiet. From a folder he removed a piece of paper which he handed to the old man. 

With trembling hands Siddiqui looked at a bad photocopy of an old photograph. That too was all too familiar. It was a group picture, decades old, with his face partially blurred out.

But how ...?

Tanveer had shown him its original. He had, in fact, presented her his own copy, fully intact, framed in silver. But when Tanveer had fled from home she hadn't taken that with her. 

Next, Asad handed him an American passport. Siddiqui flipped it open in a daze. It was the same face he'd seen recently at this man's house. Those eyes! The same eyes that had mutely pleaded with him that day. They shone in this thumb-size portrait. He glanced at the name and blanched. Zoya Farooqui?

Last, Asad gave him scanned copies of old passport pages.

Zainab Farooqui, the first one read, next to her picture on the left. Siddiqui's gnarled fingers lingered to trace the photograph. 

The last sheet was also from an old passport ... a child's photograph, the same child with the dimpled smile who had appeared at his doorstep, by her mother's side, eighteen years ago ...

... the same child he had bribed with a music box ... to cowardly bequeath a world of grief on her tiny shoulders.

Zoya Farooqui, it said.

Mother's name: Zainab Farooqui.

He staggered and fell heavily on the couch.

Asad began speaking.

 

     "But Humaira—!" 

     "No, Ayaan, I have to go, for my peace of mind, if nothing else. I must know why she did what she did." 

     "But I told you, whatever she did doesn't matter! I won't ever let it come between us, then why? Why won't you give this up?" 

     "Because your family is my family. And I want to know why someone would want to hurt my family!"

Ayaan hugged her tight to him, not caring who saw them or the shrill wolf whistles and catcalls that erupted around them.

Screw them.

He had come here to drop her off even though she had told him repeatedly that she'd be fine on her own. She was meeting her mother at the same place again.

Ayaan wasn't too happy about it. He feared her search for buried answers to their past would ruin what they had. If her mother had blackmailed his father, then his father must've done something blackmailable … some terrible thing … Did Bhai know something that he didn't?

And that scared him even more.

Things were going so right. Why fix it if it ain't broke, an inner voice jeered. 

     He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair, "then let me at least wait for you to take you back to Bhaijaan's."

     "Ayaan, if Ammi gives me the answers I'm looking for, I plan to go home with her. I'm worried about Abbu. And her too. She looks ill." And I want to tell them about Tanveer's sleazy past, she thought to herself. Humaira held his hand, "I already talked to Phuphi and Zoya Bhabhi about it." 

     "No! Are you serious? How'll we meet like we do everyday?"

     She held his hand in hers, "I've told Ammi that I plan to come to Bhaijaan's house for the Taekwondo lessons, you can pick me up and we can meet that way." 

     "But I want to see you everyday, not every other day! Meeting for dinner at Bhai's is such fun. C'mon, you cannot be serious!"

But he saw her jaw set firmly and sighed, fully aware that he wouldn't be able to shake her resolve. He backed her against the bike. Nearly losing her balance she gripped his jacket lapels with both hands.

     "Fine! But let me at least take you out for dinner tonight," trapping her between his hands on either side, he nudged her forehead with his, "please!"

     "Ayaan, stop! People are watching," She blushed, a hand loosened from his jacket to flutter on his chest. 

     "I don't care. Say yes, I'll come pick you up."

     "Abbu might not let me go out at night." 

     "Then sneak out!" He waggled his eyebrows at her, "I'll wait downstairs for you, under your window." He looked at her meaningfully, reminding her of the infinite intimate possibilities that a clandestine meeting could generate.

Her heart accelerated.

     "Ayaan!" 

     "I mean it! We're engaged after all."

     She looked at the unruly hair, the mutinous expression on his face, and her heart skipped a beat, "OK, OK, let's see how things go with Ammi and then I'll call you." 

     She thought aloud wistfully, "may be, I can ask Abbu if I can go out with you around 6?" 

     "Promise?" 

     "Promise." 

     She turned to him suddenly, "what if I join the dance classes that Nikhat goes to? Then you can drop me back home on those days too."

     "Great! It's in the evening, and I can come pick you up straight from office. Do it!" 

 

Up in the food court, Raziya felt trapped. Her foot tapped impatiently. The sensation of needles and pins was back. But the ethical pins and needles that she walked on gave her the most discomfort. Her deadline was up. Humaira would be here soon. How could she possibly convince her to come home and yet keep her worst crimes a secret? The truth would kill her!

She saw Humaira walking toward her and her heart constricted. She looked carefree and confident. A small smile played on her lips.

Meri bachhi!

I'm so sorry. 

 

A desolate and inconsolable Siddiqui watched Asad pace his office as he told a fantastic story of a conniving houseguest sent on a diabolical errand by a wicked stepmother. This embedded spy stole the birthright of another guest who had come from a land far away ... 

... a young girl, bold and bright, marked by a fiery scar ... carting a secret mission and legacy: a cherished music box, a few letters and pictures lovingly saved in a hand-carved jewelry box. She had come from beyond the seven seas to a forgotten land of larcenous monsters. She had come armed with a fierce hope to be re-united with a lost father.

But those monsters hadn't forgotten her.

And even as she slayed and tamed dragons, in her heart she hid a terrible fear: she was unwanted, unloved by a father who had not come looking for her and may never accept her.

That thieving, hooded guest was banished from that house and the questing daughter was led to believe that the father she sought had died a long time ago. 

Only two conspirators knew that the real father was alive.

She, who had stolen the precious evidence, the bundle of letters and photos from the grieving daughter, next blackmailed her way to that forgetful father's doorstep, claiming to be his real child. That father had let mere pieces of old paper trump blood.

Siddiqui was aghast, insensible.

     "How ...? She told me ... but ..." He gesticulated wildly, "How did Tanveer even know about me?" 

     "Ask your wife!"

     "What? Raziya? That's impossible!"

     "You can confirm it with Mrs. Siddiqui later. She knows that we know."

     "She knows? Zoya? Zoya knows about me?" the condemned man asked, fearfully, hopefully.

     Asad swallowed and took a deep breath, "... yes ..." 

     "Since when?" 

     "Since we got married." 

     "But why didn't you tell me before?" Siddiqui asked in frustrated, impotent fury. 

     "Because Tanveer had already made her move by then." Asad's voice cracked for the first time, "and because Zoya didn't think that you'd believe her. Her strongest proof was gone, and ..." 

He swore under his breath. 

     "And what? Tell me, please."

     "She didn't want you to go through the humiliation of a paternity test," his son-in-law whispered brokenly. Tears were openly flowing down his face. "I begged her to, but she said that it was good enough for her to know that you would have accepted her ... and that Humaira was close to her." 

Questions, doubts, guilt and hope swirled in the old man's mind. So that's why this man had allowed Humaira in his home! Emotions and logic warred. But weakness and fear made disbelief stronger. 

     "How did you know that Tanveer did this?"

     Angrily, Asad swiped his face free of tears, "I was having her followed since she left our house. She pushed Zoya down the stairs, nearly killing her, and I knew she wasn't done wreaking havoc on my family!" 

     "Pushed her? Unbelievable!" a still-uncertain Siddiqui muttered to himself. 

Asad felt pure rage surge through him. Unbelievable? You pathetic son of a bitch, you don't even know what else your daughter knows about you! He controlled himself and took deep breaths.

He needed to calm down or he'd smash something. His knuckles whitened on the bag's handle.

He had worked feverishly to accumulate this evidence over the last few days. He'd grabbed whatever articles Zoya held dear, just intuiting that somehow they may be significant as proof. He talked long to Anwar one night and got him to scan and email him the pages from the old passports.

Thank god Ammi had suggested that!

But now came the hard part.

He felt pity and scorn for this man snivelling in front of him. 

But he also needed this man. 

Zoya needed him, and he'd put away all rancor if having this man in their lives meant that Zoya wouldn't have nightmares when she slept, and tears in her eyes when she woke. 

Siddiqui was locked in his own world of despair and hope. That's why Zoya had looked at him that way at Asad's house?

My child!

     "But Tanveer? How can ...?"

He fumbled in despair. It was easier to accept Tanveer as his daughter. At least she mirrored the dark heart of his past. But the weight of Zoya's 24-karat hope and mercy was too much to bear.

     "Tanveer tried to have your daughters killed!" Asad snarled. He had one mind to rip this man in half.  

Siddiqui gasped. 

     Patiently, and with barely repressed fury, Asad explained, "we have proof that she had Ayaan and Humaira followed from Indore and shot at. But then she disappeared after she arranged Zoya's accident. We have her on tape ordering the hit. Zoya could have died!"

Asad's anger knew no bounds now. His voice boomed in wrath, ricocheting off the glass and concrete to strafe Siddiqui's numbed soul. 

     He raised an accusing finger to indict his father-in-law, "all these days you were harboring a snake in your house! And all these days Zoya could only ask Humaira a million questions about you. 'What stories did your Abbu tell you when you were little? Did he teach you how to ride a bike? What did he do when you got hurt? What if you had a scary dream? Does he—?' " 

Siddiqui shrunk away from him, covering his face. 

Asad stopped to catch his breath and swallow the growing lump in his throat. These eager questions about absent fathers were all too familiar. He too had wanted to ask Ayaan these questions when they were younger.

But he never did.

What was it like to have Abbu tell you stories at night, or to wake up from a scary dream and have him hug you in comfort?

Did Najma feel that way too? At least he had tried his best to watch over Najma. And thank god Zoya had Jeeju!

But that hollow felling on all those annual days at school ... parents' day ... sports day ...

Forever cursed ...

As much as he had steeled his heart, truth be told, he too had yearned just as much for a father's daily love ...

But Abbu had deliberately kept away. To protect them from harm threatened by this man and his wife.

He squeezed his eyes shut in revulsion and misery.

Asad brushed his hair off his pulsing forehead trying to calm himself. This wasn't the time for raking the embers from their past. If he dwelled more on it he'd walk out to never come back. And if Zoya could forgive his Abbu ...

He took another steadying breath.

They had silently pledged to each other: we'll be better parents. We won't let our fathers' pasts cast a shadow ...

He really didn't want to share the most perfect—  

But the old man needed to know.

     "She's ... she's pregnant and—" 

     "Yes, I know Tanveer's pregnant which is why I couldn't understand why you would go after her so aggressively." 

Somehow, he still couldn't wrap his mind around this explosive revelation. While his heart had exulted that Tanveer wasn't his blood, guilt and remorse delayed the heartbreaking truth from sinking in: Zoya was his daughter. 

     "Zoya is pregnant! And we nearly lost the baby because of Tanveer!" Asad roared, livid, taking a step dangerously close. 

A forced deep breath, and he backed away before he could trust himself to speak again. 

     "It's killing her not being able to call Humaira her sister, or knowing that her father's alive, and worrying about a viper who's pretending to be his daughter!"

Gaffoor Siddiqui crumpled to the floor, a shattered man today.

     "You should've told me!" he accused Asad in a tattered whisper.

Asad's hands fisted and his jaw steeled. 

     "She wouldn't let me! She doesn't even know I'm here. She didn't want me to tell you because, it would mean Humaira would find out what her mother and ... you did ... what you made my father do ... eighteen years ago in the gudia factory," he lashed out, blinded by tears.

     "Ya Allah!" the old man clutched his heart and sobbed like a baby on his knees.

 

     "What do you want from me? How can I possibly make any of this more bearable?" He begged, eons later.

He had aged a decade in the past hour. 

     Asad sighed, "meet her, hold her once, and let her call you Abbu." 

Fresh tears spilled down the old man's craggy cheeks. 

     "And you, of all people, would be OK with her meeting me?"

Asad turned his back on the old man and stared out of the window. Seven floors below, a traffic jam snaked around the building's perimeter.

     "Yes," he spoke harshly. "It's what she's wanted all her life. She still has nightmares about that terrible night. And now, with the baby ... She's trying to be happy for the baby, for me, but ..." He turned back to plead with his father-in-law. "Please, she needs you. I would give anything to keep her smiling." 

 

He had asked for two days before being united with his daughter.

And Asad had agreed.

Humaira would not know for now. They wouldn't wrench the veil off her mother's deeds as yet. 

Asad called from office one evening.

Aapi had left for the US the day before, and he knew Zoya was missing her terribly.

     "Come over to my office and we'll go out for dinner and a long drive." 

Zoya grumbled. She didn't feel like dressing up. But a husky "please," from her husband, a few promises and wishlists later, and she happily relented.

     "Hilltop?"

     "Hilltop."

     "Kulfi?"

She heard the smile in his voice.

     "Kulfi. And more."

Zoya gasped with delight. "More?"

     "It's a surprise?"

M.A.! 

She dressed with extra care wondering where he would take her. Zoya wore one of the many salwar kameezes she'd got as gifts but had never worn as yet. May be Mr. Khan could be persuaded to take her dancing, she hoped, as she fastened her earrings. How many days did she really have before she grew round and ungainly? 

Might as well live it up. Carpe Diem.

     She spoke to her reflection: "Issi baat par ek sher ho jaye! 

     Kaal kare so aaj kar, aaj kare so ab

     Aish kar le Mrs. Jahanpanah

     Kal ban jayegi round as tub

     Shukriya! Shukriya!"

She slipped on dozens of bangles and jiggled them shaking her wrists. Spritzing on her favorite perfume, Zoya twirled before the mirror.

     Rubbing her stomach she crooned, "baby, Abbu's taking us out tonight! Would you like Thai today, or Italian? Ummm, garlic bread! Or green curry? Ras Malai? OK, Indian it is."

Lately she's begun to wonder at her cravings and appetite. The baby seemed to steer her more and more toward Indian foods these days. Humph! Mr. Khan's genes better not prove to be dominant. 

 

In the office, everyone greeted her deferentially and she couldn't resist giggling.

So funny.

She'd never get over this part. What if she'd worn her mini-skirt? Then Asad would have to declare a holiday for tomorrow: a day-off with so many employees keeling to the floor and smashing their heads open! She nearly snorted. Behave Zoya! she scolded herself.

She had the insane urge to slow-wave like the Queen of England as she walked through the parting, bowing masses. Being married to the Jahanpanah had its quirks and perks after all.

She saw Prasad pick up the phone and speak urgently into it.

Zoya suppressed another grin.

Had Omar been here, he'd have sniggered that the minion was informing his lord and master of the queen's arrival.

     "He's probably saying, ba adab, baamulaiza, hoshiyar. Begum-e-Khaas, Mallika-e-Zoya tashrif la raheen hain!' " 

Prasad escorted her to her husband's office, offering a smorgasbord of beverages and delicacies on the way; Zoya struggled to keep a straight face as she gently refused the offerings. A cheeky smile lit up her face as she saw Asad step out and close the door behind him. He waited for a bowing and scraping Prasad to leave before taking her hand in his and kissing it. 

     Tucking her hair behind her ear he asked, "you OK?" 

     "Umm-hmm. Why wouldn't I be? I got a royal escort and parade. The only thing missing was being showered with flowers and a 21-gun salute. May be next time?" 

Stroking her cheek Asad hugged her fiercely.

     "And my Jahanpanah six packs is taking me out. What else could a girl ask for?"

     "I love you," he whispered. 

She framed his face in her hands. His somber expression made her eyes widen.

     "And I, you. But Asad? Are you OK?" 

     "Everything will be OK." He promised with a deep kiss. "Come, I have someone I want you to meet," he said tenderly as he opened the door ushering her inside.

 

Zoya stepped inside and froze.

Her breath stopped and she would have fallen to her knees, but Asad's hands held her shoulders. Their warmth and strength kept her upright.

Abbu! Here? 

She didn't know what to do with her hands. She bowed her head instinctively to greet him formally, but words failed her. She was an infant again, lacking any verbal skills.

All language, sensibility and comprehension fled.

What remained were an animal cry, and a flood of tears, which blurred her vision through which she saw her father take off his glasses and polish the lenses. Zoya whirled blindly to crash into Asad's chest weeping hysterically. He held her, murmuring in her hair. He knew what she was thinking and how she was tormenting herself.

     "He's really here," he whispered. "You're not hallucinating, we don't have to pretend anymore. He knows." 

She lifted her eyes to him at that. Her eyes had pleaded seconds earlier: Don't let me fly apart and give everything away.

He knows? 

     "Zoya? Meri bachhi!" 

     Asad wiped her tears. "Go meet your Abbu," and he turned her around.   

     "Apne Abbu ko maaf kar dena beta."

     "Abbu!" 

And she fell into her father's arms and cried with him.

 

 

  


Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012): "O Saiyaan" 


	83. Tuney Gardishon Ki Lai Badal Di, Laut Aaye Aaj Saare

 

 

  


 

     "No!" Nikhat yelped in dismay when she read the new text message. 

     "Now what?" Feroze asked. 

She turned to him, still cooling down from the adrenaline high from their dance class. 

     "You're never going to believe this. Humaira wants to join this class!"

     A hand on his waist, and the other scrubbing the back of his neck, Feroze sighed loudly. "Damn!" 

Just when he was really beginning to enjoy the high-octane sensuality of the dance, and the perks of holding her against him! They leaned against the bike, the same bike that Omar rode into Najma's life on. It had brought other lovebirds together too. 

If it could talk ...

     "Tell her, she'll need a partner and you already have one. A college friend." 

     "I'll try. But I wouldn't be surprised if she ropes in Ayaan or Nuzzhat." 

Feroze reached for her hand and lightly ran his thumb over her fingers. 

     "This sucks," he stated the obvious, and swore under his breath. 

She laughed. For a professor, he was a man of few clipped words. But over the past few days, she'd heard some colorful language from him that never failed to make her giggle.

     She'd asked him once, "do you swear in front of your students?" 

     "On some days, swearing is good for the soul, right?" he'd winked at her. 

She'd grinned madly. Didn't she know it! 

     "Oh well, the dance class was good while it lasted." Nikhat whispered now as she interlaced her fingers with his. Her finger pads thrummed against his. 

He looked at her, disappointed, and she took a deep breath. 

     "OK, OK, I'll talk to Humaira. After all, you'll be gone soon and I want to steal as many moments with you as I can."

     "Umm, about that ..." 

     "What?" her heart twisted. "Please don't tell me you're leaving sooner!" 

     "I've been thinking ..." 

     Before he could continue, she rushed headlong to plead with him. Her hands fisted on his shirt in anxiety, "I"ll tell Humaira about us and she'll back off. I'll tell everyone else too, if you want." 

She didn't care if everyone around was looking at them funny. She wasn't ready for him to leave as yet. 

Feroze raised her hand to his lips. And grinned. 

     "I was going to say that I've cancelled my summer class and plan to stay longer. Apparently the boys in our family can't get enough of the girls from your family! To hell with our jobs!"

     "Feroze!" she punched his chest. "You nearly killed me. I'm not talking to you!" 

Nikhat spun on her heel and walked away, looking to flag down an autorickshaw. But Feroze caught her by her wrist and yanked her around to slam her into his chest. His arms came up around her to trap her wriggling body. 

     "Feroze!" she protested. "Stop it, people are looking," she hissed at him, embarrassed, yet enchanted.

     "Let them. At least these people aren't related to us! Tell everyone only if you want to. I kind of enjoy this chori-chori chupke-chupke romance. But don't keep me a secret for too long." 

     She mulled over his words as she disengaged herself from him. "I'll talk to Humaira and let her know. It's OK if only one person knows, right?" 

     "Umm, about that ..." 

     "Feroze!" she growled and pinched his arm, "who did you tell?" 

     "Remember that friend who gave me your dad's office address?" 

Her eyes narrowed. 

     "It was Zoya." 

"What? Oh my god, if she knows, Bhaijaan knows for sure," Nikhat groaned as she smacked her head. 

     "And ..." 

     "Are you serious? Even more people know about us?" 

     "Well Omar was bugging me about fixing me up with his friend's sister, so I had to shut him up."

     "His friend's sister! I'll kill Omar," Omar's favorite saali muttered under her breath. Then she groaned again. "Najma knows too, then. This is ridiculous and you are completely useless!" 

     "Oh really? If I was so useless, we wouldn't be here, because a certain ice queen had decided that she didn't want to get married to me." 

     "And what makes you so sure that I want to get married to you right now?" Asked the ice queen haughtily. 

He stared at her, jaw dropping open. He knew she was teasing, but suddenly he didn't want to play games any more. Furious and hurt, Feroze stalked to the bike, slapped his helmet on, and climbed astride. 

     "Feroze!" Nikhat tried to stall him by clasping his hand with both of hers. Gently but firmly, he shrugged her hand off. She tried to hold his hand again, and again he brushed it off. 

     "Get on, I'll drop you home," he said brusquely without looking at her. 

She walked to the front of the bike and turned to face him. He looked away. But after a minute, curiosity got the better of him; he turned to her, surprised that she said nothing or didn't try to hold his hand. 

He saw her kneeling patiently on the dusty street, hands clasped tightly in her lap. 

     "Nikhat! Are you absolutely nuts? Get up!" 

     "Feroze, will you marry me?" 

Tearing his helmet off, he leapt down to sweep her up before he crushed Nikhat to him, kissing her breath away. They remained oblivious to the spontaneous cheers and applause that broke around them. 

 

Dilshad had waited up for them so that she could hold Zoya tight and make sure for herself that she was all right. She heard their car pull into the driveway and rushed to the door. Asad was helping Zoya out. He let go of her hand when he saw Dilshad at the door. 

Zoya looked up with a tremulous smile at her. 

     "Ammi!" 

Dilshad wrapped her in her arms, rocking her like a baby, willing her strength to seep into Zoya's limp body. Zoya was all cried out, but she clung to her mother-in-law's calming warmth and fragrance. 

     "Tum theek ho?" Dilshad asked anxiously. 

     "Perfect! Ammi, did you know Mr. Khan took me to meet my Abbu?" She brandished her kada and pointed to the gift bags Asad had unloaded by now. Zoya was wrung out, but still so wired. The adrenaline still hummed through her blood and she was unstoppable. 

     Dilshad smiled and patted her cheek. "I know. And I'm so happy that you finally met your Abbu. I know how much you yearned for him." 

Zoya's eyes moistened. She swayed with exhausation. She just wanted to melt into her husband's arms now; she felt so drained.

     "Get some rest now. I know it's been a long day for both of you," Dilshad said and kissed her cheek. "And tell me everything about it tomorrow, hmm?" 

Tucking her head in the crook of his neck Asad walked her to their room. 

 

It was finally his turn to really hold her. With each batch of tears, he had kept his hands to himself all evening, but only with a great deal of self-control. She sighed in his arms now, some of the tiredness leaving her bones. 

Zoya kissed his cheek and moved away to remove her earrings and bangles. In the bathroom she could hear the water running in the tub and she smiled. 

Perfect. Just what she needed.

     She undressed and secured her hair high as Asad called out, "Zoya!" 

     "Ummh!" he grunted when he saw her and held out his hand inviting her to join him in the tub.   

     "Just a sec," she whispered. 

Pulling out some candles from the cabinet she lit them and turned the lights out. Then Zoya gratefully slid into the hot water to lean back against him. Asad's arms came around to wrap her and they both sighed in relief. He ran his hands over her. She loved it when he murmured in her ear, reporting on the changes he touched and felt in her body.

     But tonight she wanted a different report. "Don't miss out a single detail," she'd commanded. "Tell me how you did it," she urged. 

     Asad played with her fingers. "I decided for sure after you told me about visiting her doctor. I knew I had to do something soon, or you'd think up another hare-brained scheme to track that woman down!" 

She was too exhausted, and too indebted to playfully slap his hand or scold him.

Yes, after much thought and agonizing soul-searching, she had told him, haltingly, about how she'd gone to Tanveer's doctor's office. How she couldn't go through the rest of her brilliant plan because she felt guilty that she was doing it without telling him. Zoya had feared that Asad would be furious. She had squeezed her eyes close and bowed her head, a defendant awaiting a guilty verdict. 

One look at her face and he had melted. 

Her eyes sprang open as she felt him take her in his arms. 

Now he began to tell her about the day he visited her father at his office. She wanted to know about every detail, every look, every word. Thumbs stroking her shoulders and back, Asad did as she asked. She took his hand in hers and holding it over her heart leaned back to feel the rumble of his chest on her back and the timbre of his voice in her ear. Zoya planted a hundred kisses on his wet palm. 

Later, they just held each other in silence. 

And in that candlelit silence, and watery, fleshy coccon, Zoya relived every look and every word she'd shared with her father that night.

When she had finally lifted her eyes to look into Abbu's face she had wiped his tears. His hand had come up to hold hers, and it was then she noticed that it was covered with tiny cuts and angry red blisters. 

     "Abbu, what happened to your hands?" she'd cried out in alarm. 

     "Nothing beta, I wanted to punish them for letting you go so far away from me, for not being there for you when you needed me."

     "No! Abbu, please don't talk like that." And she'd broken into fresh tears. To just have him say this was enough to wipe away some of the eighteen-years worth of questions and tears.

Siddiqui had led his daughter to the sofa looking up at Asad for silent permission. Through blurred eyes he saw Asad nod, and his chest heaved in gratitude. He sat her down and outlined her face with trembling fingers like a blind man reading each bump and dot on a braille page. He gazed long into those eyes that had haunted him, and kissed her forehead. His roughened fingers reached for something on the coffee table. Zoya saw an array of gifts and treasures, and her eyes lit up with irrepressible delight. 

     "For me, Abbu? Is all this for me?"

     "Not all of it," and he had surprised himself by laughing to see her pout. 

Even Asad was sporting a half-smile. And Siddiqui had felt a deep slash of regret rip through him. He had missed out so much on each moment of her life. He had missed every milestone: birthdays, successes, hurts and tears, smiles and laughter, her wedding ...

He had so much to make up for. 

Siddiqui bent to retrieve a gift-wrapped cube and placed it in her lap. And he smiled again to see her shake with excitement. She bounced in her seat eager to dismantle the wrapping to reveal the second gift from her Abbu in eighteen years. 

     "Main kholun isse Abbu, abhi, please?" 

     "Haan beta, I want to see your face when you open it." He couldn't understand how easily he could laugh and smile. He had imagined this meeting as nerve-wracking and emotionally depleting; it had turned out to be soul-quenching and infinitely uplifting. 

Zoya ripped the paper, grinning cheekily at her husband who was grimacing at the unnecessary violence. Gaffoor Siddiqui watched his daughter hand over the mutilated wrapping paper to his son-in-law who meticulously folded it and stacked it on the table-top, patiently awaiting future spoils. Her father couldn't resist being charmed, and was about to laugh out loud when he heard Zoya gasp. 

She held a carved wooden box lined with blue velvet, inside which nestled her cherished music box. But she didn't take the music box out of its new home. Her fingers traced the freshly varnished paisley designs on the surface. They matched the ones on Ammi's jewelry box. 

     "Abbu, is that why your hands ...?" 

     An overcome Siddiqui nodded in embarrassment. "I wanted to claw my hands off, but then decided that you deserved so much better. It's rosewood." He said shyly. "I haven't worked with wood for so long. That's why it's somewhat uneven here, see? And here." 

     Zoya took his hand in hers and held it against her cheek. "It's beautiful, Abbu. I'll pass it on to my daughter or son one day." 

He sobbed at that, and Zoya embraced him. 

Asad watched through misting eyes. He was grateful for the gift too. In fact when he had first started to search for her music box, it was to order a customized hand-crafted box ... He too had thought of it being embellished with a filigreed design. He would take her to the dargah afterwards and hand her a red string of hope to tie through the box's lattice pattern ... 

Stirred, he watched Zoya's face ... 

     Both men laughed when Zoya next squealed, "Abbu, what else did you get me?"

     "I know I'm late, but I wanted to give my daughter a bridal dress. May be you can wear it on your first anniversary?" 

     "Yes!" 

     As she twirled happily with the heavy bridal dupatta in front of the bathroom mirror, Siddiqui turned to Asad in wonder, "how can she forgive so easily?" 

     Asad smiled, "that's Zoya. The most generous spirit I've seen all my life," his eyes stung. 

     "No!" 

Both ran to the open door of the restroom. Asad got there first.

     "Zoya! Are you OK? What happened?" 

     "I'll be big as a house on our first anniversary. How'll I fit into the lehenga?" she wailed. 

     "Godh bharai?" her father had offered tentatively.

She had wailed even louder.

 

The water had become tepid. And Zoya had dozed off. Asad laughed to himself thinking about his father-in-law's expressions of continued amazement. 

He had chuckled even then. What the old man was seeing was just the tip of the iceberg. His life was not yet Zoyafied, as his wife liked to claim. There were many roller-coaster rides and mini heart attacks ahead. 

All through the two days before meeting his daughter, Siddiqui had anxiously called Asad at least a dozen times. What's her favorite color, favorite food, does she only wear jeans? Will she be OK? What if I do ...? 

He had insisted on taking them to his house afterwards for dinner. Asad had stiffened, but agreed when his father-in-law reassured him that no one would be home. There, he had ordered pizza, kachori and coke, and had scores of spicy junk foods and sweets prepared for his daughter's first homecoming. Her eyes had teared when he fed her with his hands and they wiped each other's cheeks.

Before leaving, he had handed a leatherbound folder to Asad. 

     "This is for both of you."

     "Abbu, please!" Zoya had protested. She was rotating the heavy, gem-encrusted gold kada on her wrist. "This used to be your dadi's," Abbu had said as he slipped it on for her. "You've already given me so much. Thoda aage ke liye bhi bacha kar rakhiye," she teased. Then she bounced and clapped, "May be you can give me a gift everyday!"

     "Beta, I've done nothing as yet. I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for missing out on watching you grow into a beautiful woman." 

He pressed the folder into Asad's hands. When Asad unzipped it, he stared, aghast at the house and business papers. 

     "Mr. Si—" he stuttered to an awkward stop not knowing how to address his father-in-law. Siddiqui had placed a hand on his shoulder in understanding. 

     "It's fine." He pointed to the papers. "I've made Zoya and you the heirs to half my estate. No, don't refuse. Please let me do this." He clasped his hands behind him. "I wanted to give the house to Zoya and the business to you. I have robbed both of you ... Your childhoods ... a father's love ..." He removed his glasses and wiped his eyes, "but I can't be unfair to Humaira to make up for my guilt and crimes of the past." 

 

Asad unplugged the drain and bent his head to gnaw on her dewy shoulder.

     "Annhhh," Zoya moaned sleepily.

     "Bedtime, Mrs. Khan," he reminded her. 

Reluctantly she dragged herself out and let her husband pat her dry. Wrapping a towel securely around his waist he lifted her in his arms to tuck her in bed. She pulled him down to her by his neck. 

     "Asad?" 

     "Hmm?" he asked, kissing her nose. 

     "I'm dead sleepy, so I'm going to take a quick nap, and then I'm going to give you the thanks you so richly deserve!" she murmured.

     "Great, can't wait!" 

Zoya grabbed his hand as he moved toward the closet to change into his night-clothes. 

     "No clothes allowed, Jahanpanah. Why delay my gratitude and your gratification!" 

He laughed softly and shook his head. A smart ass even half-awake. But he blushed in the dark as she yanked the edge of his towel and it slithered to an immodest heap at the floor. She was fast asleep by the time he straightened from picking up the useless terry-cloth at his feet. 

Two hours later, she came alive under him, breath hitching sharply, body instinctively melting into her husband's familiar weight as he claimed her, hard, and hilt-deep, teeth at her already-arching neck. 

Gripping the twisted sheets, she cried out a primal orgiastic cry.

     "You're welcome!" he declared roughly against her pulsing skin.

 

Tanveer wondered at the sudden disappearance of her father and his lawyers.

The old fool had looked miserable and indignant. He had yelled hopelessly, beady little eyes looking panicked and helpless.

     He had spluttered when haranguing the local police, uselessly reminding them, "aap jaante nahin main kaun hoon! I'll have you transferred ... I know so-and-so ..."

Blah, blah, blah. Put some heart in it, you old coot, she wanted to scream. She had been smug that he'd be able to get her out on bail though.

So what happened exactly? 

Ice ran down her spine. 

They knew, did they? 

Either Asad had bulldozed his way high up the judicial ladder and cracked down on the case with a hundred gavels, or the sentimental old fool had been hit on the head with the blunt truth. 

But how had they found her? She'd been so careful, not going to her former doctor, always going out only in a burqa, and surreptitiously following Zoya. Even that part was frustrating. Zoya didn't step out of the house much these days. When she did, Asad was with her, or the Mr. Universe bodyguard accompanied her highness on every errand. Too much of the past weeks, Tanveer had sat cooped up in the private taxi she'd hired and her back was permanently sore as a result. 

And this is the reward for my caution and effort? 

The swiftness with which she had been cornered and deposited in a cell crowded with smelly, trampy women had taken her breath and wits away. 

She sighed.

Never mind. It was just a momentary setback. Only mildly annoying.

The money was secure. Check.

Plan B? Check.

She started screaming and writhing in pain. After she stuck her finger down her throat to throw up dramatically. 

 

     "She's pleading temporary insanity and complications from her pregnancy," Rakesh told Asad over the phone. 

     "Of course!" Asad sighed. He hadn't expected any less. The woman just wouldn't go silently from their lives. "I'm surprised she's not claiming that her evil twin did it," he muttered grimly, rubbing his eyes. 

Zoya's distraught face, from when he'd seen her at the accident site, flashed before his eyes. 

     "Tell me she's not going to talk her way out of this?" 

     "With all the evidence we've turned in against her, she shouldn't." 

Asad brooded. His fist clenched behind his back. He didn't trust Tanveer's or her ability to slip through the cracks. The police hadn't found the money anywhere, nor bank passbooks. The unfinished nature of the business niggled and nagged at his mind.

But everyone was immensely relieved that the woman was in judicial custody now. 

And thank god, Zoya was back to being Zoya again. 

Asad had left home this morning with her still touching and re-touching her new treasures fanned out on the bed. Just after breakfast, a courier had delivered yet another gift for her. Seeing who it was from, Asad had led her inside to their room before Zoya tore into it. He watched indulgently as she fished out a bubble-wrapped picture frame. Her gasp of delight was a shot of pure adrenaline in his arm. 

     "Asad, look! I can't believe Abbu had this photo of me and Ammi all these years." 

It was a faded photograph in a plain frame: a dimpled toddler gripping a familiar music box in her pudgy hands, while being restrained unsuccessfully by her mother. It must have been taken that fateful night, Asad thought. He looked up sharply at Zoya hoping she hadn't put the pieces together. Zoya hugged the frame to her and rocked herself. Putting it on the bed, she flung herself in Asad's arms. 

     "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she swung from his neck giddily. "I don't deserve you," she sniffed.

     "Don't ever say that," he jerked her to him planting a kiss on her forehead.

     "Arz kiya hai, 'when it was dark, you always carried the sun in your hand for me'," she quoted softly, after stealing another kiss.

     "Who said that?" 

     "Why? Cause it couldn't have been me?" 

Asad smirked. 

     "Some Irish poet, Sean O'Casey, I think." 

     "Allah Miyan, what's wrong with you, Mrs. Khan? You are finally beginning to appreciate true poetry and fine verse! Humare saath ka asar hoga," he teased. 

     "Touché Mr. Khan, you're lucky I'm too happy to hit you right now." 

The doorbell rang again and they heard Najma shriek after a second. They ran out in panic, yelling "Tamatar!" together. 

It was deja vu all over again. 

But this time Najma had her face buried in a giant bouquet of roses and Dilshad was gripping the kitchen counter's edge with one hand while the other tried to calm her racing heart. 

     "One day, you kids will give me a heart attack," Dilshad grumbled. 

     "Aww," cooed Zoya. "So cute!" 

Najma turned around and handed her a smaller bunch of the tiniest wisps of white flowers. 

     "For me?" Zoya asked.

     Najma, color deeper than the roses, nodded. "Omar said something about baby's breath." 

     "Yes, these are baby's breath! How perfect! Najma you have the best husband in the whole wide world," she gushed. 

     But then she saw Asad's face and giggled, "After mine, I mean!" 

As Asad slipped into his suit jacket, Najma rooted around in the box that had arrived with the flowers. 

     "Zoya, Omar sent you something else too," and she handed a medium-sized gift bag to her sister-in-law.

     "Oh my god, I've never got so many gifts in my life," she squealed and ripped the tissue open. 

     "What is it?" begged Najma. Asad, curious himself, hung around for the reveal too.

Zoya held up a Star Wars logoed infant onepiece jumpsuit, which read: "The force is strong with this one." 

     "Oh my god, I love it!" and she splayed it over her belly. "Look baby Jedi, look what Omi Wan Kenobi sent you. This is what you'll wear when we bring you from the hospital." 

     "Then we better wash it at least 2-3 times." Dilshad cut in. 

     "Why Ammi?" Zoya asked. 

     "So it'll be soft against the baby's skin. Which reminds me, we can take a look at some of Asad and Najma's baby clothes and decide which ones can be re-used."

     "Aww," went Najma.

Asad looked at Zoya's suddenly striken expression. He knew what she was thinking: no one had saved her baby clothes. 

     "What else did Omar send," he prompted gently. 

Flashing him a grateful grin, Zoya pulled out a telescoping light sabre and brandished it gleefully. It glowed green and made a buzzing electronic sound when swished. 

     Najma and Asad looked at each other and rolled their eyes. "Oh god! You two and your Star Wars crap!" 

     Thrusting the light sabre's glowing tip under her sister-in-law's chin, Zoya thundered in her best Darth Vader voice: " 'I find your lack of faith disturbing,' Tamatar! You take that back! Right now!" 

As Asad left for work, Najma was being chased around by her bhabhi maniacally waving the light sabre. Zoya was humming the ominous Darth Vader theme track. 

He shook his head hearing Dilshad scold the girls half-heartedly. 

But he got out fast to avoid the sacrilege of seeing his wife jump up on the sofa, as she did so often when passionately defending a cause close to her heart. 

 

     "Shit!" groaned Feroze. 

     "What?" Nikhat asked with a hand clutching her heart. Her other hand was still under the table, tingling in his secure grasp. 

     "We're on youtube!" 

     "What? Stop making stuff up."

     "No, seriously, Zoya just texted me—" 

Nikhat's phone buzzed. 

     "Humaira. Yup, we're on youtube. 1563 views already!" Nikhat covered her miserable face. 

Just this morning, Ammi had suspiciously kissed her forehead and hugged her longer than usual. She seemed happy and too cheerful. 

Had Humaira blabbed on them? 

Abbu too had smiled a bit too smugly when he caught her checking the clock just before lunch. 

Was she just being paranoid? 

God! This secret-keeping was so stressful. 

And now the cherry on top. 

     "Great! Just bloody great! Wait till my students get a hold of this. 'Bhopali proposal' my foot! Jeez, my department!"

Feroze's professional life flashed before his eyes; he saw it circling and flushing down the toilet.

     Nikhat saw his expression and burst into tears. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault. Sab meri wajah se hua hai!" 

Feroze held her by her shoulders in the booth. They were at an Italian restaurant this afternoon. By now they had explored quite a few eating places for each lunch date. Nikhat hadn't eaten out so much all of her life. And Feroze was already complaining of his jeans fitting a bit too snugly. 

     He took the napkin at the table and started to dab at her tears. "Ms. Nikhat Ahmed Khan, looks like you'll have to support me till I find a new job!" She cried more, and he laughed. "Hey, c'mon, I'm kidding." He rocked her against him as she burrowed her face in his chest. 

     "But what about your job? Your department people?" 

     "It'll all be fine. A couple of academic publications, and I'll be golden. Let them find out. In fact, I think my coolness factor just went up!" 

He handed her a glass of water. 

     "Just think, our very own 15 minutes of fame. Tomorrow someone else will be in the spotlight and we'll be forgotten. But at least our grandkids will have a record of how their dadi prosposed to their dadu!" 

     "How can you still want to marry me?" Nikhat sniffed looking up into his face. 

     His thumbs rubbed the hot tears away, "because, no one ever asked me so nicely. And now that the whole world's seen it, I gotta do it for the grandkids." 

     Feroze tilted his head to the side and brushed her ear with his lips. "Besides, since that kiss, I've thought of doing nothing else."   

     Her tiny gasp of awareness scorched him. "Grandmother of my grandkids, get ready for Act II on youtube."

He bent to kiss her.

Nikhat's palm cupped his cheek as her head fell back to pose for a perfect shot for posterity, in case anyone was filming them. 

 

Nikhat's screaming instincts were right.

Despite Zoya begging and then threatening him, Asad had insisted on telling Abbu about Feroze. No amount of pouting or batting her lashes at him had made him change his mind. 

     "Zoya, Abbu needs to know. It's not right that he hears about it from someone who might see them together. I'm assuming they are meeting every day?" 

     She made a face and cut her eyes away from his. "Of course they're meeting everyday! They're in love and he's not here for too long." 

     "See? That's why we have to tell Abbu and Chhoti Ammi."

     "I hate it when you're right." She grumbled. "I feel so guilty now. You've taken away the joy of being a secret matchmaker!"

     "You'll survive. God knows why my sisters have to fall for pardesi boys though," Asad muttered under his breath. 

     "Oh hello!" Zoya hollered, fists on her waist, "Mr. Khan, you fell for a pardesi girl too!" 

     "Yes, you are the one to blame for everything." Asad pointed an accusing finger at her, "you brought those boys into our lives. And now my sisters will be living 12,000 kilometers away from us." 

     "Oh please!" Pushing her face up to his, she stabbed his chest with her finger. "Don't forget, everything good that's happened to you, to this family, is because of me. Even Ammi said so."

     "Oh really, earlier I carried the sun for you, aur ab solar eclipse?"

Her hand moved to rub her stomach and she grabbed his collar with the other.

     "Shut up, and kiss me, or you can sleep in the living room tonight! I'm not too happy with you right now Mr. Khan." 

Asad threw his head back and laughed.

     His arms came around to hold her against him. "Oh god, I give up, you're too damn much!"

 

     Many kisses later, he teased, "so you're going to wear this everyday?" 

For two days now, in the privacy of their room, she'd worn the lehenga her Abbu had given her. She preened in front of the mirror, tried on different shoes, hairstyles and jewelry with it, and had taken at least a dozen selfies. Profile pictures on all her social media sites had been proudly updated. Songs played on her iPad, she swayed and sashayed to wedding and item numbers. 

Asad had mentioned this weird obsession to Aapi and Jeeju this morning, and they'd laughed knowingly. Anwar told him to be prepared for her wearing it at least for the next few months, or at least till she no longer fit in it. 

It was a Zoya thing. 

For her seventh birthday a close friend had presented her with a Sleeping Beauty costume. And Zoya had worn it everyday after school as she watched and acted out the Disney movie a thousand times, humming the tune based on Tchaikovsky's unforgettable masterpiece for hours afterwards.

     For days Anwar had reminded Zeenat, "take a video, we'll show it to her husband and kids."

But it kept getting postponed. 

The day Zeenat had finally set up the video in Zoya's room to quietly record the princess replay, was the last day she'd worn the costume. Just like that, she was done with being Sleeping Beauty. Anwar still hadn't forgiven Zeenat for not getting Zoya on tape sooner. But Aapi had saved the dress, faded and limp from multiple washings. Some sequins had fallen out, but it was still a cherished relic. Zoya had graduated to multiple screenings of Mary Poppins, Sound of Music and Little Women.

     Before signing off, Zeenat had told Asad, "ask her to tell you about the time she cut her hair because she saw 'Little Women,' and wanted to be called Jo."

     Smiling, Asad crooked his finger under her chin and raised her face to his. "You look beautiful. Here's what we'll do. This weekend, let's get the family together and have a professional photoshoot. You can wear this lehenga. We can even send a picture to your Abbu." 

Her shriek of delight as she threw her arms around his neck nearly deafened him; but it meant that he'd done absolutely the right thing. No way was he sleeping in the living room! 

Not by a long shot.

 

 

Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012): "O Saiyaan" 


	84. Ik Aisi Chubhan Iss Lamhe Mein Hai, Ye Lamha Kahaan Tha Mera

 

 

 

 

Raziya gave thanks for every day her daughter had been home this past week. Fine, so she'd told a little lie. 

So what? 

And it really wasn't a lie. Not telling her the complete truth was not really lying. Why complain when things were finally better than before? 

She had helped Asad Ahmed Khan put Tanveer away for good, that earned her at least a couple of brownie points, didn't it? 

Siddiqui Saheb was mellow and at peace after his private reunion with Zoya. 

And all three of them had kept her darkest secret.

Humaira didn't know.

 

She exhaled.

That day at the mall, Humaira had frantically insisted that Tanveer was a con artist scamming Abbu. She was an impostor and a violent psychopath. 

     "I want to come home, but you hold the key Ammi! Tell me why," she had pleaded.

And that's when she had lied.

     "Your Rashid Phupha worked for us. We were the only ones who knew that he had two families so we got him to do some things for us." 

     Humaira had cringed. "What kind of things?" 

Raziya had adjusted the dupatta on her head longer than needed, her fingers had twisted the ends of the dupatta uneasily. 

     "Ammi! Tell me, please!" 

     "We needed the insurance money, so we got him to burn the factory." 

Humaira had gasped. 

     "And you threatened hurting Dilshad Phuphi because he wanted to report you the police, right?" 

     "Yes," she'd said in a small bleak voice. She had already decided that she wouldn't tell her more. 

     "Ammi, how could you?" 

     "I was so wrong, beta. I regret it everyday of my life. If I could turn back time ... If I could throw myself at Dilshad's feet, I would."

She had sobbed in earnest. Because she knew that Humaira would find out one day what really happened. 

It could kill her. 

And she would hate her mother forever.

And she also knew, it wasn't just Dilshad's feet she needed to throw herself at.

 

Humaira knew she should have pressed Ammi harder. But, she needed an excuse to come home too. As much as she would miss everyone at the Khan house, she had to be here to take care of Abbu and Ammi from a psychotic criminal. Thank god that woman was out of their lives and safely tucked away behind bars! 

But Abbu must be devastated. 

Earlier, she had tried to talk to him but he had looked sad and stared at something in the distance. But these past couple of days, he seemed more upbeat. She had overheard him talking on the phone to his lawyers. He must be getting updates on that scheming impostor!

Humaira had to tell him about her, before he got her released on bail and back into their lives.

That morning after breakfast, she approached him in his study.

     "Abbu, I need to talk to you. It's important, please."

He looked distracted as he held a book in his hands without really reading it. But he didn't look annoyed at the interruption. Any other time he would have been short with her, but today he smiled and lovingly touched her head after replacing the book on the shelf.

     "Bolo beta. Why do you look so worried? Is something wrong?" 

She wondered at his calm cheer. She got more nervous. Was he happy because he was hopeful of Tanveer's release?

Oh my god! 

     "Abbu ... It's about Tanveer. I don't think she's your daughter," she blurted out, twisting the ring on her finger. 

She dared not look into his face. Would he be upset?

But she was startled when she heard a muffled laugh.

     "Abbu?" 

     "It's OK, beta." He held her by her shoulders and looked at her with pride. "You have nothing to worry about. I know." 

     "You know!" She couldn't believe her ears. "How?" 

     "Bas yoon samajh lo, that a good Samaritan helped me find the truth."

     "Thank god, Abbu! I was so worried. You don't know what kind of a woman she is. You know she pushed Zoya Bhabhi down the stairs!" 

She saw her father wince in pain and grabbed his hand.

Siddiqui patted her hand. 

     "Come beta, tumhare hath ki coffee piye bahut din ho gaye. Then you can tell me all about your time there, and Zoya ... your Zoya Bhabhi."

As they walked down the stairs arm in arm, Humaira chattered about how sweet and crazy Zoya Bhabhi was. Her silly shayari, that fierce protectiveness, and how everyone said that Asad Bhaijaan was a changed man now because of her. How nice Aapi and Jeeju were, and wasn't it nice that Zoya Bhabhi had them after she lost her parents? 

He hung on to every word of hers, his heart sore and eyes moist. 

     At the landing she gripped his arm urgently, "Abbu, I know that Ammi and I didn't tell you the complete truth about my accident. Actually ... there was some gang shooting on our way from Indore, and I got hit. But it was nothing major," she rushed to reassure him when she saw him blanch. "But you know what Abbu? I lost a lot of blood, and Zoya Bhabhi gave me blood."

Siddiqui's step nearly faltered, but Humaira put her arm out to catch his elbow and continued talking. 

     "She's so nice! You have to meet her! But Abbu don't judge her because she wears jeans and is quite outspoken." 

He continued to reel. 

Asad hadn't told him about Zoya donating blood to save Humaira. He closed his eyes helplessly. Who was he to judge her? But he had judged her when he saw her for the first time, hadn't he? He didn't deserve that child's love or forgiveness. He had given her a lifetime of pain, blow, after terrible blow ... 

Siddiqui staggered. 

Why hadn't she spit on him? Demanded why he hadn't come looking for her, or what had really happened to her mother? 

He had seen Asad's fury that day ... both Zoya and Asad knew most of the grim details of the horrors of that night … eighteen years ago. 

Asad had said she had a scar from that day. 

And nightmares ... 

A mere child in that fiery tomb! 

The pain ... the fear ... 

How had Asad not broken his cowardly neck for what he had or hadn't done eighteen years ago? 

His knees buckled. Siddiqui paused to remove his glasses and polish them, ducking his head so Humaira wouldn't see the shame and self-loathing on his face. 

Midas-like, he looked down at the gilded house spread out at his feet. 

Its grandeur taunted him; its history haunted him.

He was an epic failure as a father to Zoya. Even hyenas treated their young better, an inner voice jeered. 

Nothing he could do could make up for what he'd done.

But he would die trying. 

     "Abbu?" Humaira asked tentatively as she busied herself assembling the ingredients in the kitchen. 

He cleared his throat and swallowed the lump of ashes in his mouth.

     "Haan beta?" Arms crossed, Siddiqui distractedly watched Humaira prepare the coffee. He shifted to press his knuckles to his mouth. 

The burner's blue flame under the steel pan hypnotized him, waving and beckoning seductively. 

He almost reached out to touch it ... 

     "Now that we know about Tanveer, what should we do to try to find ... your ... real daughter? Shouldn't you hire a private detective or a lawyer who can look into this, and bring her home?"

     "We will, beta, I promise," he choked out. 

Humaira rushed to hold his quaking shoulders. Siddiqui slid to the floor on his knees and wept inconsolably in his younger daughter's arms. 

The milk boiled and bubbled, marching militantly to the top to immolate itself. Its acrid martyrdom hung over his curdled soul. 

 

Zoya fretted. Now that Asad had told Abbu and Chhoti Ammi about Feroze she debated whether to let him know, or just let the lovebirds find out on their own. 

     "I feel like I'm setting them up to be punk'd if I'm not honest with him," she muttered. 

     "Then tell him." Asad said simply. 

They were headed to the children's center this Sunday morning for an ice cream and chaat party that Zoya had organized for the kids. 

     "Mr. Khan! You're no help at all! And you're the one who started this with your 'full disclosure rules,' " she said in irritation, making sarcastic air quotes. 

     "Do you want me to call him, invite him over, say 'Feroze, the jig's up. The whole family knows'?" Asad asked with infinite patience. He continued ribbing her, "In fact, we'll tell him, since the internet knows, we decided it was time Abbu and Chhoti Ammi knew too?"

She sighed in exasperation.

She'd told him about the youtube video, but very reluctantly. Zoya thought he'd be livid. She worried her husband would charge down to the other end of town and beat up his future brother-in-law. So she'd broken the news gently, only after she had him in bed, out of his clothes, putty in her hands, mind completely blank. 

And after hiding his car keys. 

But Asad's mellow reaction had taken her by surprise. He just grinned and shook his head. Who knew that Nikhat of all of them would turn out to have the most adventurous love story? One would have figured Ayaan turning up on youtube more than anyone else. 

Besides, now, Asad was a man converted. 

Having known the pangs and highs of love, he no longer waged war on its new recruits. 

     After making sure that there was no danger of him bolting to protect his sister's honor, Zoya asked, "do you want to see it? It's so cute."

She slowly traced his lips with her fingers as she leaned over him, her hair a dark curtain of privacy. 

     "No! And you better make sure that our own little video doesn't go public either!"

He declared the subject closed by flipping her over and doing things guaranteed to make her mind blank too. 

     "I watched our video," she said breathlessly as she softened and burned under him. 

     Hot breath to her ear, he whispered, "Without me? Now you'll have to give me an action replay, word for word, blow by blow." 

     "Let's watch it right now!" she implored, body intimately molding to his.

     "No," he pinned her under him, extending her arms over her head. "Tell me ..." 

Her voice cracked as she obeyed him. The throaty words spurred his actions; her involuntary gasps in between, stirred his blood.

His breath hissed with each sensuous detail she narrated; her body bucked as his fingers and tongue remembered old and discovered new sensations ... 

 

Back in the car she continued to protest his teasing and non-compliance.

Her fingers tapped impatiently on her phone.

     "Should I?" 

He shrugged and laughed at her dilemma.

     "You only want the glory but not the glitches," Asad mocked. 

     "Hmmpphh! You never take me seriously, or give me credit for"!" 

     "Oh please! Don't even try throwing yourself a pity party. When you make sense I take you plenty seriously." 

She gasped and then pouted.

     "You're being especially mean today. I'm sorry, I didn't know you were on your period." 

     "Zoya!" he wheezed through shocked laughter. "Always misbehaving!"

A low growl from her told him she was still miffed.

He took her hand in his and interlaced their fingers tightly to stop her from pulling away.

     "I loved your idea of having local ice cream wallas and chaat thelas come to the center, instead of giving the contract to some big corporate outfit, hmm?" 

Zoya beamed. She loved it when he praised her awesome plans or schemes. And he knew it too. 

It had been her idea and something she'd been thinking about for sometime now. Why not support small local vendors rather than some bloated faceless franchise? It had been hard to co-ordinate though, but she'd loved every minute of it. 

Asad had been worried about security and food safety, but with Najma, Humaira and Nuzzhat working with some people from Rakesh's office, together they had created a registry for the vendors who would be invited back for future functions only under the strictest sanitary conditions. 

Rakesh's office had processed photographs, fingerprints, phone numbers and addresses as a show of commitment to future contracts, and a running database of contacts and profiles to ensure accountability. 

And her Abbu had insisted on paying for the whole affair. 

     "I want to do this for you, for the place where you found shelter when I turned my back on you," he had said through penitent tears on the phone that morning. 

Her own eyes had misted.

     "Abbu, forget about the past. Just be with me now and always." 

     "Till my dying breath," Abbu had said softly before he hung up. 

  


Zoya squeezed Asad's hand back now.

     "Jahanpanah, you take advantage of my sunny nature. You know I'll forgive you easily so you poke fun at me and then say or do something that'll make me forget how mean you were." 

     "True, I do. You make it so easy," he smiled. 

     "Asad!" she punched his arm.

He pulled over to the side of the road and trapped both her hands in his to kiss them.

     "Who is your biggest fan?" 

She looked away.

     "Zoya!" 

     "Fine! You are!" 

     "Who writes her name on my heart every night?" 

     "I do." 

     "Who do I kiss goodnight?"

     "Me." 

     "Who's going to be the mother of my children?" 

She was loving this. Who cared if they were going to be just a little late? 

     "I am."

     "Who gets your pizza order just right?" 

She frowned. 

     "OK, on most days." 

     "You do." 

     "Who's the one woman in the world I'd do a strip tease for?" 

     Zoya grinned triumphantly. "Me." 

     "Which dimple did I fall for?" 

     "This one," she said pointing to it. 

     "For whom did I plan the photoshoot this evening?" 

     "For me."

     "Then, who do you want me to tease, the neighbor's wife?" 

     "Don't you even dare!"

She smiled when she saw him laugh. 

     "All good? Am I forgiven now? Ab Chalen?" 

     "On one condition ..." 

     "What?" he asked warily when he saw the wicked gleam in her eyes. 

     "Strip tease, tonight? Please!" 

     "Annhhh!" 

 

     "Zoya Bhabhi, you look beautiful! What a gorgeous lehenga!" Humaira gushed in open admiration that evening. She lovingly straightened the dupatta and fixed its drape. 

The ice cream and chaat party had been a resounding success despite the heat. After a light lunch everyone had retired for a Sunday afternoon nap. 

And now the party, in full fancy dress, was back on. The photographers had set up in the living room and the family bustled around everywhere else in their finest. 

Zoya smiled secretly, radiant.

     "Did Bhaijaan get it for you? It's so pretty. He has great taste." 

     "Yes he does," Zoya responded cheekily catching her husband's eye. 

     "I love your suit too, Humaira. It's new? I haven't seen you wear it." 

     "Ayaan got it for me," she said shyly. 

     "Good job, Raabert," Zoya declared as she pinched his cheek playfully. "I'm so proud of you!" 

Ayaan ducked his head self-consciously. He was thrilled that Humaira had got permission from her parents for this evening. But he was not pleased that he had been made to wear a monkey suit. A sherwani he'd have been OK in. But why a suit and tie? He kept picking at his collar and swearing under his breath. 

     "Total dash mein bumboo! Who's useless idea was this?" he hollered at Najma and Zoya. "Must have been you two! Never missing a chance to play dress up! Humko bakra bana diya!" he scoffed. 

Zoya giggled and let him rant. 

     "A photoshoot? How filmy! Kaun karata hai? Who are you? The Yash Chopras?" He continued to get worked up. 

     Najma laughed and held up her hands. "It wasn't me, I swear. But Bhaijaan, it's an awesome idea!"

Ayaan rounded on his Bhabhi.

     "No it's not. It must be Mona darling's idea! You must have bugged Bhaijaan with your bakwas shayari and he must have agreed just to shut you up!" 

Zoya sucked in her cheeks to keep from laughing. She had seen her husband striding towards them. 

     "Hey, your Bhaijaan loves my shayari these days, so you better watch it!" 

With a finger plucking the collar away from his neck he continued to harangue them as the girls rolled their eyes and giggled. 

     "Bhaijaan, stop pretending as if you're not pleased at how dashing you look in a suit," Nuzzhat teased. 

     "Such an idiotic idea, jiska bhi tha!" 

     "Ayaan," he felt a playful slap upside his head and turned to look at his brother's serious expression. "Mera idea tha." 

Ayaan turned red as all the girls burst out laughing. 

     "Bhaijaan, aapka?" He looked crestfallen at the betrayal by his own brother.

     "Kyun bhai, aap log sab mil kar hamare bete ko kyun tang kar rahein hain?"  

Shireen walked up to them and lovingly brushed invisible lint from her son's shoulder.  

She was so proud of him tonight. He had never looked handsomer. He was being so responsible these days. Working so hard. In fact, she worried that he worked too hard and didn't eat enough. 

     "My Ayaan looks so handsome in a suit doesn't he, Humaira?" She asked, fixing his tie, and everyone agreed wholeheartedly. 

     "Ammi please!" 

     "Asad, this was a great idea! I'm glad you insisted he wear a suit. Meri to yeh kahan sunta hai!" 

Shireen fussed some more and removed kajal from her eyes to swipe it behind her son's ear. His sisters and Bhabhi did the same and suddenly Ayaan was sporting multiple kala tikas as thousands of evil eyes were blinded and banished. 

He nearly fled from the torment, but stopped as he heard Humaira laugh. 

He looked at her indulgently. 

These past few days had been tough for both of them. They barely got to spend enough time with one another. Whenever they met, they were surround by his sisters and Bhabhi. Once in a while they met up for coffee. He was grateful for this bonus meeting, even though he had to wear a stifling suit. And it was enough to see her wear the dress that he had spent hours trying to decide upon. 

Tonight, he was mock-grumbling just because he loved being the contrarian. 

It was his trademark. 

And the happier he was, the more he misbehaved.

 

The photographer turned on the lights and rearranged the backdrop.

Both Zoya and Asad wondered why the other was anxiously looking at the clock or whispering conspiratorially on their phones.

Asad looked around for her as the photographer posed him, Ayaan and Abbu.

     He blushed with pleasure when Abbu said, patting his shoulder, "the next time we do this, I'll be holding your baby." 

Asad tracked Zoya with his eyes as she returned from their bedroom carrying her laptop. She looked excited, and he frowned. 

Something was up. 

As the men started to break away to make room for the next group shot, she stopped them. 

     "Rukiye, please!" And she held up the laptop for everyone to see the screen. 

     Najma gasped in delight. "Omar!" 

     "Hey guys, surprise!" Omar waved, resplendent in a suit and tie himself. 

     "Can't have a family portrait without me, now can you?"

Everyone cheered. 

     "Beam me up Scottie!" Omar winked at Zoya. 

Amidst the squeals and animated laughter, the men were photographed again but this time with Omar, as Ayaan held up the laptop. It was not easy because the photographer had to do some magic to keep the glare off the screen. 

     "Great!" Ayaan cribbed. "He won't even be in the portrait. We'll just tell everyone that the bright glare next to me is Jeeju number 1." 

     "Hey! That bright glare next to you makes your girl face look better," Omar retorted from 8000 miles away. 

     "Our own version of Beauty and the beast!" Nuzzhat called out.

     "He's the beauty," both Omar and Ayaan pointed fingers at each other. 

     "Omar," Asad warned in a low growl. 

     "Yeah, yeah, man, I love you too." 

     As the men tried to not dissolve into laughter so the photographer could finish the shot, Humaira, Nuzzhat and Nikhat called out, "Omar, we miss you so much!"

     "Tamatar has become gaajar in your absence," Nikhat said softly, stroking Najma's arm. 

Omar's smile dipped. But then he cleared his throat.  

     "Wow Nikhat, so much info about vegetables. Why not, I hear you've been eating out every day!" 

     "Omar!" She blushed, mortified, even more tamatar than her sister; Najma snickered at her elbow. 

     She then hugged Zoya for thinking up of this unique surprise. "I can't believe you both kept this a secret from me! I love it!" 

Najma took the laptop from Ayaan as everyone readied for the next shot. She and her husband made eyes at each other, wanting to say so much more, but minding the company around them.

     "I love you," he mouthed and she blushed touching her ear; it was their decided-upon secret signal of saying I love you in public. 

The doorbell rang. 

Asad excused himself to get it. 

And there were collective gasps again. 

     "What happened?" asked Omar as Najma looked at something off to her side with her mouth hanging open. 

Zoya bounced on her feet and clapped, extremely proud of her husband's impressive pyaar-ka-farishta track record. He was really getting good at this. 

She would have jumped in his arms, but ... 

He stood smiling benignly as he shook hands with Feroze and ushered him in. Nikhat tried to hide behind Dadi even as she peeked at Feroze, in what else, but a suit. 

Seeing Feroze at the door, everyone had turned to look at her and Nikhat covered her heated face, wanting the earth to open up. It was clear that Bhaijaan had invited Feroze. Shireen came over to hug her and that's when Nikhat knew that the whole family already knew. 

Oh.

My.

God.

Had they seen the video?

Badi Ammi and Nuzzhat may have been the only ones who were completely taken by surprise, but yes, everyone else gave her knowing smiles. 

Even Dadi had known? 

The men were photographed again, this time with Feroze whose eyes sought Nikhat's. 

     "Arre, may be we should wait a little more. Nuzzhat ke liye koi aata hoga, then we'll include him too," Rashid joked. 

     "Abbu!" Nuzzhat protested. 

     "Not for another two years," Asad said. "And he better not be from America," he looked pointedly at his wife. 

     Studiously peering at her fingernails, she said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "well, Feroze does have a younger brother ..." 

     "No!" howled everyone. 

     "Hey?!" protested the outnumbered Americans, throwing their hands up in the air at this blatant in-law diss.

After everyone had fussed over Nikhat and Feroze, warded off evil spirits with kala tikas, tawizes and duas, the younger generation was photographed next. Real, virtual and to-be spouses were all crammed in. 

Najma and Nuzzhat sat in front, both holding up the laptop between them. Nuzzhat couldn't resist holding up two fingers behind the screen giving her Jeeju fake rabbit ears.

     Najma tried to slap her hand away as Dadi scolded Nuzzhat playfully, "Jeeju ke sath aise nahin karte!"

     "That's OK," said Omar. "Dadi, rabbits love gaajar, right Nikhat?"

Najma blushed a bright red and her Ammi and Dadi pinched her cheeks.

Asad insisted on a few photographs with just Zoya and Humaira. Later everyone convinced him that he and Ayaan needed to be with the girls in at least one portrait too. Gratefully, Zoya stood with Humaira's hands clasped in hers, flanked by Asad and Ayaan on either side.

The entire family's portrait took a long time to set up. 

With Ayaan and Omar talking smack and trading barbs, the doting moms shushing them, murmuring "Ya Allahs" every now and then, the girls giggling, Feroze trying to grip a blushing Nikhat's hand, Zoya's improv shayari, and Asad clutching his forehead and rolling his eyes, it was an uphill task to get it just right. 

Only Rashid and Dadi reverently soaked up the shenanigans, calmly beaming at the filial completeness, however rowdy.  

 

Despite Humaira's return, Raziya still slept fitfully. The nightmares of Humaira begging to be saved from a fiery crypt scalded her subconscious; in her waking hours her soles burned her conscience. A spectral sentry, at nights she patrolled through the empty halls of the cavernous house hoping to tire herself out and fall into a dreamless sleep.

Some nights she did. 

Tonight she hobbled down the stairs not bothering to turn the lights on. 

Practice had made her haunted tread perfect. 

After walking for a good 20-30 minutes the tingling in her feet thankfully receded. As she turned the corner, she saw a weird glow coming from the kitchen and dashed inside. 

She stared in horror. 

Her husband had turned the gas burner on and had deliberately lit his kurta sleeve on fire. 

He stood, mute and unflinching, staring at the fire, hypnotized. 

     "Siddiqui saheb! Aap ye kya kar rahein hain?" Raziya rushed to turn the gas off and poured a pitcher of cold water on his arm.

He whispered incoherently and she pressed closer to catch what he was saying. 

     "Eighteen years ago, did you put out the fire on her clothes that night?" he rasped. 

The pitcher fell from her hands to smash into a million crystal shards. 

She remained quiet. 

     "Bolo Raziya. Tell me, how much was Zoya screaming in pain that night? How terrified was she? Was she calling out for her dead Ammi?" 

     "Stop it!" she begged through a choked throat. She fell to the floor letting the glass pieces pierce her knees and palms. "You know it was all a horrible accident. We were both fighting over the knife ... I just wanted to scare her with it ... to get her to leave. But in the heat of the moment ..." she begged for his complicity. 

     "But Zoya? Did you bring her there to kill her?" He had never verbalized this question all these years. But he had certainly thought about it on many a sleepless night. 

     "No! I would never --! I didn't even know she was there. I only found out later when I heard her screams." 

     "She was on fire?" 

     " ... yes ..." 

     "Where?" 

     " ... her arm ..." 

     "She was just a baby!" he croaked, heart almost exploding from his chest. 

He wept. 

Siddiqui covered his face wanting to claw his eyes out.

     "Oh god, what have we done! Why didn't Allah smite us right there that night?" He picked up a fistful of glass. "She knows about us. Still she donated blood to Humaira? She did it to save your daughter Raziya! You knew about that too!" 

     "I'm sorry," whimpered Raziya. 

     "Zoya, meri bachhi, why do you forgive your Abbu so easily?" he moaned. 

With her bloody hands, Raziya struggled to restrain his hand before it could stab his eyes with the broken pieces of glass he had picked off the floor. 

     "She's pregnant. What horrible legacy have I left her? What will she say when her children ask about their nana and nani? What will she tell them when they ask her about her scar?"

He covered his face in shame and regret.

They sobbed in the darkened kitchen on a bed seeded with broken glass and grisly sins. 

 

 

Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012): "Abhi Mujhme Kahin"


	85. Ot Mein Chhup Ke, Dekh Rahe Thay, Chaand Ke Peeche-Peeche Thay

 

 

 

  

It was late.

Whan Ayaan dropped her off at home that night he walked her all the way to the main door. Their hands brushed against each other and he grabbed her wrist. Lifting it to his mouth, he nipped the inside and she hissed.

     "Ayaan!"

Pulling her behind the pillar to hide them from the guard's prying eyes, he wrenched her against him. 

     "I couldn't take my eyes off you all night," he breathed in her ear. "You look beautiful." 

He trailed a finger down her arm and she shivered. 

     "Ayaan, what's gotten into you tonight! Abbu will see us."

But she didn't exactly struggle out of his embrace, nor free her wrist from his grasp. 

     "You smell so good," she breathed, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

     "I don't get to see you enough." Ayaan nuzzled her neck and kneaded her back painfully. 

     "I miss you so much, Humaira! I could kick myself. We lived under the same roof all our lives and I never appreciated it. And now, it kills me that I get to see you for only a couple of hours in a day!" 

His smoldering intensity was doing a number on her. 

Her body surged into his. 

     "Shh, Ayaan. It'll be fine," she soothed, kissing his cheek. 

Leaning back, he tilted her chin up roughly.

     "You're different. Ever since the shooting. And now that you're back home. I can't put my finger on it, but I feel like you're growing apart from me, like I'm losing you." 

     "No, Ayaan!" She let her hands sink in his hair and gripped it tight. Raising herself on her toes she boldly whispered against his lips, "You're not losing me. I'm just finding myself." 

She pressed her parted mouth to his and sucked his lower lip, slipping her tongue in. Ayaan jerked and gripped her by her hips to fit her to him more intimately, almost lifting her off her feet. With one hand he yanked her back by her hair and leaned over to bite and suck on her brazen lips. He kneed her legs apart and molded her to him.

     As they broke apart to drag fresh air into their lungs, Ayaan ground into her. "You don't know how sexy you are, taking the lead! See, the old Humaira would never have done that!"

     "The old Humaira wasn't engaged to a man with a job who just bought her this gorgeous suit with his first month's salary." 

He grinned with pleasure.

     "So Humaira is all grown up now? A full-blooded woman?" he drawled, rotating his hips against hers. 

They twisted and sprang apart when they heard the front door open. She would have jumped aside but he grabbed her arm to keep her in front of him. 

She blushed and burned with frustration.

     "Humaira beta?" 

     "Ji Abbu, I'm just coming."

Behind her, she heard Ayaan groan softly and she turned crimson. 

     "Kaise ho Ayaan?" Siddiqui asked gently. 

     "I'm fine, thanks." Ayaan responded gruffly. 

     "Andar aao." 

     "Ji nahin ... shukriya. It's late, Allah hafiz." 

And he roared off. 

 

Later that night Zoya insisted on sending a jodi selfie of theirs to Aapi and Jeeju, and her Abbu.

Asad protested half-heartedly. 

He had already started to loosen his tie. It had been a long night of antakshari and charades egged on by his wife and hyper siblings. As fun as it had been to defeat her team (who knew that Dadi knew so many songs!) he was glad to see everyone leave so that he could get out of these clothes and straighten out his stiff back. 

Getting her out of her clothes would be the cherry on top. 

All evening he had ached to watch her flit around in the pale green and peach frothy concoction of chiffon and zardozi. When she had jumped up to act out the film titles for her team, he had nearly groaned aloud. Twice he had to excuse himself to go get a glass of ice-cold water. 

     "Zoya, not now! We'll be sending everybody the professional pictures anyways. That's why we did this, remember?"

     "But that'll take days. And we're already dressed up. And soon, I won't want any pictures taken of me because I'll be ugly and fat. Pleeease!" 

     "Pregnancy has made you a first-class blackmailer," he grumbled. 

She grinned impishly, not taking any offense because she was getting her way, and she was in such a good mood. She didn't even scold him for not lustily disagreeing with her that she could ever be ugly and fat.

Lucky him. 

She had them pose, cheek to dimpled cheek and clicked multiple times. 

     "One more! My eyes were half-closed in that one." 

     "And mine were rolling in all of them," he muttered. 

     "Asad, you're so mean!"

He knew of only one way to get her to give up her selfiemania. By now he had begun to nuzzle her neck and nip her ear, trailing micro kisses along her jaw. She shivered in delight but still mock-scolded him. 

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan! Just one," she begged, eyes wide, lips pouting. 

     "I'll give you two," he promised huskily, as he looked deep into those eyes, chin pointing to the bed just so subtly. "Three, if you're good."

She sighed, giving up. 

     "Good girl!" 

Asad sucked her earlobe and let his hands explore her bare waist and exposed back. He knew the slightest skittering of his thumb across her ultrasensitive back would make her hiss and writhe in a flash. A scraped fingernail across her spine after undoing her blouse in the back, and she would be toast.

He ground against her, sealing the deal; she moaned.

     "OK, let me just send this one," she pleaded. 

As she was about to mail the photo to Aapi and Jeeju, Asad seized her hand. 

     "Wait!" he yelped. 

     "What?" Zoya panicked, hand on her heart. 

     "Check and double check. Make sure you never send that video of ours to someone by mistake!" 

     "Oh, what the hell, I'll send it to them tomorrow."

Zoya flung the phone on the bed and unpinned her dupatta, letting it fall to the floor. 

     "Now that's what I'm talking about!" he crowed. 

Hooking a fingertip into the waistband of her lehenga, Asad drew her to him whispering erotically in her ear, "I've been hard for you all evening." 

     She shuddered in his arms, "I know," she whispered. 

He jerked. 

     Slashing her ear with a thrust of his tongue, he continued to torment her by recounting his own torment in slow detail, "when you were acting out Yeh Jawaani Hai Diwani,' I wanted to lift you over my shoulder and carry you to our room to act out jawaani diwani with you!" 

     "Oh god, Asad!" she moaned. "I wish you had!" 

Clothes half-undone, they reveled in each other's remembered touch and taste. As they fell on the bed and tried to untug each other out of ties, buttons, snaps and drawstrings, Asad's knee bumped into her phone. 

He froze. 

     "Asad! Don't stop now, this diwani will kill you!" she complained. 

She opened her eyes, ready to pull him down by his hair if she had to, and saw the expression on his face.

     "What?" 

He held up her phone. 

     "You keep giving me heart attacks! That's what!" 

     "What've I done now?" she pouted defensively. 

     "You very nearly butt-dailed Aapi." 

She gasped. Grabbing her phone from him, she switched it off and tossed it closer to the headboard. Asad still didn't trust her. And as it is the bed was overcrowded with their clothes. 

He carried her to the settee. 

     "Jahanpanah, I love your problem solving skills!" she crooned wiggling against him. 

She had grabbed his tie, still knotted, from the pile of discarded clothes and slipped it around his neck.

     Pulling him to her with it, she demanded, "now, where were we? Oh yes, you promised me three happy endings."

     Hands on either side of her, Asad laughed softly.

     "Start counting, Mrs. Khan!" 

     "Mr. Khan, homework again? You're lucky I was always good at math!" Zoya giggled, but was soon silenced. 

As her purrs and mewling grew louder his blood pounded harder. She dug her nails into his shoulder as visions danced on the inside of her eyelids: that first time she had landed on this settee and in his arms. He had turned to tuck her under him then. What if he had taken her then?

Her eyes popped open. 

Asad had removed the tie from around his neck and secured it around her wrist and his own with a swift tug of his teeth. 

     "Jahanpanah!"

His eyes glittered and bored into hers. They willed her to remember that time of exquisite sexual torture when they'd been shackled to one another in Mangalpur. 

What if he had taken her then, they asked. 

He had certainly wanted to. 

     "Asad," she moaned as the fingers of their bound hands convulsed to interlace. "Why did we waste so much time?" her breath hitched and she whimpered and keened in her throat with each smooth slide and every hard thrust. 

     "Shh," he quieted her. "Zoya, keep it down, or I won't last long, baby. God, the sounds you make! It's enough to drive me over the edge!" he panted through clenched teeth, grinding into her powerfully. 

She bit her lip to comply; she wanted it to last forever too. But the sounds of flesh against flesh and the sighs of their lovemaking conspired to derail her resolve. Zoya arched silently, surrendering to that red-hot friction set by his insistent rhythm and pace. 

His lips and tongue sucked at her throat, and she couldn't keep from crying out as she crested; the waves of passion washed over her. 

A second later, he collapsed too, crashing down with her.

     "Zoyaaa!" 

 

For days now Siddiqui had heard Humaira talk about her. 

Zoya Bhabhi this. Asad Bhaijaan that. 

When she returned from her taekwondo classes in the morning, flushed and exhilarant, he would have cold coffee waiting for her. 

     "Should ... Zoya be doing this, in ... in her condition? Isn't Asa— I mean, aren't they worried about the baby?" He had asked.

Humaira laughed. 

     "Abbu you should see Asad Bhaijaan around Zoya Bhabhi! If it was unsafe, Zoya Bhabhi wouldn't even be allowed any where near the room. I'm surprised he doesn't get her doctor to come sit and supervise everyday!" 

She saw her father smile and smiled too. 

     "No, the doctor says that mild forms of exercise are good for now. And I don't think even Asad Bhaijaan can say no to Zoya Bhabhi!" 

Siddiqui grinned with pride. 

     "And are you enjoying these classes?" 

     "I love it, Abbu! And I'm really good too. And it's such fun. Najma and Nuzzhat keep giggling. Zoya Bhabhi interrupts with her shayari and even the instructor can't keep a straight face. And we tease Nikhat that she better get good at it fast because Feroze Jeeju is a second degree black belt!"

She had told him about Nikhat's love story last night, minus the youtube video of course. 

Humaira loved spending time with Abbu these days. He listened to her and asked questions about her interests and how her day went. 

He had never done this before. 

Like last night they had stayed up late chatting after Ayaan dropped her home from the photoshoot. 

Siddiqui looked at her animated face. He too had begun to look forward to time with her in the morning and evenings. He hadn't seen her as relaxed or confident in his presence ever before. 

     "Did you want to take self-defense classes before?" he asked unexpectedly. 

Humaira looked at him in silence. 

     "I don't know Abbu." She said after a long pause. "I mean, at college, boys pass comments and misbehave, but we just learned to be quiet, look the other way, and ignore them." She picked at the dupatta that was still tied at her waist. "But now I can't bear it. I feel so angry and I want to shame them for their bad behavior!" 

She smiled. 

     "And somehow, now when anyone tries anything funny, I stand tall and give them a look, and they slink away. And that feeling of standing up for myself or someone else is awesome, Abbu!" 

He looked at her in awe. He hadn't known that what he thought was decorum and ladylike behavior, was women's compulsory defense against the fear of being in a skin that men pawed at everyday. Technically, he knew of the vulnerabilities of being a woman, but he had thought that sheltering and protecting them through demure clothing, guards, and private cars, was enough to shield them from the daily oppression of being a woman in India.

     "Why didn't you tell me about this?" he asked. 

     "Abbu! You would have either not let me go to college, or you'd have complained to the principal or dean, and it would have been so embarrassing."

He nodded in understanding and guilt. He would have done exactly that. 

Humaira, meanwhile, was surprised that she could actually talk to him this way. 

     "I am going to talk to the College Board of Trustees about this," she heard him mutter. 

     "Abbu no! See that's why girls don't tell their parents half the things! Because parents over react." 

     "I understand, beta. But this is not right. Parents need to react to something like this. Don't you think that's why boys get away with this behavior? Because they know that girls will remain silent? But, I had no idea that even girls from our background faced this daily sexual harassment." 

Whoa! Had Abbu just used the "s" word in her presence? Humaira's eyebrows climbed. But she also remembered a conversation in the other house, what she thought of as her second home now. In defending his decision to have the girls learn martial arts, Asad Bhaijaan had something similar. And Aapi had said something about how women's silence encouraged men to behave badly. 

     "You're right Abbu. It's really bad for all women, no matter what age, or class." 

She rushed to tell him about Zoya Bhabhi and how she had come to Najma's defense, months ago, against two eve teasers. 

And gone to jail for it. 

Siddiqui's fingers on his teacup tightened in anger. He really would talk to that wretch of a principal. How dare he? 

He brooded over his cold tea as Humaira went to shower. Shoving the tray aside Siddiqui paced in his study for hours. 

Memories, ideas, schemes ebbed and flowed in his head. 

He called Zoya. 

 

     "Hi Abbu!"

     His heart lifted just hearing the million giggles in her voice. "Did you like my picture in the lehenga you gave me?"

     "I loved it. You and Asad make a beautiful couple. But beta, yeh taekwondo? Should you be doing this in your condition?" 

She laughed. Aapi had asked the same thing when they started the classes. She had insisted on talking personally to Dr. Sharma. 

     "We checked with the doctor, Abbu. Otherwise do you think my husband would even let me? Aap to jaante hain Mr. Khan ko." 

     "Haan, bahut suna hai tumhare Mr. Khan ke baarey mein," he teased. 

     "Really Abbu? You have to give me all the dirty details!" 

Siddiqui laughed. 

     "Please Abbu, I need some masala to blackmail him with. He's being really annoying about what I should eat, or not eat. Can you believe it, he's contacted all the local pizza parlors and forbidden them to deliver unless he places the order! And I'm dead sure that when he orders, he asks them to doctor the ingredients with whole wheat, extra veggies and all. Yuck!" 

     "That's fine," Siddiqui wheezed through laughter and whole-hearted approval for his son-in-law, the health czar. "You just come here, or to my office whenever you are craving pizza. Your Abbu will order the finest pizza in town." 

     "Yay!" He heard her cheer. "And Diet Coke?" she pressed her advantage. 

     "No, even I'll have to put my foot down on that one. Fresh juice only. Bahut kharab cheez hoti hai beta. Mat piya karo. Even after the baby comes." 

     "Not fair Abbu. Every morning Ammi forces me to have haldi milk. You don't know how poisonous it is. Itna atyachar ho raha hai aapki beti par yahan!" 

When Raziya passed by his study, she stopped. She had never heard her husband laugh like this. These days she watched him with Humaira with growing envy and regret. 

He was a changed man. 

Who knew that a man who once saw women as second class citizens meant to be seen not heard, was now seeing a whole new world through both his daughters' eyes.

Meanwhile, she had risked so much for so little ...

And had nothing to show for it ... 

     "But I wanted to talk to you about something more serious," she heard her husband say. 

Raziya walked away. 

She didn't spy or eavesdrop any more. She just didn't have the heart for it. She had sabotaged things enough already. These days Raziya just gave thanks for the borrowed time she had with a happy and strong Humaira, and a mellow and doting Siddiqui Saheb. 

Better him than her to enjoy meager redemption. 

Her salvation was the few more days of respite from complete exposure and condemnation which was just waiting around the corner. Every new day was a blessing and a curse.

     "Boliye Abbu." Zoya grew serious too. 

     "I wanted to meet you and Asad and discuss something important." 

He reassured her when he heard the panic in her voice. It was just a new project that he wanted their ideas on.

 

They met in his office that evening. 

Asad was pensive. What now, he wondered. Zoya was nervous. She too wondered what Abbu was going to say. 

Was he ill? Did Humaira know? 

After hugging her father she clapped with glee when she saw a pizza waiting for them.

     He poured juice for her, "yeh bhi peena padega, right Asad?" 

She made a face, but her husband nodded enthusiastically. 

     "Try it. I've had it made especially for you. It's got ginger and mint and fruits. It's delicious!"

     She took a tentative sip, and her eyes widened. "It's yum! Here, Mr. Khan, you must try it, it's so good!"

And she shoved the glass under his nose. 

     "Abbu, I want the recipe," she continued talking to her father even as her husband was forced to gulp down the juice meant for her.

Siddiqui roared with laughter, championing her atyaachar on his son-in-law. Who knew that when in their former lifetimes, he had seethed and glowered at his arch-nemesis, Asad Ahmed Khan, that the takeover and merger would be through his own DNA!

     "I'll give you our cook's phone number. You can get the recipe from her and order whatever you want her to make for you." 

Siddiqui ordered coffee for himself and Asad. Zoya force-fed him the slice of home-made cake she'd sneaked out for him. 

     "Abbu, I had to hide this last slice from Ayaan and the girls. You have to have some. Maine apne hathon se banaya hai."

     "Tab toh hum zaroor khayenge." He smacked his lips in anticipation and praised her baking skills with every bite she fed him.

     Asad watched in stunned silence, half-charmed, half-jealous that his wife was completely ignoring him. In the car, on their way over, she had teased him, "Abbu's going to tell me all about your dark secrets as a competitor and business rival." 

     "I have none," he'd boasted.

     "Of course!" She'd given an exaggerated sigh. "Because you are Mr. Perfect who does things by the book. How boring!" 

     He had pinched her thigh and she'd yowled in protest, "I'm going to tell my Abbu about all this domestic violence!" 

     "Then I'm going on a sex strike," he had threatened. 

     "Oh really? And I'm the blackmailer?"

 

     "So Abbu, what did you want to talk to us about?" Zoya asked as she helped herself to the goodies ordered especially for her. 

Her father looked at her indulgently and Asad hid a smile behind his hand. Neither was willing to tell her to not put her feet up on the couch or eat pizza without a plate. 

It was just a couch. 

     "Humaira told me about how the college principal had you arrested for standing up to gundas. He turned in his resignation this afternoon."

Zoya choked on her pizza and Asad patted her back while her father rushed to offer her water. 

     "But Abbu, that was so long ago!" she protested while Asad grinned. 

Genius! Old money and elderly patriarchs did have some use after all! 

     "No, and it's not just because he had you arrested. It's because he participated in making eve-teasers more bold on campus. Humaira told me how bad it is for girls everyday. And then with everything on the news these days ..."

Siddiqui got up to pace restlessly with the coffee cup in his hand. Asad and Zoya looked at each other wondering what was going on in his mind. 

She reached for Asad's hand. 

With each report of rapes and assaults, they too had had similar discussions. A couple of times she'd even ended up in tears thinking about her unborn child ... what if it's a girl? 

What kind of world of terror will she enter? 

All her life she will live in fear of being jumped, being scared of shadows. 

All her life she will classify men into two categories: the protectors and the predators. Sometimes she will mistrust the protectors and trust the predators. 

Half her lifetime's energy will be squandered on looking over her shoulder ... 

What kind of world was this?

  


Zoya shook her head to rid her mind of the familiar demons, to pay attention to what Abbu was saying.

     "That's why I called you two today. I'm one of the trustees. I want the College to have some kind of awareness or assault prevention program or course that will be made mandatory. It'll teach about these things ... and will be not just for girls but for boys too." 

Zoya sputtered with delight. 

     "You mean like sensitivity training? Yes Abbu, in the US, all workplaces have mandatory sexual harassment training. I know that some universities and colleges even have training for men and women about not being silent bystanders and how rape is also a men's issue! There's a great TED talk on this by Jonathan Katz! Remember, Mr. Khan, I showed it you?"

     "Jackson Katz. And yes, I remember." Asad nodded. 

She grew more and more animated and just as breathless, now nearly hopping on the couch.

     "What a super idea! I love the idea of having an actual course that students have to pass in order to graduate. We could invite law enforcement experts, gender and feminist studies professors, self-defense instructors, even organizations that work with victims of assault." She stopped to catch her breath. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Abbu you're a total genius!" 

Siddiqui stood transfixed, beaming at this heartfelt knighthood. 

     "Zoya, get down," Asad chided gently as he held out his hand.

She took his hand and climbed down, only to now bounce on the floor. 

     "Mr. Khan! Isn't it a great idea? I've been thinking of doing something about this issue for so long. But this is absolutely perfect!"

     "It is a great idea." Asad agreed. "In fact, may be I can have some training like this for the employees at my office too. I know that some multinational companies probably do this already." 

Zoya gripped his hand in excitement and squealed, nearly hugging him, but then remembered her father. 

Siddiqui cleared his throat and they looked at him, blushing. 

     He laughed. "Sahi keh rahe ho Asad. I'll do it in my office too. And beta?" He took Zoya's hand in his, "this is where you come in. I've been told that you are an expert researcher, tech wizard and crusader for justice."

Zoya's dimples deepened and her husband nearly choked on his own laughter. A crusading and musibat-embracing Zoya was happy enough. But heap praise on her for her righteous ferocity, and one could earn her undying love and loyalty for eternity! 

     "Will you try to put together a proposal, actually two, one for a college level course and another for a professional workplace?" he looked at Asad. "If both of you think it's OK, that is."

     "Of cour—!" 

     "Umm, Zoya?" Asad quietly interrupted her hearty affirmation. 

     "Mr. Khan! You CANNOT try to stop me from doing this! I was BORN to do this!" she hissed loudly, fists planted firmly on her waist. 

Siddiqui hid a smile. 

This was hilarious. 

He had seen Asad previously at business conferences and the man had been aloof and stern. Steel, clad in ice. 

Now, he watched his whipped son-in-law, raise both his hands defensively and take a deep calming breath, already preparing to be railroaded. 

     "I'm not stopping you. I doubt anyone can do that. But you can do this only if you promise to be careful, take care of your health and listen to me once in a while." 

Zoya held out her hand, "deal!" and they shook on it with mock-solemnity.

Asad laughed looking at her animated face. He wanted to pull her into his chest but his father-in-law was just a few feet away. 

He dropped her hand reluctantly. 

     "Kyun, Mr. Asad Ahmed Khan, koi aisa bhi hai iss duniya mein jo aapki nahin sunta hai? Uski aisi jurrat?" Siddiqui deadpanned. 

Zoya loved it! 

Abbu was actually teasing her Akdu? Aww, Asad was blushing! She wanted to fling her arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. 

She sighed and clasped her hands to her chest turning to her father. 

Her face fell.

He looked tense all of a sudden.

     "Abbu, what is it?" 

He sighed heavily and collapsed on the armchair. 

     "Abbu!" Zoya panicked. "Is everything OK?"

She knelt in front of him and held his hands. He removed a hand from her desperate clasp and stroked her head gently. 

     "I don't deserve you. I don't know why Allah is giving me a second chance, but I want to grab it with both hands and give thanks with every breath." 

She smiled up at him through her tears.

He got up to walk to his desk and picked up a folder of papers. Both Asad and Zoya tensed with the change in his expression and mood. She rose, blindly reaching for Asad's hand again. He gripped it tightly trying to transmit his warmth and strength to her. When Siddiqui turned around to face them, his eyes were moist. He looked at their clasped hands and broke into a beatific smile. 

     "Ek doosre ka aise hi saath dena, aur hamesha khush rehna." Taking both their hands in his he placed them on top of the folder. Choking up he said softly, "I can't begin to make things right, but I intend to spend the rest of my life trying. Sit," he indicated the couch, and they both did, dutifully. "This is not easy, but it is the only right thing to do to correct the mistakes of the past. This folder has the property papers for that piece of land which used to be the site of the gudia factory." 

Siddiqui didn't have the strength to look into their faces but he forced himself to. Zoya looked stricken and a muscle throbbed in Asad's neck. He saw Asad's grip tighten around Zoya's hand.

     "I'm sorry to bring this up. It is after all, also the gravesite of both your childhoods. But I'm going to have the factory demolished. The land is now in both your names. I leave the decision to convert it into something hopeful and blessed as I know only you can." 

He saw their faces relax, the pain recede somewhat. 

     "If anyone can make flowers bloom in the desert, I know it's you two. Has anyone told you that you make a great team?" 

     "Abbu, I tell Mr. Khan that, every, single, day!"

Siddiqui laughed through blurred eyes as he saw Asad groan and cover his face, falling back to sink into the couch.

     "True," Asad said. "She does tell me that everyday. After which she insists that she's the main hero and I'm the sidekick."

     "Mr. Khan, stop making up stuff!"

     "No?" he asked, tongue firmly in cheek. "You don't call yourself Lady Sherlock? What does that make me then, Watson, right?"

     "I love watching tum dono ka Akbar-Birbal act," Siddiqui remarked. 

     "See?" Zoya said to her husband smugly. "Since you're Jahanpanah, that means I'm your mulazim Birbal."

     "Hmph!" Asad dismissed her claim haughtily. "Again, you get to be the more intelligent partner!"

     "Ab jab main zyaada intelligent hoon toh ..." Zoya high-fived her father. 

  


     Before leaving, Abbu had held her back. "Main tum dono ka gunehgaar hoon. Maafi ke layak bhi nahin hoon. Lekin ho sake toh, iss badnaseeb baap aur sasur ko maaf kar dena." 

Zoya had nearly burst into tears and they had hugged. Both Siddiqui and Asad removed their handkerchiefs simultaneously to wipe her tears. 

She had looked down at the twin offerings and started to laugh.

     "Dekha Abbu? Why should I think of the past and make myself sad, when today I have both of you to take care of me. Ammi used to sing a song, Aane wala pal, jaane wall hai—'" 

     "Ho sakey toh iss me, zindagi bita le, pal jo ye jaane wala hai," Siddiqui quoted softly, eyes moist again. 

     "So from today, we'll find moments of happiness and not be sad about the past, OK Abbu?" 

Her unparalleled zest for life's little joys was contagious. 

     "You're right," he smiled. "Itni pyaari baatein karke dil jeet leti ho." And he patted her head affectionately, noting Asad's silent agreement.

     "Abbu, issi baat par ek sher arz hai!"

Her father looked on indulgently, but her husband clutched his forehead in despair. He fretted that Zoya was just about to tank her hard-earned goodwill! 

     "Ghalti ki sazaa hoti hai, bhool ki hoti maafi," 

     "Irshad! Irshad!" encouraged a charmed Siddiqui who could find no fault in his child's super powers. 

Asad squeezed his eyes closed however; but he was still intrigued to hear what would come next. He remembered how it went the last time he'd heard a version of this sher. She thought she was blackmailing him for keeping his secret agent identity from Ammi! 

     She had rhymed maafi with coffee then: "Aaj Jahanpanah khud kaneez ke liye, bana kar laaye hain coffee."

What would be today's rendition? 

     "Ghalti ki sazaa hoti hai, bhool ki hoti maafi,

     Meethi baatein karte hain, but your office has no toffee!" 

Her father stood before her, slackjawed in disappointment. When he had heard Humaira say a thousand times that Zoya Bhabhi was a super shayar he had expected fine verse and profound thought.  

Not this. 

     "Ye kya tha? Ya Allah, ab Ayaan jaise ek aur paidal shayar ko jhelna padega!" 

     "Abbu! You're so mean," Zoya pouted. "I didn't have enough time to come up with something more creative. Par phir bhi, aapko meri effort ke liye daad deni chahiye!" 

     "Sorry, beta. Kya karoon? Shock ke maare daad nikli nahin."

He was laughing openly now along with Asad. 

     Asad was guffawing. "Daad nikli nahin!" he snorted. 

     "Mr. Khan!" 

     "Accha, theek hai, main aur meethe andaz mein haal bayaan karta hoon," her father held up his hands to pacify her. 

     "Arz hai, ghalti ki sazaa hoti hai, bhool ki hoti maafi."

     "Irshaad, irshaad," hooted an enchanted Zoya.

     "Ghalti ki sazaa hoti hai, bhool ki hoti maafi,

     Itni berehmi se katal, bechare sher ke saath hai kitni na-insaafi!"

     Zoya squealed in delight. "Abbu that was so cute! I must get my shayari genes from you!" 

     "La hau walla quwwat!" her father mock-lamented.

 

She was happy and bubbly as they left, still chatting about Abbu's superior shayari skills. 

     In the car, she stroked his arm, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ignore you like that." 

     Asad grinned. "It's OK, I'll survive. And I've had you to myself longer. But I'll need payback and a lot of special attention." 

     "You got it!" she promised. But she couldn't resist teasing him. "Bechare Jahanpanah. Itni be-insaafi. But you probably deserved it for getting the meteor shower date wrong and getting me all excited about a midnight picnic." 

     He harrumphed. "Will you let that go? I just overheard someone in office talking about it. They said the 17th. How was I to know they meant the 17th of next month?" 

     "You could have checked and confirmed. That's how you would know! Or just let Prasad handle these things from now on." She leaned over to peck his cheek. "Aw, I was just kidding. This just gives me more time to plan a picnic to remember." She sighed. "Wouldn't it be cool if we could have Nikhat and Feroze's engagement ceremony under the stars?"

     "Hmm."

     "Hmm great? Or hmm, you're just saying that so I'll shut up?"

Asad laughed and shook his head. What a day! Barely getting a word in edgewise all evening, but sure a lot of bellylaughs that felt good for the soul. Who knew that he'd laugh so much in the presence of Gaffoor Ahmed Siddiqui? He braked suddenly to avoid hitting a stray dog, and the gudia factory papers in the folder on the backseat went flying. Zoya twisted around and groped to pick them all up and refile them in the folder.

Her smile evaporated.

She looked out of the window, deep in thought. Asad interlaced his fingers with hers. 

     "You OK?" he asked softly. 

When she turned to face him she had tears in her eyes. 

     "Zoya! What happened, baby?" 

     "Just take me to Ammi's side, please Asad." 

     "It'll be closed. I'll take you tomorrow, promise." 

     "Then take me to the Dargah."  

Asad parked near the Dargah. Leaving the car on, he walked over to the passenger side and opened the door. He helped her out but didn't let go. Settling in her seat he pulled her in his lap and shut the door. Zoya sighed and snuggled into his chest as she wept quietly. He stroked her back and murmured a thousand endearments and promises. 

His heart too felt full. 

It wasn't that he resented Siddiqui Saheb for the past any more, or even for bringing up the past. It was just that, any reminder of that time and place brought the pain flooding back so unexpectedly that it took one by surprise, leaving one breathless at its sheer intensity.

He rocked her to him letting her cry herself out.

She kissed his cheek when the storm had passed. 

     "I love you," they both said together, and then laughed.

Pulling her scarf out from her bag she covered her head. 

And together they walked to pay their respects and tie a knot of hope and peace.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Veer (2010) "Surili Ankhiyon Wale"


	86. Rakh Loon Chhupaa Ke Main Kahin Tujhako, Saayaa Bhi Teraa Naa Main Doon

 

 

 

It was a pale morning, smoggy and tired. The sky sagged oppressively.

     "I want her to know." Siddiqui said grimly as he removed his glasses and polished the lenses. 

Raziya made a choking sound. 

      "Eighteen years," he sighed. 

He cleared his throat. 

     "For eighteen years, one daughter sacrificed her birthright so the other one could live a charmed life ... I was a coward. We've asked too much of her already. Humaira has been sheltered and protected all her life, while I left Zoya at the mercy of strangers." 

Her fingers stiffened arthritically. 

Siddiqui sighed heavily again and replaced his glasses.

     "Humaira's life of luxury has been a gift from Zoya, and you know that too. It's time." 

Raziya didn't even gasp as the familiar pain shot up her side. 

She had known this day would come. 

But when it did, she was still taken unawares. 

Not much mattered to her these days except for Humaira's reaction at the truth of her mother's past. The blowback from that grisly discovery would be swift and heartbreaking. She just knew it.

Humaira would be crushed. 

Raziya's hands shook as she adjusted her dupatta on her head. 

But at least Humaira would have Zoya by her side. And Asad, and Siddiqui Saheb. And Ayaan. 

By now, Raziya's faith in her stepdaughter's innate mercy had deepened. She had spared her after all, and for far too long. Zoya would take their secret to her grave before letting Humaira get hurt, even of that she was certain.

She had heard so much about how Zoya had taken care of her when Humaira was at their home.

     "Ammi, I would just think of something, and she'd have it ready for me!" 

Her daughter would never tire talking about Zoya. 

When Raziya had asked Humaira one day about talking to Shireen about setting a wedding date, her daughter had laughed. 

     "Ammi, you're just like Zoya Bhabhi! She keeps teasing me about wedding dates. When she sees something in a magazine, or on TV, she'll say, Humaira! This'll be perfect for your nikaah!' But not now Ammi. I want more time." 

Raziya's eyes had teared up when she heard this. 

So Zoya too was just as eager for this wedding to be soon?

But she wondered why Humaira didn't want to set a date as yet. 

A few months ago, she would have been ecstatic at the idea of getting married to the man of her dreams. But what was holding her back now? It was as if Humaira had suddenly grown up in the last month or so. Her relationship with her parents had changed too. She was surer of herself, as she radiated a calm strength. Both her parents had come to rely on her rather than the other way around. 

But Humaira was more sombre too. 

And Raziya wondered how much of that was on account of her feeling shame for her mother's actions. And how much of that was on account of her feeling penitent for her father's inaction. 

When she overheard her daughter chatting to her Abbu about Zoya, Raziya was haunted by the longing she heard in Humaira's voice. Though she had never said it, she knew that her daughter wanted her missing sister to be like Zoya.

Suddenly, Raziya went deathly still.

She knew in a flash why her daughter was reluctant to discuss getting married as yet. 

She wanted her sister to be at her wedding!

And that's what made her take the plunge.

Raziya knew it was time to pay up her dues.

She bowed her head and sniffed. 

     "Ji, you're right. Aap jaisa theek samjhen." 

Siddiqui looked down at her in surprise and unexpected sympathy. He felt terrible too about how this would affect Humaira. But he felt driven by his conscience. And even more so by Zoya's unquestioning acceptance of the piecemeal love that life had thrown her way. She loved wholeheartedly, fiercely, but didn't expect the same in return. 

She looked at others' love for her as a random gift and not something that she was entitled to.

And that was the most harm he had done by abandoning her. 

When he was with her, a winsome Zoya's matchless spirit was enough to wipe away all self-doubt. But away from her, Siddiqui continued to be riddled with guilt and despair. 

He looked down at his wife's bent head. 

     "Maybe ... I think ... let me talk to Asad first." 

He had begun to rely more and more on his son-in-law's strength and uprightness. He wanted so badly for both his daughters to be united now. Humaira already loved Zoya even without knowing that blood linked them. And Zoya's yearning for Humaira was obvious that day when she had lovingly traced Humaira's photograph on his desk at the office. Asad's words from the day he revealed Zoya's identity reverberated in his mind often. They pierced his soul when he went to bed at night and when he woke from smoke-filled dreams in the morning. 

     "All these days she could only ask Humaira a million questions about you. 'What stories did your Abbu tell you when you were little? Did he teach you how to ride a bike? What did he do when you got hurt? What if you had a scary dream? Does he—?' "

Siddiqui squeezed his eyes shut. He had robbed both his daughters.

Humaira's words too echoed and tumbled across his mindscape. 

     "Now that we know about Tanveer, what should we do to try to find ... your ... real daughter? Shouldn't you hire a private detective or a lawyer who can look into this, and bring her home?" 

Yes! 

It was time.

His daughters had shown him the way. He would take his cue from them. They deserved each other's love, and their union would be his best legacy to them.

 

In getting his daily updates from Rakesh, Asad, just like everyday, insisted that the people keeping tabs on Tanveer be alert for any gaps in security. 

     "I still don't like that we didn't find the money. It means she was prepared and has plans for an escape. And with the minimum security at the jail hospital, she might try anything, anytime." 

Rakesh reassured him. At Asad's behest, his team had promised the staff lavish gifts if they reported on Tanveer's activities and visitors. If she talked for too long with someone, the team knew about it, and by the end of the day, an in-depth report and background check appeared at Rakesh's desk. 

     "We already have our people guarding all the entrances to the facility. But if she sneaks into an ambulance, or decides to leave on foot in a burqa, we may not be able to catch her." Rakesh informed him.

     "Get someone inside then. More than one person if you have to," Asad instructed grimly. 

     "We've been considering entrapping her by having one of our people become close to her. But as yet, we haven't been able to get our guy hired. Bribing someone already there is our other option. We've narrowed down two candidates." 

     "I don't care that this thing is costing me a fortune," Asad dragged a hand through his hair. "All I want is freedom from the constant fear that she'll harm my family. And somehow, I'm dead sure that she's waiting to strike yet again."

As he disconnected, Asad thought about their visit to the Dargah last night where they had read and tied sacred duas in prayer. Zoya had cried softly in his arms in the car, but then they had dusted their grief off and walked into the sanctuary with a light heart. Looking through the screen at each other, they had been secure in their love and hope for the future. Their bonded hands, like the tied strings, felt eternal. 

But now he felt that they had been too naive. 

A flash, and a cord could be forever severed. 

His fist clenched. 

 

Damn! He'd caught on. 

He'd caught on that she was going behind his Stalin back.

He'd caught on that she was getting her pizza fix by deploying the help to the stores to place and pick up her orders. 

Mr. Khan was getting too smart for his own britches, Zoya fumed. 

     The maid had hung her head and muttered, "Sir ne mana kiya hai."

     The driver echoed the same instructions from Akdu: "Asad sir said not to." 

Same story with the guard. 

Really? 

In the middle of a meeting Asad covered his mouth to hide his smile when he saw the angry text from his wife:

     MR. KHAN, I WILL KILL YOU. 

Violent and angry emoticons followed. 

And then came the next one. 

     You WILL sleep in the living room tonight! Or better yet, I'll sleep with Najma. 

His smile vanished. OK, this was not good. 

After the meeting, he reluctantly placed the order for her pizza, to be delivered exactly as she liked it: loaded with carbs and fat, dripping with cheese, and basically super unhealthy and anti-Akdu's health decree. 

Just for today he wouldn't mess around with the ingredients. No way would he be spending a night apart from his Mrs. Jahanpanah.

Now that would be hell!

And he felt bad for her too. 

The morning sickness wasn't letting up, and now she had become particularly smell-sensitive. Cooked spinach and jeera tadkas would send her flying to the restroom where she'd be doubled over in agony. Even saying the words palak and jeera now had the power to make her nauseous. 

     "Asad, this baby is trying to kill me," she had moaned one morning after some especially bad round trips to the bathroom. 

     "Never," he had soothed, pulling her into his lap. "I doubt if anyone could keep you down for too long. The baby's just testing you and letting you know who's boss. And it's telling Abbu to take better care of its Ammi." He had kissed the top of her head and wiped her tears away with his thumbs.

     When Zoya made a face, he tried to tease her into a good mood, "It's Zoya Farooqui's baby after all, of course he or she's going to be a little hell-raiser!" 

That made her smile and even giggle. 

     "How about two sips of coke?" He asked, brushing her nose with his.

     Her eyes had sparkled again. "Three?"

He had rolled his eyes, but said nothing even when she'd stolen a fourth sip. 

 

Feroze had re-introduced Nikhat to his parents and brother over Facetime. Nikhat shyly bowed her head first, but then she took a deep breath and lifted it to look directly at them. 

     "Maine aap sab ka dil dukhaya. I'm sorry," she whispered forlornly. 

Feroze quickly put his arm around her shoulders in comfort.

They both looked up surprised when they heard a snort from his brother.

     "Bhabhs that's OK! It's good for Bhai to suffer once in his life. Sheesh! You don't know what it's like to live with the golden child! Oh wait, I guess now you'll know!" 

Both the parents had laughed at that, and Nikhat cut her eyes to Feroze. Golden child?

He was blushing. 

She'd tease him about it in private later. She squeezed his hand under the table, away from his family's view. 

     "So Nikhat, did you make my son suffer?" His mom asked sternly and Nikhat paled in fear.

Oh my god! 

Was her saas going to be one of those types? 

     "Kyun dara rahi ho bechari bacchi ko!" His father intervened. "You were the most excited of all of us that she said yes!" 

     His mother broke into a cheeky smile. "I was. And I really was teasing, beta. No, I'm not going to be like those daily soap saases! I know exactly those types." She looked at her husband and rolled her eyes playfully. "I had one of those myself!"

Her sons groaned, familiar with the nok-jhonk to follow. 

     "My mother was a saint." Feroze's dad said calmly. 

     "Abbu!" his sons tried to stall the unfolding drama. 

     "She is. Now!" Feroze's mother retorted. 

Nikhat covered her mouth aghast at this banter. She looked nervously at Feroze. But he seemed placid, as still as the lake on a windless day.

     "Oh please, your only regret is that you didn't get to be the suffering bahu from your useless serials." 

His Ammi's back whipped straight and she held up her hands in warning. 

     "Uh oh," grinned Faiz, winking at Nikhat. "Oh no, you didn't!" he muttered. 

     "Oh, she was so perfect!" Nikhat's future mother-in-law continued. "No wonder, she made sure every two hours that her ladla beta was fed and clothed properly!" 

     "And I was, so problem kya hai? You were a great wife and bahu, what else do you want to hear?"

     "I was a great wife? Past tense?" She planted her hands very firmly on her wide waist now. 

     "May be. You don't take as good care of me now! Kyunki ab aap ko meri Ammi se competition nahin hai!" He pouted. 

     "Guys, please, stop!" Faiz begged. "Bhai, ab toh kuchh bolo. Or Bhabhi will say no again!" 

     "Nahin beta, na mat kehna," her future father-in-law pleaded with her. "I was hoping for an ally who would support me in our daily soap opera." 

Nikhat still looked uncertainly at Feroze and then his mother. And Feroze's mother looked at her back, dead in the eye.

     Then she clasped her hands to her chest and squealed. "Nikhat, it'll be so much fun! I've been waiting my whole life for my very own bahu! I was beginning to worry that my son was gay. Not that I have anything against gays. Par bhir bhi, main soap wali saas kaise banti?" 

     "Please Ammi," Faiz scolded his mom. "Same-sex marriage was made legal in New York in 2011. You could still be a soap saas!" 

     "Very funny!" His mother retaliated. "As it is, all my life I've been surrounded by men. Ek aur ladka? Na baba, thank god Feroze found Nikhat!" 

Nikhat was hyperventilating by now. But Feroze continued to smile serenely.

     "Welcome to the family," he said softly, patting her hand. "Are you sure, you still want to marry me?" 

     "Ab toh karni padegi." His father asserted. "We have incriminating video evidence that we can use against you!" 

A blusing Nikhat fled. And her brand new family laughed. 

     "There you go, commercial break de ke bhaag gayee aapki soap bahu," Feroze's dad remarked to his wife.

 

     "Feroze, what was that?" she asked later. 

     Taking her in his arms he laughed. "That was my nautanki family. I've often asked Ammi if I was adopted." 

     She smacked his chest. "You're scaring me." 

He laughed and guided her to sit next to him. 

     "Look, I know they're unconventional. But think. Mom talks like that because Abbu is cool with her being outrageous. In fact, he encourages her. And despite what she said about Dadi, they got on like a house on fire. Well, on most days. Till the very end, Dadi was convinced that no one could take care of our dad better than herself."

Nikhat still looked unconvinced. Eyes wide she looked at him, a deer caught in the headlights. Feroze laughed again and tucked her into his side. 

     "Nikhat, don't look so frightened. My folks will be mortified if they found out they scared the living daylights out of you! They were just being themselves, that shows they fully accept you as one of us."

     "Really? Your Ammi will like me?" 

     "Mom'll love you! Till now I was the normal center of the family. Now there'll be two of us. Together, we'll manage them all just fine. And then we have our taekwondo skills too if their soap drama gets too over the top!" 

She laughed, finally at ease. 

     "Families can be nutty, no?" she said looking up into his face. "Look at mine! Ammi's hyper about all of us all the time. She's constantly terrified that something terrible will happen to us. Ayaan is fine now, so she's more relaxed. But during his wilder days, she was convinced that he'd either be in an accident, or get arrested, or beaten up. Abbu is mostly quiet." 

     "Sounds more normal than my family!" Feroze said. But he became serious. "My cousin has this theory. She says that Indian parents who just have boys, are bindaas and chilled out. But parents with daughters are stressed out all the time, worrying about rishtas and shaadis." 

     "She's right, you know!" Nikhat said. Then she groaned, "Indian mothers specially! My god, the millions of times I've heard Ammi beg relatives and friends: aapki nazar mein koi ladka ho toh bataiyega.' "

He laughed. 

     She buried her face in his chest, "Feroze, it was so embarrassing! Thank you for saving me from that dialogue. Family gatherings and weddings would be such torture!"

     "I don't know about saving you. There will be a lifetime of dialogues from my Ammi now!"

Nikhat groaned. 

 

     "Asad, remember that terrible night?" 

Late into the night, they were still wide awake. She'd dragged him to the terrace. 

      "It'll be such fun!" she pestered him. 

Once again he had furnished their nest with chair pads and cushions. She had brought a sheet and a mosquito repellent coil with her this time. Asad rested on his back, an arm under his head. Zoya lay in the crook of his other arm tracing circles around his kurta button. They had already touched the constellations, fenced with the big and little dippers, counted the diamonds in Orion's belt, and traced the flightpaths of solitary planes. 

     "Which one, babe? Those days when we were apart, every night was terrible."

Sometimes they talked of those days when they had lived under the same roof as lovesick, heartbroken strangers, because he was engaged to someone else and she was a mere guest. 

     "That one night when we were all by ourselves ..." 

He groaned, remembering perfectly. That one night, months ago, had indeed been the longest and darkest night of them all. It reminded them of all they could have lost. 

And the fragility of all that they had now. 

     "Yes, that night qualified as hellish for sure," Asad said huskily. His arm tightened around her. 

Those were the terrible days from the time they had just returned from the trip to Ajmer Sharif, Jaipur and Agra. Their mute suffering went unabated. Each grey day had crept and bled miserably into the next, and the next. 

That morning, Ammi told him at breakfast that they'd be going for a relative's wedding function in the evening. He'd made a face, and Ammi smiled. 

     "We'll leave dinner for you. Humko aane mein der ho jayegi. Make sure that you reheat it and eat well." Dilshad had ordered in mock-anger.

Asad had nodded and left for work.

 

Thinking he'd be alone at home he'd left early. Not that he was getting much done at the office. Every breath made him think of Zoya's downcast eyes and rosebud mouth. 

His eyes were gritty, his head had pounded. 

Stepping out of the room after a shower Asad had come to a halt when he heard Zoya's aggrieved voice coming from her room. He had assumed she had gone with the others. 

     "You really didn't know that I hadn't gone with Ammi and Najma?" Zoya shivered in his arms. Asad pulled up the sheet more snugly around them.

     "No. And it killed me to hear the pain in your voice." 

Raising herself, she kissed his cheek. 

     "I chickened out. I lied to Ammi and told her that I had to go to the immigration office. I couldn't bear to be at a function celebrating someone's wedding. I kept thinking of your Waleema ..."

     "OUR Waleema, and it was beautiful!" Asad said emphatically as she ducked her head in his shoulder. "The journey was rocky, but Zoya, we were meant to be." 

She sighed and her breath fanned his neck. 

He felt confident now, but then, it had been a different story. 

That night his doomed feet had moved toward her room of their own accord. That's when he'd heard her pleading with the ticket agent about the stand-by status on an earlier flight to New York. 

His blood had turned to ice.

His instincts had been right after all. She was leaving! 

     He heard her say in a small voice, "I lost my father ... if you could please take that into consideration," and he had nearly staggered from the pain. Hers? His? He didn't even know any more. "That's OK, thanks for trying," her bleak sigh had made him grind his fingers into his palm. 

     "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he'd heard her mutter the next second. Something slammed heavily. "C'mon Zoya, you can do this. See, you're already stronger than yesterday." 

 

     "I wanted to push through the door and pull you in my arms and never let go. I wanted to tell you that you weren't stupid, and that you're the strongest woman I know."

He stroked her scarred arm. 

     "Asad, I watched that door almost all night. I too kept hoping you'd come crashing through and wake me up from a nightmare that just wouldn't end." 

He'd heard her sniff after she'd hung up and his hand had clenched on the door jamb.

     "You is kind, you is smart, you is important," she kept repeating on and on to herself. The next minute, he'd heard the strains from her music box muffle that strange litany. 

     "What were you saying? Some strange lines ... you is smart ...' " 

     Zoya giggled. " 'You is kind, you is smart, you is important.' They are lines from a book and film called 'The Help.' A little girl who's unloved by her mother is told this by her black maid." 

     Asad tucked her more securely under him, "you are the kindest, smartest girl I know, and most important to me." 

Her teeth gleamed in the dark. Flinging her arms around his neck she kissed him senseless. 

     "Jahanpanah, you sure know how to make a girl truly happy." 

     "I've had lots of practice by now. But those days, I was the one who caused you the most pain." 

     "Shh," she pressed her finger to shush him. "Am I not happy now? Don't you always carry the sun for me? Make all my dreams come true? Even the wet—" 

     "Zoya!" he hissed and then shook his head. "I had no idea Ms. Farooqui was just a prelude to Ms. Behaving!" 

     "Poor Mr. Khan, if he'd only known how good I was at misbehaving, he wouldn't have taken so long to confess his love for me!" she teased. 

He kissed her, feeling her soft lips under his. His warm palm cupped her stomach. Their child was growing in there.

Only now he could think of those forlorn nights and not break into a sickly sweat. Asad crushed and rocked her to him. 

Thank god it was in the past! 

 

Asad thought again, of how in a numb daze, he had moved to the kitchen after overhearing her conversation with the travel agent. 

The counters, table and sink were pristine, which meant that she hadn't eaten anything either. 

Restlessly, he'd puttered around in the kitchen, opening and closing drawers loudly, rattling the cutlery to draw her out. Instead he noticed her partially open door close softly shut as he pressed the buttons on the microwave. He had noticed that she was more careful around him those days, not chattering loudly or slamming doors, dropping or spilling things. 

It was as if she was quietly erasing herself. Retreating from his life, making herself invisible, clearing away her tracks from the pages of his life.

Desultorily, he had sat alone at the table barely able to swallow the par-heated sawdust before him. 

The silence had shredded his nerves.

Her absence echoed off the walls. 

Unable to eat any more he got up to toss the food in the trash. He looked at the closed door to her room again.

     "I couldn't bear it!" Asad told her now. "I saw you bury yourself in your grief every day, and felt helpless that I couldn't do a thing." 

     "I thought you pitied me since the day I barged in to tell you about how I felt about you. Oh god Asad, I felt like such a major fool. You were so proper, so dignified, so critical of me. And here I was, totally the opposite, a meddling, bumbling moron who thought that Jahanpanah would actually stoop to like her, let alone love her." 

     He wiped the lone tear that slid down her eye. "You were never a moron! And Jahanpanah had already fallen for you the first day he saw you. You never noticed me though. And when you did, you bit my head off!" He pouted. 

     She giggled and rose to nip his pouting lower lip. "Oh poor baby! Itni himakat meri? Don't you think I should be spanked for that?" 

     Asad laughed. "You will be, Mrs. Khan, you will be."

     "Can't wait! And Asad?" her voice dipped seductively. 

     "Hmm?" 

     "Speaking of biting your head off ... I could kiss it, umm, mmm, and make it all better." 

     "Zoya, you are so bad!" he blushed. 

     "Oh? Fine, I won't do it then! I'll be good." 

     "No! I didn't mean that." 

     "Oh, so you don't want me to be good?" 

     "Oh god, Zoya!" he groaned, aroused and rock-hard. He raised himself to fling his kurta off. 

     "Mr. Khan, admit it, you love me when I'm bad. Especially when I'm so good at it! Tell me quick, how bad do you want me to be?" 

     "Yes, you are so good at it ..."

He leaned over to tell her what he wanted her to do. Her palms and fingers feathered over the hard planes of his bare chest. His lips at her ear gave her goosebumps. Even though she knew exactly what he wanted, she still gasped to hear his hot demands in her ear. He traced her lips with his thumb and she parted her mouth to nip and suck at it, miming what she would do to him ... 

     "Ah Zoya ..." he jerked as he felt her hand creep lower and mouth follow tantalizingly. Her tongue flicked his navel and scar, and his hands fisted in her hair. He spasmed, taut with anticipation, when her teeth yanked at his drawstring ... 

     "You're pure magic ... and wicked as hell," he moaned in helpless surrender, amplified to that single rife sensation. His hips reared and rolled hopelessly, craving her molten ministrations ... 

In one urgent tug he pulled her on top of him to mount and ride him relentlessly. His hands branded her arms as he buried himself deeper, completing the succulent torture. 

They needed these musky dalliances to sweep away those terrible memories of pain and separation. Because those days, just like now, they were hyper attuned to each other's presence and heartbeats. 

 

Zoya had heard him banging around in the kitchen that night.

She had never known him to be so loud before. Was he angry, she had wondered. Upset that she was here and hadn't gone with the others?

She had shriveled up inside as waves of pain threatened to choke her. Shaking off the impending bout of self-pity she hauled herself off the bed where she'd been sitting cross-legged, begging with the airline representative to put her on a stand-by. She'd tip-toed to the door and softly closed it. 

     "You will not cry!" She'd scolded herself then for the millionth time.

     "Those days I pep-talked a lot to myself." She told him. 

     "And I cursed myself for being the world's biggest fool." He said softly, brushing her hair away from her dewy face and that sinful mouth. 

Coming back to the center of her room she'd pounded through her routine of jumping jacks. She'd taken to doing this since their return from Agra. It kept her temporarily sane. At this rate, at the very least, she'd be in great shape. Only now he told her how he too would similarly slam away at his punching bag to burn off restless energy and punish himself.

     "I could see those days that you were losing weight. You had dark hollows under your eyes."

     "You noticed?" she asked in wonder. 

     "I only had eyes for you. I noticed how you absently stroked your arm. It was only later that I found out about your scar. And then it made sense." 

     "I used to stroke my arm?" Zoya had never realized that. 

     "Yes you did, and I wondered if you were hurt."

Asad stroked her arm now and nuzzled her neck. 

     She burst into tears, "may be it was to tell myself that I didn't deserve you, I was scarred, and you were perfect ..." 

     "Zoya, no!" Asad cradled her head dropping a thousand kisses on her hair. "Besides, I agree with Khalil Gibran."

     "What did he say?" She asked curiously, tears nearly forgotten.

     "The most massive characters are seared with scars."

  

Zoya thought back to that night's torment. Somehow, even not wanting to, her mind kept wrenching back to that point of utter misery. A quick shower after her desperate exercise mission, and she was surprised to hear a knock at her door. 

As if it was just a second ago, she still remembered how her heart had kicked into overdrive. 

Don't be dumb. It couldn't be Mr. Khan, she'd told herself. 

May be Phuphi and Najma and ... had returned early from the ... 

She just didn't even want to think of the name of the function. Because then it made her think of Mr. Khan and Tanveer's Waleema ...

Another stab of pain had ripped through her then, and now. 

It was indeed Mr. Khan at the door, and her eyes had widened in hope and alarm. Her hand on the doorknob had tightened.

     "Umm ... Ms. Farooqui, I know you haven't had dinner. I ordered pizza for you. I hope I got the order right?" 

     "Thank you, but ..."

     "Just a little?" He insisted kindly, stepping forward as if drawn in by an invisible reel. 

She had lowered her gaze, not wanting to give away her stupid heart's flip. Quietly, she'd stepped out. As she settled down at the table, he brought over a chilled Diet Coke for her. 

     "Thank you," she'd said huskily, sick with embarrassment and unrequited love. Don't pity me, please, she wanted to say. 

I'll be fine. 

Eventually. 

     "Umm, Mr. Khan ... I ..." 

     "You want to watch the IPL match?" He had cut her off midway.

     "Because I didn't want you to apologize for your confession." Asad said now. "And I didn't know if I'd be able to look into your face. I wanted to fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness."

     Zoya's hand fisted on his kurta. "At least you knew that I loved you. I didn't ... I thought you still disapproved of me. Every day, I cursed myself for even thinking that you could be interested in someone like me." 

     He hugged her fiercely to him, kissing away her doubts, "it was only you, always you!" 

He had seen her bite her lower lip and stroke her right arm again. She did that a lot lately. Was she hurt, he had wondered for the fiftieth time. 

     "I interrupted you because I was scared you were going to tell me that you were leaving. And this time round I didn't even have the right to say, 'mat jao Zoya.' " 

His words from the past, "mat jao Zoya," taunted him mercilessly those days. He screamed them in his head every night before falling into an uneasy sleep. 

It was those words of his that had brought her to his room that night ... those words that had made a hypocrite of him. 

 

     "Why don't you bring your plate to the sofa," he had offered then, as he turned the TV on switching to a sports channel that was airing the matches.

She'd looked at him in exasperation and held up her hand. 

     "Mr. Khan, I know what you're trying to do. Please, you don't have to feel guilty. Don't change your rules on my account. I'll be fine. I'm a strong girl. Can you please forget what I said that day ..."

No! Those words had gutted him; he had just stared at her in utter misery. He would never forget. Her words had meant the world to him, and in just a few hours those words had become an elegy.

     "Can't you go back to being mad at me all the time? And yelling at me for ..." 

That had made him smile. 

     "For being messy, standing up on the sofa, always arguing with me?" he had rushed to complete her sentence, and then kicked himself for it. 

     "But even in your pain you managed to occasionally put me in my place," he teased. 

     "Yes. Those days I'd decided that I needed to start getting mad at you, or I'd fall apart completely. I didn't want you to pity me." Zoya said softly.

He had convinced her to eat while watching TV and a temporary truce had been established that night.

It was awkward and stilted for the first ten minutes.

But soon they were lost in the drama of the match, the commentary, replays, interviews and game analysis. Her favorite, Dhoni was on, and he was on fire. Zoya had squealed with each six and four, pumped her fist at the Super Kings' win and generally made a loud nuisance of herself. And he had almost gagged as regret throbbed through him. Here was a girl, his equal, who would have stood by him shoulder to shoulder through thick and thin, and he had squandered it away.  

     "You know, I watched you more than the match that night." 

     "You did?" 

     "And I wanted to kick Dhoni's butt." 

     "No!" 

Her laughter pealed loud and clear. Asad rushed to cover that wild mouth of hers. 

     "Zoya!" he hissed. You'll get us caught." 

     "Mr. Khan, you behave as if we aren't married and about to have a baby. Don't forget that just a little while ago you were being the loud one ..." she whispered hotly in his ear and he groaned. Irrepressible, as usual! 

 

For a glorious hour or two they had bantered and bonded that night watching their favorite game. They quizzed each other, hopelessly in love, and impressed with the other's knowledge of trivia. During breaks he had scoffed at the commercialization of a great sport and she'd heartily agreed. She told him about how much worse it was in the US with college basketball and professional football. 

     "They spend billions of dollars for the Super Bowl ads that are never seen again. It's nuts! Do you think that'll happen here too?" 

     "It could. Look at all the cheerleading and face painting in team colors." 

Asad had kept a close watch on her appetite, pleased that she was eating well. He even took a slice when she offered him one. 

It tasted surprisingly good. 

And he was starving all of a sudden.

And then Ammi had texted to let him know that they wouldn't be able to make it back home. Khala had insisted that they stay the night.

     "When I read Ammi's text, I thought my heart would implode and crater. And then you looked up at me, and it did." 

Zoya too had felt something squeeze her heart when she'd looked into his eyes. A big mistake. She'd forgotten her own pledge, don't look into his eyes.

     "Mr. Khan, is everything OK?"

He'd cleared his throat.

     "Umm, yes ..." he said huskily. "That was Ammi. They can't come back tonight." 

He had cut his eyes away, not wanting to look at her.

He heard her gulp. 

     "Oh," she'd said softly. 

She got up hastily and gathered the pizza box, napkins and dashed to the kitchen. They heard a noise from Asad's room and both heaved a sigh of relief and ... possibly regret.

     "Thank god for Ayaan!" They both said together and laughed. 

     " 'Goodnight! And thanks for dinner,' you said and fled to lock yourself in your room. It happened so fast. A blink, and you were gone." 

     "I was dying! I didn't think I could look at you." In fact, in her room she'd slapped her head thinking about her last words to him. 

     "Thanks for dinner!" Gadhi Zoya! 

It wasn't a date, you moron! 

     "I could hear your voices in the living room and the sound of the TV and every second I thought of how we'd be alone once Ayaan left."

She'd prowled and paced to eventually crash on the bed hugging herself. 

     "It'll be all right. You'll be all right." She had repeated to herself like a manic parrot stuffing her earphones in. If she didn't talk, she'd think. 

If she thought, she'd ... 

Two hours later, she had still twisted and turned and tossed in bed. 

Sleep eluded her. 

Her body was tired but her mind was just as wired. 

     "I think I kept hallucinating. I watched the door to my bedroom imagnining the knob turn to reveal you at the door. Asad, I wanted you so bad! I wanted to pray, but I was scared that I'd end up asking for you and that would be wrong." 

Restless, as if being chased by demons, that night she'd flung the sheet off and jumped out of bed. Opening the door cautiously to not make a sound, she tiptoed out to the backyard. She needed to pace more. 

But this time around, she needed a lot more room. 

 

     "I couldn't sleep either. I heard your door open and close softly. And I thought that you were leaving me forever. It was my worst fear those days." 

His heart had jolted. 

Please don't leave, it wanted to shout.

Then he'd heard the door to the backyard. He'd grabbed a pillow and smashed it over his face. He too had been thinking of going to the backyard because he couldn't breathe in here. 

But not now.

He got up and slipped out of his room to sneak up quietly to the terrace. And for almost half the night he had kept vigil over her shadowy figure darting from one end of the backyard to the other. 

His fingers had ground on the railing when he saw her drop to her knees, shoulders heaving.

Zoya!

Only superhuman self-restraint had kept him from not rushing down to pick her up and wrapping her in his arms to never let go.

     "That night was it for me." Asad said, stroking her head tucked under his chin. "I decided that I wouldn't, couldn't, live without you." 

     "Oh really?" Zoya scoffed. "What exactly were you planning to do? Ms. Farooqui ... aap ... yeh ... voh ... main ... actually ..." 

     Asad laughed good-humoredly. "I was waiting for some evidence against Tanveer. And then you would've been mine." 

     "Mr. Khan! I was going to leave in four days!" 

     "So? I'd have stopped you filmy-style at the airport, or followed you to New York. But I was not going to let you walk out of my life this time. But yes, Omar turning up the next day was the last straw ..." 

     "That finally broke the Akdu camel's back!" her laugh tinkled. 

They clung to each other on the same terrace that he had kept vigil from. He kissed her now, gently, desperately, gratefully. 

     Asad ran his knuckles across her cheek and jaw. "I must've done something right." 

     "You did. You came into my life and made everything right. I must've done something right, more," she breathed, heart on her sleeve. 

     "Mrs. Khan, you better remember these words when you're mad at me the next time and try to hit me with whatever you find handy," Asad cautioned before rolling her over and making her forget everything for the moment.

  
  


 

 

Song in Title:

Anwar (2007): "Maula Mere Maula"


	87. Chhod Kar Raah Mein Jaoge Tum Agar, Chheen Laoonga Main Aasman Se Tumhe

 

 

 

 

 

     "Uunnnhh" Asad grunted as he looked at his phone screen. 

Damn! The woman had no mercy on him. 

Two seconds earlier she had texted him that Najma had gone out with friends, and Ammi had gone shopping with Dadi and Chhoti Ammi. 

     "Why didn't you go with them," he messaged back distractedly focusing on adding up numbers in his head and making a thousand mental notes. 

     "Didn't feel like it," she responded. And he thought the conversation was over. 

But no.

Not his wife. 

     "I'm horny," her next text read. It was accompanied with a selfie of her in his unbuttoned white shirt, leaning against the headboard. One hand gripped the edge of the headboard behind her, and the shirtfront parted just enough to reveal the gentle swell of her breasts. Her legs were bent just enough to leave him guessing. 

Asad's head slammed back into his office chair as his startled breath whooshed out of him. Raw desire crackled through him. 

He had been immersed in spreadsheets and reports. But now, thanks to her, his concentration was shot. When he re-opened his tightly squeezed, unfocused eyes, the white on the computer screen reminded him of his white shirt on her. Spreadsheets made him think of bedsheets ... those twisted bedsheets under them. His fingers convulsing on the page had him imagining her fists gripping satin sheets at that moment of crowning glory... 

That moment when she was a hot satin sheath ...

Asad slammed his fist on the table. 

Everything on it rattled.

He looked, dazed, at the sheet of glass that was his tabletop. Visions of Zoya, from an evening not too long ago, danced in his head. She had marked that table, she had writhed and moaned, she had screamed out his na"-

He pushed the chair back violently, and grabbed his car keys. 

 

When Zoya heard his brakes squeal on the driveway and his keys in the door, she ran and flew straight into his arms. He had already loosened and tossed his tie in the car. His suit jacket was forgotten, still draped on the back of the chair in his office.

Asad scooped her up and she wrapped her bare legs around his waist pressing herself up against him. The raw heat radiating from her drove him insane. 

     "You could drive a man to crime Mrs. Khan! The number of illegal turns and red lights I ran through, just to get to you!" 

     "I was scared that you'd drive rashly," she whispered. "I'm sorry," Zoya breathed as she kissed his neck. She squeezed him to her as she let his shirt slip down her shoulders. 

     "Don't be," he said as he set her down on the edge of the bed to swiftly undress. Her shirt went sailing too. 

     Asad nudged her on her back. Lifting her legs to splay her ankles over his bare shoulders, he crowed as he took her, "oh yes, you are ready for me!" 

     "I've been so ready forever!" she gasped as their bodies moved together in a new and familiar rhythm.

 

Later she watched him get ready to return to work. Zoya sat up to lean against the headboard and pulled up the sheet to cover herself. Languidly, she secured her hair in a loose bun. 

     "Asad, I've been thinking ..." 

     "Uh oh," he teased. "What new schemes now? I thought you were busy researching your Abbu's proposal." 

Her eyes flashed. 

     "I am. But I need breaks don't I?" she retorted. "I was thinking about what you said about not trusting Tanveer to stay put in the jail hospital. I have such a kickass idea!" 

     "No!" he groaned. And she pouted, as he knew she would. 

     "OK, I might regret this, but let's hear it," he said as he buttoned and zipped up, standing at the foot of the bed. 

She giggled, momentarily distracted. 

Wait. 

Wasn't this like deja vu? Same suit vest and shirt. Standing at the exact same place. 

The only thing different in this scenario was her.  She was no longer hiding behind the settee, but on the bed, naked, entangled in his sheets.

Zoya hooted and slapped the bed top several times.

Asad looked up, puzzled. 

He had no idea that suddenly she was remembering that day, from months ago, when she had snuck into his room to look for her missing earring. It was right after the Akram fiasco and he had yet to apologize to her. Just the night before, they'd had one of those high-octane kicking and screaming matches. 

And both had sworn to never speak to each other again.

     "Agar saari kayanat bhi khatam ho jaye, aur iss duniya mein sirf main aur aap bache, tab bhi main aap se baat nahin karunga!" He had thundered and raged. 

As she was rifling through his things convinced that he had her earring, she heard his voice from the next room and panicked. In desperation she'd crouched behind the settee hoping that he'd leave soon so she could make a clean escape. Maybe he'd just come to get a forgotten file and would be gone in seconds. 

But fate had other plans. 

Somehow, during those days, fate apparently had nothing else to do except cackle gleefully and chomp at the bit to watch these two battle it out in the boxing ring. 

Fate had an all-season pass, and the best ringside seats in the house. 

Sometimes, to make it even more interesting, it even tripped them up so they'd end up reluctantly in each other's yearning arms.

A kinky mistress, that fate. 

And as fate would have it, Mr. Akdu Ahmed Khan had walked into the room and promptly begun stripping. 

Aww, her Mr. Khan had stripping talents even before he'd perfected them, just for her!

In mortified silence she'd covered her eyes that day, hopped in the tight space and clutched her head in growing despair, but he continued, oblivious and relentless. 

He removed his coat and carefully placed it on the bed. Of course! Her Mr. Perfectionist Ahmed Khan. 

Then the tie, vest and shoes had come off. 

And then he began to unbutton his shirt. 

She gulped in dismay. 

Damn those six packs!

Zoya stayed quiet till he removed his belt. But once she'd seen him reaching for his zipper, she'd jumped up to yell at him.

     "Stop it, Mr. Khan! What's wrong with you? Ab kya saare kapde utarenge kya?" And she ran out of the room, even more horrified at her own audacity. 

He'd followed close on her heels, outraged and spluttering. 

Except he'd remembered the vow to never speak to her again. 

And then the cutest thing had happened. 

Mr. Khan's epic sign-language fail! 

Even then, her laugh had bubbled up and incensed him further. The vein in his forehead leaped and pulsed maniacally, ready to pop. She'd made him madder by uttering one last volley before spinning on the ball of her foot to run off giggling to her room.

     "Waise bhi, main apna earring dhoondhne aayi thi, aapke six packs dekhne ke liye nahin (liar)! Aur bilkul bhi decency nahin hai na aapme? Kyun ki decent log humesha kapde change karte waqt, darwaza band karke rakhte hain!"

Hoo boy! Now that was ballsy of her. And poor Mr. Khan didn't even have a chance to logically explain that even if he had locked the room, she was already inside, and would have still been treated to the nazara of the bared six packs!

     She hadn't missed his frustrated, "badtameez ladki!"

 

Present-day Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan roared with laughter clutching her stomach. Asad cocked his head to the side quizzically. 

     "What's so funny?" he demanded midway through buckling his belt. 

She pointed a finger at him and continued laughing.

     He frowned. "Me? What did I do?" 

And using sign language to jog his memory, she tried to remind him of that insane encounter. 

At first his brows knitted in confusion. 

What was she up to now? Never could tell with his wife.

But then he paid closer attention to her gestures: she pointed to her ear and then to the spot behind the settee and covered her eyes. Next she put on a super serious expression on her face, scowled, and pretended to unbutton a shirt and unzip invisible pants; she pointed to the corner again and covered her animated face. 

She made the sign of zipping her lips shut. 

And he remembered.

He too laughed. 

     "You drove me crazy those days!" he teased. "The things I've done since you entered my life! Even sign language!" 

     He glanced at his watch. "Now are you done playing? Do you want to tell me about your grand plan or not?" 

Zoya sat forward, crossed her legs and clasped her hands in delight.

     "OK, hear me out without throwing a fit. Though I miss you throwing a fit these days and getting mad at me ..." 

His eyes narrowed in frustration; her eyes lit up as the words tumbled and somersaulted over one another. 

     "OK here's Plan A. Rakesh's people bribe another inmate, and stage a daring escape. We leak it to the media. Imagine! A media circus on the ineptitude of the whole department. 'Aanan-faanan' and 'afra-tafri' on the news all day long! 'Lambi guhaar' and all that. Loud panel discussions where no one listens to anyone!"

She held up her hands when she saw her skeptical Akdu frown. 

     "With all the negative press and attention, the security at the jail would be beefed up like never before. So even if Tanveer was planning something ..."

     " ... the heightened security would delay it, or kill her grand schemes. By then she'd be too close to delivering her baby ..." Asad completed her sentence. "Genius!" 

Zoya beamed at the approval. But then she saw him frown again.

     "And plan B?" 

She exhaled. The man was too detail-oriented to get much by. Zoya lowered her gaze and played with her fingers. Asad crossed his arms across his chest suspiciously, hackles waiting to rise.

     "Go on," he drawled. 

     "Umm, well ..." 

     "Voh, main, actually, etc. etc. Aage boliye!" Asad waved his hands impatiently. 

She threw his pillow at him. 

Asad ducked. 

She twisted the sheet in her hands.

     "Rakesh's people could help Tanveer escape and—" 

     "What! Are you out of your already-crazy mind?"

He raised and pointed his finger at her, as she roared to stand up on the bed, naked and furious. Her hair spilled wildly over her shoulders.

     "Zoya, don't you dare go Allah Miyan on me now! Why would you even say that? Of all the nonsensical, hare-brained—" Asad spluttered. 

Of course she had jinxed it, and here he was yelling at her. 

Hands on her waist, she glared at him, breathing fire.

     "You never hear me out! You judgmental, stick-in-the-mud, no-one-knows-better, Akdu Jahanpanah, Tarzan ki aulad!" 

     "Tarzan?" he looked up at her after a pregnant pause, eyebrows cocked sardonically. But then he got distracted as his gaze travelled south only to be snagged by her breasts. 

She huffed; he swallowed. 

     "Mr. Khan! My eyes are up here!" she hollered, tongue in cheek. 

     "Hunh?" Asad gulped. "You were right, they are fuller," he whispered in awe, still dazed, all anger and plans A, B, F and G forgotten. 

Just this morning she had been looking at her body in the mirror from all angles, half-eager and half-regretful of the coming changes. 

     "What? These babies?" She cupped them, inevitably thrusting them in his face; he groaned. Zoya giggled and stepped back out of reach, as his hand lifted unconsciously to caress her. 

     "Unnhh!" he protested. In their frantic coupling he hadn't had a chance to give her breasts the full attention they deserved. 

     "Asad, honey, up here," she said softly, with a barely repressed giggle.

     "Wha—?"

She moved closer and crooked a cheeky finger under his chin. But that brought her within touching distance. His fingers traced the freshly darkened areolas reverently. The book had talked about this coming change in her body, but the touch and feel of them was something else altogether. Watching her rub creams and lotions over her body to soothe the itchiness and soreness every morning was its own turn on. 

     "Are you still sore?" Asad asked softly as his thumbs feathered over the swollen burgundy nipples. 

So dark and tender, so rich with anticipation. 

Slowly, he blew his breath on one, and she arched; her hands gripped his shouders involuntarily.

     "Yesss," she hissed. 

     "Asad, remember Plan B?" 

     "Hmmm?" 

     She framed his face in her palms. "Listen! They entrap her and help her escape, but deliberately mess it up, so she gets caught. Media circus and hoopla, public goes nuts over the feel-good story! And Tanveer gets thrown deeper into the freezer with the keys tossed away, hopefully forever."

     Asad's eyes glittered. "You have a devious, devious mind," he remarked. "And a sinful, sexy body." 

     "And I'm way better at sign language!" 

     "True." He pulled her to him by her waist and his tongue helplessly curled around an oversensitive wine-dipped bud. 

     "As—ad," she moaned as she gripped his hair and bowed back wildly. "Don't start what you can't finish."

     "Damn!" he pushed himself away from her and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "You're right. I have to go." 

     He bent to kiss her stomach, letting his palm linger, "bye baby, tell Ammi to be good." 

     "Hey! You be good!" she tossed her hair back. 

     "Babe." Asad drawled softly. "I thought I already showed you how good I am." 

     "Oh yes," Zoya whispered, hand on her heart, stars in her eyes. "My bad! And you did get here on such short notice to put out the fires!" 

     He chuckled. Grabbing his phone and keys, he said, "And I like plan A much better."

     "But Asad," she put her hand on his arm to stall him as she hopped off the bed. Zoya smoothed his shirt and fixed the collar. His arms came around her.

     "Plan A has too much collateral damage. People could be fired or transferred for no fault of theirs. It'll be humiliating for their families. But Plan B could make the police and security look like heroes if they foil a prison escape." 

     Asad looked down his nose at her and pulled her in for a long kiss. "Of course, how could I forget? My Jhansi ki rani is also Mother Teresa! You're incredible, you know that? What was that again? You is kind, you is smart, you is important.' " 

     "Aww, and you, Mr. Khan, is a heartbreaker!" 

I love you, she signed with her fingers. He kissed her fingers. 

Zoya wrapped the sheet snugly around her as she walked him to the door. Asad pulled her close again for a last snuggle and kiss. They heard a car in the driveway. His arms tightened around her. 

     "Mr. Khan, let me go, Ammi's here!"

He grinned and nuzzled her neck. 

A car door slammed. 

     "Asadd!" 

He let her go only when he heard the key in the lock. She fled to their room without a backward glance.

     "Drive safe!" she called out over her shoulder as she disappeared behind the bedroom door. 

 

     "Ah, 'Hercules and the Augean Stables.' That's pretty ingenious!" Rakesh remarked when Asad told him about Zoya's ideas and concerns. "She's into crime dramas and police procedurals, right?" He continued. 

     "Like you won't believe," Asad sighed. So many times he'd told her not to watch her favorite American crime shows. "Our child will be a serial killer at this rate." 

     "Allah miyan what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan!" was her stock response. "Why won't our child be a super cop or ace detective?" 

     "You know, I could use a creative problem-solver like that. I've heard she's a tech guru too. Would Mrs. Khan be interested in working for me?" Rakesh continued to gush, blindly treading where no man had gone before. 

But then he squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment when he heard complete silence at the other end. 

Shit!

He would probably lose his best client now that he'd put his foot in his mouth. He mentally kicked himself harder.

More silence, and then a long sigh.

     "Umm, Asad, I'm sorry I probably shouldn't have said that." He rushed to apologize. 

     Asad exhaled heavily. "The problem is that she would love to, and be damn good at it too! But I would die of a heart attack worrying about her. And if you want your single biggest client to keel over from the stress, sure, you can have her!"

     Rakesh laughed, more at ease now. "No, that's OK. I'll make do. Though I might just have to charge you extra for letting go of a crack shot operative just to keep you alive," he joked. 

     "Yes, it is your loss. She's also a brilliant hacker and activist par excellence!" 

He chuckled when he heard Rakesh groan. 

     "But," continued Asad. "Half the time you'd be bailing her out of jail, or sending in the army to rescue her, because she will follow her nose and heart and get herself into trouble. And she will fight you tooth and nail if she believes in something and you happen to disagree with her."

     "Looks like you speak from experience. And I bet she'd clock you if she heard you say such things about her." Rakesh observed sagely. 

     "You don't know the half of it," Asad muttered as his wife's exploits and escapades flashed through his mind in a technicolor montage. He smiled and shook his head fondly. The fights, the adamant deductions, the zany proof-gathering ... all peppered with 'Allah Miyans!' Damn! She would make a great detective. She had the instincts of a bloodhound and the passion of a crusader. 

     "So you want to greenlight Plan B, then?" Rakesh asked more seriously.

     "Run some worse case scenarios by me and then let's decide." Asad hedged as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

He wasn't completely sold on the idea. One misstep, and everything could be over. He wanted to move very carefully on this. On the one hand, he worried about being too paranoid. Were they seeing ghosts where there were none? Maybe Tanveer had been neutralized. But on the other hand, he couldn't be cautious enough. A pre-emptive strike might just be the best recourse. The woman had proven to be diabolical in her tenacity and focus after all. 

 

     "Feroze, you get Indian channels in the US?" Nikhat still needed more assurances and time to wrap her mind around her future family's whackiness. 

     "Yeah, and my mom loves them all. She blogs and tweets about shows. Sometimes she and her friends will have marathon viewing sessions with potluck. We get shooed out of the house on those days."

     "She's on twitter?" Asked an impressed Ayaan. 

     "What's her handle?" he asked, whipping out his phone to pull up the app. 

     "I'm not a hundred percent sure. Try 'Desi Soap Lover,' " Feroze said. 

Ayaan pulled up the account and Nuzzhat, Najma and Humaira leaned over to take a peek. They were all gathered at the other house this evening. Shireen had invited the kids over for tea. Both Ayaan and Nikhat had left work early; but Asad couldn't get away. 

     "Oh my god! Sooo cute! She's fangurling over Jalal from Jodha Akbar!" Humaira cooed. 

     "Really?" Zoya squealed. "Show me!" 

She saw that show too once in a while.

     "Research on the original Jahanpanah," she'd said to Asad a long time ago. 

But the phone screen was too small for so many heads jostling over it. 

     "Allah Miyan what's wrong with us? Here I'll pull it up on my iPad."

Nikhat made a choking sound and Feroze laughed.

     "We make a lot of fun of her and she's good-humored about it. She and dad will pass comments and laugh like lunatics at all the over-the-topness of those shows."

     "They seem to have a really fun relationship," Nikhat said wistfully. 

     "Don't ask! They're like best friends who won't let anyone enter their secret circle. Not even us! We surprised them with a Masala cruise to the Bahamas for their 25th wedding anniversary. They even had some soap stars on board. We worried that they'd never come back because they were having too much fun not being parents."

     "What's a masala cruise?" Ayaan asked, flipping his unruly hair.

     "What's with these American parents and cruises?" Nuzzhat interrupted. "Najma, how about Omar Jeeju's parents? What are they like?" 

     While Najma eagerly elaborated on the virtues of her in-laws, Zoya murmured "Aww, so cute," dreamily. 

What would she and Asad be like on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary? By then, they'd already have a nearly twenty-four year-old son or daughter, hopefully with younger siblings. Would their kids too throw a party for them? Maybe this time, she could surprise her Jahanpanah with a Palace on Wheels trip? 

She sighed. 

Twenty five years!

Meanwhile, at the dining table, Nikhat leaned in with her face in her hands, lapping up all the juicy details about her own kooky in-laws and painting vivid pictures in her head. There had been too much seriousness in her family; Feroze's family sounded enchanting, like fun characters at an amusement park or an American sitcom.

The girls and Ayaan were still browsing over the tweets. They laughed at some funny memes his mom had posted. Feroze stealthily brushed his knuckles against Nikhat's cheek and she blushed. Her lashes fluttered close to savor the feel of his hand.

Najma caught that tender gesture from the corner of her eye. She even saw Nikhat's blush. 

Her heart twisted. She missed Omar so much that it hurt. Just yesterday, she'd burst into tears as she was talking to him on Facetime. She had touched his stricken face on the screen. 

     "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't!" 

     "Najma, stop apologizing," Omar said softly. "I miss you so much too. I wish I could hold you and kiss away those tears."

     "Silly man," she had giggled through her tears. "If you were here, I wouldn't be crying would I?" 

He had laughed too, and teased her about what they would be doing instead—in excruciating and graphic detail. And a blushing Najma felt better again. 

Well ... better, but ...

She blushed harder, living up to her nickname. 

She looked at Nikhat and Feroze, and felt another stab. But this time it was for Nikhat. Nikhat too would be in her shoes soon. She too would fret and pine in silence, missing Feroze terribly once he left for the US. 

Why did the men they loved have to live so far away? Pardesi babus breaking desi girls' hearts.

Nikhat looked up just then at her, and their eyes misted. She knew what was in store for her. She rose and glided over to hug Najma, a sister, a sister-in-law to be, and soon, miserable allies in the same boat. 

     "Ooh, Mohit Raina from Mahadev! And look, she loves Arjun and Purvi from Pavitra Rishta," giggled Nuzzhat. 

     "Not bad at all. I'd love to meet your Ammi, Jeeju! She sounds like super fun." 

     "She is," Feroze said warmly as he sauntered over to peek over their shoulders.

     "Our friends love hanging out at our place. And not just for the food. But also because she's up to date with the latest Hollywood, Bollywood and political gossip. They ask her for advise about girlfriends, parents, Feng Shui, everything. She loves pranking us. Anything can happen on Halloween and April Fool's day in our house!"

     "Such fun! Baaji, you're so lucky!" Humaira teased Nikhat.

But Nikhat's smile dipped. Oh my god, I'll be the boringest bahu in the funnest family. 

They'll hate me. 

But Feroze came over to hold her hand comfortingly. 

     "Nikhat, relax. My family needs you more than you need them!" he whispered as if reading her mind.

She looked up into his face, smitten. No one had ever said that to her before. Well, Dadi and Abbu had, but they said that because they loved her unconditionally. 

     "And," he promised softly, eyes hooded, "for next April Fool's day, you and I will play the best prank on her. Together, OK?" 

     "OK," she pledged shyly. She knew he too was thinking of the long separation to come and this was his way of reminding her of the light at the end of the tunnel. 

     "Who's so much fun and lucky?" Dadi piped up as she came into the living room, charmed by all the young chatter she could hear from her room. 

Both Feroze and Nikhat jumped apart. Nuzzhat rushed to explain how cool Jeeju's Ammi was and which soaps she was tweeting about. 

Dadi smiled. 

She liked Jalal from Jodha Akbar too. She made the girls read out the tweets on the show. 

     "There are fan clubs? I like the father in 'Be-Intehaan!' Does he have a fan club?" 

     "Ooh Dadi has a crush," teased Ayaan. Multiple hands smacked his head, but Dadi laughed. 

     "I want to do this too." Dadi surprised them all. "Show me how to do this titter thing. Then I can be cool like Feroze's Ammi too." 

     A suddenly lightheaded Nikhat nearly passed out. An unflappable Feroze held up a glass of water for her. He laughed out loud when she winked at him and whispered, "welcome to the family." 

 

Asad called Zoya just before coming home from work. Her Abbu had called earlier. He had decided that he wanted Humaira to know as soon as possible. Siddiqui Saheb didn't want any more delays. He wanted to hold both his daughters. And he wanted to talk with them first about the best way to break the news to Humaira. 

     "Really? Are you sure?" Zoya cried out after she'd finished complaining to him about coming home so late.

     "It's all your fault," he'd chided her. "I had to stay in longer thanks to the tempting afternoon delight you served up."   

She giggled. But now Zoya's eyes glistened with unshed tears at the news. Humaira would know? 

Her heart sang. 

She threw her arm out and spun around in merry circles still clutching the phone in her other hand. 

     "How? When?" she begged.

     "Think about it and we'll talk when I get home. You're the idea factory after all!" Asad teased. 

     "OK," she whispered breathlessly, still twirling. 

     "Want me to get kachoris? Kulfi? Jalebis, to celebrate?" he asked indulgently. 

     "Umm hmm," she said distractedly, and Asad smiled to himself. Was that a yes to all of them? She had already hung up on him before he could confirm. Probably already spinning a thousand plans for the big reveal. 

He chuckled aloud. 

If he knew his begum right, she must be already choreographing a dance performance in her head by now. And by the time he reached home, he and the rest of the siblings would have been roped in and assigned some role in the skit cum surprise party that he was sure she'd have planned. 

 

Laden with the snacks which his mother would most likely scold him for, Asad kicked the main door shut behind him. 

     "Ooh, Bhaijaan! What did you get for us?" Najma asked. 

She was so bored trying to comb through her fat GRE prep book. The words floated around incoherently on the page. She had already yawned fifteen times in the past forty minutes. And every third minute Omar's face and smile would swim before her eyes. She was still on the same page she'd been on twenty minutes ago. Because through hazy eyes her fevered imagination had enacted his s*ex talk from yesterday in glorious detail. 

Omar! She screamed in her head. 

But now she was grateful for the distraction.

     "Asad! Phir se? You'll make them ruin their appetite for dinner again!" Dilshad complained to no one in particular as she saw her son put the bags of junk food on the table. She may as well pack away all the food they'd made. Or give some to the maid the next day.

It was useless, she clucked to herself happily. Her house was overrun with overgrown kids. 

But so what?

Theek hi toh hai na, she reminded herself. Both Asad and Najma needed such moments of carefree indulgence when they could be kids again. 

Chhoti si pyaari si shararatein! 

Her children hadn't even had the luxury of that, growing up. Asad had adulthood forced upon him when he was too young. It had made him too serious and angry at the world. And Najma too early on had learned to repress her desires and be trouble-free, so as not to cause her Ammi and Bhaijaan any stress or worry. 

     "Where's Zoya?" Najma asked as she inspected the goodies, breaking off a piece here and there to sample them. 

     "What? She's not home?" Asad nearly yelped. 

     "No, we thought she was going out to meet you. She left in a big hurry." 

Asad was already dialing her number. 

No response. 

Both Dilshad and Najma closed in on him, sensing his rising panic. 

     "Kya hua, Asad?" His mother asked. 

He couldn't tell her in front of Najma. 

     "Everything's fine, Ammi." He looked at her meaningfully and stalked off to his room.

     "Najma, put away these things. Let me go talk to him." 

     "Par Ammi! What if something's wrong with the bab—" 

     "Shh! Aisa nahin kehte, beta. Everything will be OK. Don't worry. Just let me talk to him first." 

When she entered his room, her son was still on the phone.

     "Ji. I just talked to her driver. I'll call you again when I get there." 

Asad sighed as he hung up and felt Dilshad's hand on his shoulder. 

     "I shouldn't have told her over the phone," he muttered. "I should've waited to tell her in person." 

     "Asad? You're scaring me. Zoya theek hai na? The baby?" 

     "Ammi, she and the baby are fine ... It's her Abbu. He wants Humaira to know that Zoya is her big sister. I thought she'd be happy which is why I called her as soon as I could." 

     "And she's not happy? How do you know?" 

     "Because she's Zoya," he smiled grimly. "I bet she's worried about Humaira finding out about the past and falling apart." 

Fear clutched Dilshad's heart. 

The past. 

Everyone would find out about Rashid too then. 

Ya Allah! 

Asad looked at his mother's stricken face and put his arm around her shoulder. 

     "Yes, Zoya's probably thinking the same thing as you. Knowing her, she wouldn't want anyone to know about what happened that night at the gudia factory. And telling Humaira would mean that all the secrets will come tumbling out." 

He dragged his hand through his hair. 

     "What do I do with her, Ammi? She thinks about everyone else except herself. I just know it in my gut. She must've decided that we shouldn't tell Humaira. That's why she ran." 

     "Where is she now?" Dilshad asked as she wiped her tears. Gratitude warred with guilt. Both were overshadowed by shame. It wasn't fair that a child carry the burden of her elders' sins and selfishness. Dilshad had seen her own children pay the price for that.

Asad was right. 

Zoya was planning to take on the weight of both their fathers' sins on her slender shoulders. She had appointed herself the sole gatekeeper of the secrets from eighteen years ago. And she would guard them to her dying breath so that no one would get hurt. Not Humaira or her Abbu, or her father- and mother-in-law, Dadi, Chhoti Ammi, or Ayaan ... or the girls. Her own hurt be damned. 

And if that meant squandering her one chance to be openly acknowledged as an older sister or daughter, she would do it in a heartbeat. 

     "She's at the Dargah," Asad told her as he palmed his car keys. "I'm going to get her home."

     Through tears Dilshad advised her son, "tell her ... tell her that no family love or harmony would be complete at the cost of her silent grief. Tell her that if she thinks of herself as a part of this family, then she has to trust her family to do right by her." 

Bracing herself for that final declaration, Dilshad sniffed and wiped her face with her dupatta. 

     "Tell her, that I command her to put everything in Allah's hands. That she needs to trust Allah's will and justice. She owes it to her mother ... and her unborn child." Pushing him toward the door, she entreated, "now go and bring her home so that I can hold her."

Asad embraced her, his own eyes moist.

     "Shukriya, Ammi," he whispered as he dashed off to do her bidding. 

Dilshad squared her shoulders. 

It was time Najma knew too. It was time they treated her like an adult and not the sheltered baby of the family anymore. She wouldn't tell her all the details. Nothing about Rashid or Zoya's Ammi. Just that Zoya was Humaira's sister. 

She texted Asad about her decision. 

 

Raziya's heart quivered with the gush of conflicting emotions.

She wept as she held the sobbing girl in her arms. The doomed words, "mujhe maaf kar dena," kept ricocheting in her head. 

But she dared not say them aloud.

She had called Zoya on an impulse. 

Ever since Siddiqui Saheb had told her that he wanted Humaira to know about Zoya, her fingers had itched to make contact with the girl into whose hands Raziya would be bestowing Humaira. Because once Humaira knew, it would be over. 

     "Aunty!" Zoya had cried out when she picked up her call. 

     "Kya hua, beta? Is everything OK?" 

And she heard Zoya burst into tears. Instinct and compulsion took over.

     "Where are you? I'll be there." 

Through sobs Zoya had given her directions and her heart had jammed. Why was she at the gudia factory of all places? 

Raziya had zipped right over, knowing that this was the beginning of the end. 

Some terrible power had drawn her there, the site of her gravest offense, the shallow grave of her humanity. 

Raziya knew she was walking toward her doom. 

Eighteen years ago she had come here in anger and resentment, confident of her power to overcome the stigma of being the other woman, desperate to stake claim to a precarious legitimacy that she saw slipping out of her hands. 

Now in the gathering dusk, and the dark hulking shadows of the skeletal remains of the factory, she knew why her leaden feet had dragged her here. 

She had been summoned.

It was judgement day, the hour of reckoning. 

Zoya's huddled figure made the past flash before her weary eyes. 

Raziya's hands lifted on their own to hold the child's heaving shoulders as she sat next to her on the dusty, ashy threshold. 

     "Everything will be all right," she soothed through a raw throat. But Zoya's sobs had gotten louder. "Tell me, I'll make it all right," she pledged desperately as if every tear and each sob from this girl were draining away her own life. 

Raziya squeezed her tighter to her bosom which was heavy with guilt. She quailed at the thought of being found out. What would Zoya do if she found out that she was being comforted by her mother's murderer? Clasped in the arms of the woman who had given her a deadly scar and separated her from her father and sister for eighteen years?

     "I have a sister, but she doesn't know."

Raziya's stiff fingers stroked her back. It took all of her effort to not run away from there and keep running.

     "Tell her then. She's blessed to have you as an older sister," Raziya choked out. 

     "No! I can't." Zoya whispered hoarsely. 

Raziya's heart bled.

     She knew the answer but still asked, "why?"

     Zoya wiped her eyes and lifted her face to look away. "Because, if she knew ... if knew the whole truth, then she'd never forgive herself and ... ." She wrung her hands after wiping them on her jeans. "I don't want her to hate her parents. All my life I longed to have my Abbu and Ammi ... I don't want her to feel the same loss ..." 

     "But beta, your sister will have you, she'll need you—" 

     "She'll always have me." Zoya asserted softly but more firmly now.

Her shoulders squared. She rose to dust off her clothes. 

Raziya didn't know whether to be grateful or griefstricken. While Zoya's decision may give her more time to maintain the faade of respectability, it would delay Humaira's—  She rose too to grip Zoya's hands urgently. May be she was still being selfish. May be her actions today were just as tainted with self-preservation as they were eighteen years ago. Then too she had fought for Humaira's rights, a mere infant. But today she was battling for her daughter's happiness through Zoya's legitimacy. 

She didn't miss the grim irony as it slapped her upside her head. 

     "Does she know that she has a sister somewhere?" Raziya asked tentatively. 

     "Yes," Zoya whispered. "But she doesn't know that the sister she's seeking is me." 

 

Asad slammed his fist on the steering wheel. 

     "C'mon Zoya, don't do this to me," he muttered to himself. 

She was still not taking his calls. But her driver had called to tell him the address of the place where madam was right now. 

Asad's heart jackhammered in terror. 

When he had last talked to Siddiqui Saheb, he had told him about his fears that Zoya would never agree to telling Humaira. That Zoya would rather invest her life's quest in Humaira's ignorance, than desolate awareness. 

He had heard his father-in-law choke up, unable to utter a single coherent word. 

It was then that Asad had seen his Ammi's text, and a desperate idea had started to take root in his mind. 

He could come up with some nifty ideas too. May be not as prolifically as his wife, but still ... 

He tried her number again and thank god she picked up this time. 

     "Asad! I'm sorry. I know you must've been worried."

     He took deep breaths. "Are you OK?" 

     "No, I can't think straight." 

     "I'll be there in five minutes. Stay in the car." 

     "I'm fine. Aunty is here with me. I'll wait for you." 

She hung up before he could yell at her about staying away from strange aunties. What Aunty was this? Was this the same woman she'd met at the clinic when she'd tried to get information on Tanveer? 

He accelerated and wove madly through the traffic. It was nearly dark by the time he reached the site. The driver hovered anxiously keeping a watch over Memsaheb from a distance. Asad noticed a burqa-clad woman holding Zoya in her arms, and he breathed again.

     "Zoya!"

She broke away and ran to be held by him.

     "Apna khayal rakhna, beta," the woman whispered as she backed away to hastily melt into the night. 

 

They stood in each other's arms. 

Asad dared not move for fear that she'd vanish into thin air. This was the first time they had come back to this place since they'd found out about its grisly tentacles that reached far back into their twin pasts. Asad agonized over her fragile state of mind, and willed his body's strength to surge and thrum through her. 

He didn't know it, but his strong heartbeat hammering against her temple, his smell, and his arms holding her securely, slowly wove their magic and mended her broken spirit; piece by shattered piece. 

     Lifting her face to his, she moaned, "Asad, I don't want her to know if it means finding out about her Ammi." 

     "Shh, I know baby. We'll do whatever feels right. Just don't ever run away from me again. You know it kills me." 

She clung desperately to him. 

     He cupped her face in his hands, "do you want me to take you to the Dargah?"

     "No, I already went there. Take me to the hill top where we can see the city lights below and the stars above." 

Asad dismissed her driver and told him to return the car home. He also called Dilshad to let her know that Zoya was fine, and that they'd be late coming home. 

 

Once there, they sat in silence in the car with the windows rolled down, seats reclined, and the sunroof cracked wide open. 

Asad played with her fingers. 

He cleared his throat. 

     "I know you want to protect Humaira ..." 

Her hand convulsed in his. He stroked the top of her hand in slow circles and her fingers finally relaxed. 

     "But am I so bad for wanting to protect you from heartache?" He continued. 

     "Please ..." she begged. 

     "No!" Asad twisted his face around. "It's plain unfair. You're asking me stand by and watch you die a little every day of our lives!" 

Yes, it was unfair, Zoya thought. She hadn't thought of the effect her decision would have on Asad. Her sacrifice would condemn him into a complicit silence as well. Aunty's recent words sloshed around in her head too. Barely an hour ago when she'd told her that Humaira knew of her sister's existence, Raqeeba Aunty had held her by her shoulders as if trying to shake some sense into her. 

     "Think," she'd pressed on urgently. "If she's as sensitive and intuitive as you, will she move on with her life till she has found her sister? Will she get married? Won't she permanently live in a kind of guilty limbo, blaming herself for living a borrowed life?" 

Zoya's eyes had widened. She knew that Humaira was indeed delaying her nikaah. She wouldn't give a clear answer for why she was hedging. 

     "I'm just not ready right now," was all she'd say before changing the subject. Ayaan would duck his head when she'd look at him in askance. 

Was this the reason why she was putting it off?

     "Asad, I'm sorry," Zoya cried out. "I don't know what to do. I want so badly for her to know, but she'll feel so guilty. What about Ammi, and your Abbu? Chhoti Ammi and Dadi? Everything will change. We've only recently found happiness, it'll be wrenched away just because of me." 

She wept bitterly as she snatched her hand from his and covered her face. Asad swore under his breath and shot out of the car to open her side of the door and gather her in his arms. He lifted her out and held her tight against him. 

     "Don't forget you were a big part of bringing us that happiness. And is it so fragile that it'll be ripped apart by doing what's right? Ammi knows already, and she gives her blessings." He clasped her hands in his and placed them on his chest after kissing each fist. She disengaged to turn her back on him, still not fully convinced. 

     "Do you know what Ammi said?" 

She shook her head. 

     "She said, tell Zoya to trust Allah's will and justice. She owes it to her mother and her unborn child.'" 

Fresh tears sprang up in her eyes. Asad wiped them away with his thumbs. 

     "What if there was a way to tell Humaira that you're her sister without her finding out about her Ammi?" 

     She jerked up straight as an arrow. "What're you saying? How is that even possible?" 

Asad pulled out his phone and showed her the text that Ammi had sent him. 

     "We need to put things right as soon as possible. I'm going to tell Najma about Zoya and Humaira. But I won't let her know about their Ammis' history or, about your Abbu's role in any of this." 

That text had made his brain hum with possibilities. Could they get away with the half-truth to preserve both of Zoya's desires: publicly being acknowledged as a big sister, and not having to reveal the murky history of that revelation? It would mean letting Raziya Siddiqui off the hook, and he hated that. But it could mean everything to Zoya ...

     Her teeth gleamed in the dark. She bounced on her toes and flung her arms around his neck. "Please, please, please can we do this?" 

He laughed and swung her in circles.

     "Allah Miyan, what's wrong with you, Mrs. Khan? If you hadn't run away, we could have brainstormed this two hours ago!" 

And finally, as he set her down, he heard that sound that lifted his heart: she giggled. He tucked her hair behind her ear and whispered a couplet. 

     "Don't go anywhere without me.

     Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,

     Or on the ground, in this world or that world,

     Without my being in its happening." 

     She sighed blissfully and stroked his jaw. "What is it about this place that makes my Jahanpanah so shayarana?" 

     "It's not the place; it's you," he said simply. 

Her breath caught. And Asad continued as he rocked her to him, 

     "Vision, see nothing I don't see.

     Language, say nothing.

     The way the night knows itself with the moon,

     Be that with me."

     " 'The way the night knows itself with the moon, Be that with me.' Asad, that was so beautiful," she moaned.

     Her stomach growled loudly and they laughed. "Baby doesn't much care for all this shayari," Asad joked.

     "Baby better know that this was meant for Ammi's ears only," Zoya huffed back.

     Asad helped her back into the car and buckled her in. "Now let's get some food into Ammi for the best jaccha baccha." He tickled her tummy, "though thanks to Ammi's disappearing act you missed kachoris, jalebis and kulfi." 

     "What?!" shouted Zoya. "Why didn't you tell me," she complained. 

     "Hello? Did you take my calls? Someone was too busy playing hide and seek!" 

She whacked his shoulder.

 

That night she shook him awake. All of a sudden she was craving cold jalebis. Sleepily Asad tucked her head under his chin. 

     "Asad?" 

     "Hmmm ..." 

     "What the hell's jaccha baccha? Is it something to eat? Cos' I'm starving!"

 

 

Song in Title:

Once Upon a Time in Mumbai (2010): "Tum Jo Aaye Zindagi Mein Baat Ban Gayee"

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	88. Khushiyaan Choom Loo'n, Ya Ro Loo'n Zara, Mar Jaoo'n Ya Jee Loo'n Zara

 

 

 

     "Ayaan, I want you to be completely honest with me." A somber Zoya spoke in dead earnest.

     "Kya Mona darling, why so serious?" Ayaan asked as he sprawled sideways in the chair, legs dangling carelessly over the armrest.

Before they did anything further, she had told Asad, she wanted to talk to Ayaan about Humaira's reluctance to get married. She had a hunch and needed it confirmed. So she had come armed with lunch from home, and they'd called Ayaan into Asad's office.

     "It's about Humaira," she said, watching his face closely. 

His gaze lowered. All playful banter evaporated. Ayaan swung his legs to the floor and hunched over, head in his hands. 

Asad and Zoya looked at each other. 

She leaned over to stroke her brother-in-law's arm. He sighed and shot out of the chair to pace the floor. Ayaan had already raked his hair in agitation several times. 

Now he violently shoved both hands into his pockets.

     "What about Humaira?" he hedged. 

     Asad rose to hold him by his shoulders. "Sit," he ordered gently. 

     "What's bothering her? Why isn't she excited about her nikaah?" Zoya pleaded as he settled back down into the chair. 

He exhaled. 

     "She told me that she wants her sister found first—at least that's what she says." 

     Zoya gripped his forearm in panic, "but you don't think that's the real reason?" 

     "It's a big part of the reason, but there's definitely more," he sighed. 

     "I think she's paralyzed with guilt and shame. First she finds out terrible things about her mother. Now her Abbu. She feels her parents have hurt and used others. That she doesn't deserve to be happy. I have a feeling she's rethinking the nikaah as some kind of self-punishment. I can't seem to reach her; I feel her slipping away." 

Frazzled, he ran a hand through his mop of hair yet again. 

For the first time in his life, he felt powerless to put things right. He, who could charm his way into and out of anything, suddenly couldn't pierce through the aloof armor Humaira had erected around herself. She had become quieter and more preoccupied.  Sure, she still met him everyday, participated in all family banter and togetherness, but some of that was on autopilot, as if a part of her had shut off. 

Zoya's tormented eyes collided with Asad's. He held her gaze, willing her to make the decision. She nodded, giving silent consent; she couldn't' trust herself to speak right now. 

     Asad cleared his throat. "Umm Ayaan, we believe we know who her sister is." 

     "What?!!" The chair clattered on its back behind him. "Who? How?" 

     "Calm down." Asad commanded. 

Ayaan righted the chair and sat back down, knowing full well that Bhai wouldn't go on till he'd collected himself. 

He took a deep breath. 

Asad began to speak in a low tone. Ayaan leaned forward to concentrate on the words.

 

Together, with Dilshad's help, they had perfected a script of half-truths. Ayaan would be their test audience. His reactions and questions would determine if the script needed minor tweaks, or a major re-write. 

Asad stood and paced now; restless energy rippled through him. Zoya was dying to leap up and hold his hand, but she restrained herself, choosing to rub her stomach instead. 

     "When Humaira told Zoya about her music box, we both were struck by the coincidence. How could there be two identical handmade things?" 

Ayaan frowned. He remembered Humaira telling him excitedly that Zoya Bhabhi had the same music box.  

     "On a hunch I had my investigator look into Siddiqui Saheb's background, especially the time he was in the US. The times and dates matched up." 

     Ayaan's brows drew close together in puzzlement as he tried to make sense of his brother's narrative. "What are you saying Bhai? That Zoya—?" 

     "Zoya was able to get Humaira's hair, and collect blood samples from her bandages. We sent both their samples to a private lab in Mumbai to do a sibling DNA test for a common parent." Asad paused dramatically. "It took a while, but there was a match."

Zoya crossed her fingers under the table. She hoped that Ayaan wouldn't remember exact dates or finer details that could well derail this fictionalized story. She looked at him under her lashes. 

He looked dazed. 

She raised worried eyes to Asad who nodded in comfort. 

     "How long have you known?" Ayaan whispered, looking ruefully at Zoya. 

She took up the storytelling now. This part she could handle. 

     "A couple of weeks. Mr. Khan talked to ... Abbu. I wanted another test, this time to check Abbu's and my DNA, to be absolutely certain after Tanveer's hoax." 

     "But," Ayaan muttered in confusion. "I thought you said you had found out that your Abbu passed aw—"

     Asad continued, "Exactly! That's what we thought too. I had that man's background and family investigated too. Turns out, none of that was true."

His fist slowly curled and clenched in cold anger at Tanveer and Raziya Siddiqui's vilest scam. Asad still remembered holding a shattered Zoya at that man's grave. Eighteen years' worth of hopes for a reunion with a long-lost father lay dashed, ground to dust, at her feet. 

In the car ride to the cemetery, with a sinking heart, he had heard her chatter and prattle on about what she would say to her father when she met him for the first time. 

     "Aap ko pata hai Mr. Khan, iss din ki rehearsals ki hain maine kitni kitni baar! ... Main ladoongi unse! Poochoongi, ki voh mujhko chhod ke gaye kyun?" 

Her playful banter had soon turned teary, as she'd run down through a gamut of reunion scenarios to finally confess, "main unse kuchh nahin keh paoongi. Main unhe dekhoongi, unse galey miloongi, aur roh padoongi." 

And, as if was yesterday, he also remembered her decision to leave right after. Because the reason for her visit to India no longer existed. 

     "Kucch kahaniyan kabhi poori nahin hoti hain Mr. Khan, unki kismat mein adhoora rehna hota hai," she had said through hopeless tears. 

Those words had felt tragically prophetic.

He had come so close to holding her hand in comfort and promise. Probably that night, at that moment, he would have asked her to stay back for him, held her hand to never let go. 

Who knows. 

But her next few words, "I think I should leave," had arrested his hand mid-way. A hole had opened up inside of him. 

The aftermath of Raziya's wicked lie could well have been the beginning of the end for him and Zoya. He knew now that Tanveer too had a vested interest in making Zoya believe that her Abbu was dead: Zoya would leave for the US. 

And she had come close to leaving. 

Packed up, she had said goodbyes, and nearly walked out the door … and out of his life. 

Thank god for his inadvertent recording which made Zoya confess her love! Had she not come into his room that night, he wouldn't have known about her feelings for him. Had he not known about her feelings for him, he'd be married to Tanveer right now thinking that her child was his. 

Asad shuddered and sought Zoya's eyes for a blessed reality check. She grinned up at him cheekily.

That dimple! 

Thank god!  

Asad exhaled. 

     "Siddiqui Saheb agreed. We didn't want anyone to question Zoya's legitimacy." 

     "Like Humaira's Ammi!" sneered Ayaan. 

     "Those results came in yesterday," Asad spoke with finality. 

At least that part was true. Between themselves, they had all decided that this would be the best proof, and an added distraction from the backstory of jealousy, revenge and blackmail. 

Siddiqui Saheb had gladly consented to the DNA test. He'd do whatever would get him closer to his daughters' reconciliation to officially seal their budding affection and attachment to each other. 

Zoya's yearning for a younger sister to spoil and cherish, was also his own. 

He wanted his younger daughter to hold her head high and feel proud for being related to at least one family member who was the essence of immaculate generosity and grace.

 

Ayaan's delighted eyes now shone with moisture. He sprang up to grab Zoya and spun her around in circles. 

     "Mona darling! This is freaking awesome!"

     Zoya shrieked. "Raabert, I'm going to be sick all over you. Put me down, please!" she begged, equally ecstatic and only slightly nauseous. 

     He did. But not before one last jab, "So now I can call you Mona Saali?" 

     "SHUT! UP!" she hollered, smacking his arm. 

     "Bhai!" Ayaan dashed to Asad to leap in his arms. Asad laughed as he hugged him, dropping a kiss on his shoulder. 

     "Humaira will be so happy!" Ayaan sighed as he disengaged. "You know she really loves you, Mona darling?" 

     "I love her too," Zoya said through tears.

Ayaan's eyes stung as he watched Bhai embrace Mona darling and wipe away her tears. With a pang he realized some of Zoya's heartache. How hard must those days have been to know and yet not know about her Abbu and Humaira? To first think that your father was dead, and then to wait for weeks for some strangers at a faceless lab to prove that he was indeed alive.

He loved to see Humaira and Mona darling get on so well. The time Humaira had spent at their house while recovering from the gunshot wound had healed her spiritually too after she'd found out about her mother's deceit. 

He made a face. 

     "Par Bhai, what about Mumani? Does she know?" 

Zoya and Asad looked at each other.

     "Their Abbu will tell Mrs. Siddiqui today, so that we can break the news to Humaira." Asad said softly.

Zoya leaned on him, head to his heart, savoring the feeling of his warm palm on the small of her back. 

     "When are we going to tell Humaira?" Ayaan asked the one question that was on everyone's mind. 

 

They had already told Aapi and Jeeju who were thrilled for Zoya. 

But it had been emotionally wrenching. Zoya had thought that Aapi would be more distraught. Zeenat, who had gotten to know Humaira since her extended stay with them, cried for Zoya. 

     "Ab tumko bhi koi Aapi kehne wali mil gayee hai," she teased through tears. "Now you'll know what it's like to have a younger sister who'll borrow your things and forget to return them. You'll worry about her marriage, aur phir tumko pata chalega ki tumne mujhe kitna sataya!" 

Zoya laughed through her own tears. 

     "And I'll threaten to kheencho her choti?" 

     Zeenat laughed too and teased back: "No, because thank god Humaira doesn't pretend to be a shayar!" 

     "Aapi, that's so mean!" Zoya had mock-glared at the woman to whom she owed everything, and loved so much.

     "And besides," she flashed her eyes at her Aapi, "uska hone wala shauhar is a wannabe shayar. So we're even." 

Anwar however, was more overwrought, and mostly silent.

     "Jeeju?" Zoya had whispered. "Are you OK?"

     "I'm happy for you," he said, all choked up. 

She burst into fresh tears and Asad came over to hold her by her shoulders. Anwar cried too as Zeenat patted his back. Zoya wiped her cheeks and took a deep steadying breath. 

     "I still meant what I said that day, Jeeju. You'll always be my Abbu. You are the one who tucked me in every night after checking for monsters under the bed. You cheered the loudest when I scored a goal or made a basket. You fought with Aapi to let me come here last year." 

     Anwar smiled fondly. "Yeah, with those diplomatic skills and negotiations, Obama should hire me to work for the State department!" 

Zoya laughed heartily, as did Asad and Zeenat. 

     "And remember when I told you I had a crush on Mr. James, you scowled and glared at him all through the parent-teacher conference? I thought I was going to die of embarrassment!" 

Asad gave Anwar an enthusiastic thumbs up, and he grinned.

     "Yes, I agree, if you can make your kid die of embarrassment then you are a true parent." Anwar sighed heavily. "I don't know ... there's just a part of me that's still angry at that man for ... for everything. But ... I  guess, his loss was our gain," he whispered as he scrubbed his tears away. 

     "And mine," Zoya smiled as she touched the blurring image of her Jeeju Abbu. 

  

That night, in the dark, Asad stroked her stomach.

     "Will the girls tell me when they'll have crushes on boys?" 

     Zoya giggled. "Aww! Will you be able to handle it though? I think they won't tell you just to save you from having heart attacks. Or they'll tell me, and I'll tell you." 

     "Promise?" 

     "Promise. But with a two-week delay OK? By that time they'll have moved on to other crushes." 

     "Why?" 

     "Mr. Khan, I don't want a long line of boys' parents outside my house complaining that you beat up their sons." 

     "I'd do it too!" he growled. 

     "And that's why the girls won't be telling their Abbu!" 

     "Asad," she said suddenly. "We won't find out the sex of our child. I want to be surprised." 

Her friend from the US, who was pregnant, had posted a picture of her ultrasound image on facebook. Everyone had left a bajillion congratulatory comments and likes. Their common friends had teased Zoya that soon she'd be posting her own picture of the ultrasound. "Uske sar ke seeng bhi dikhenge," a friend had joked.

     Asad sighed. "You don't have a choice. It's illegal in India to find out the gender of the fetus." 

     "What! Why?" She sat up in dumb shock. 

And then she remembered. 

She had watched Satyamev Jayate last year in the US, and cried in anger at the horror of female infanticide in India. 

She cried now again, fiercely hugging her stomach. Asad wrapped her in his arms to rock her. They had read together about the growing fetus, the doctor too had corroborated that the baby would be almost an inch by now. How could any one want to harm a tiny being just because it wasn't male? 

Zoya hadn't told anyone this, but for days after watching that episode, she had cried herself to sleep. Because she had wondered if her own father had never come looking for her because she was a girl. 

If I was a boy, would he have ... 

     "Shh," Asad soothed her, his own palm over hers on her tummy. 

     "Why do these people not value women?" she sobbed. "How can girls smile or laugh knowing that even before they were born, they weren't wanted?" 

"Don't say that," Asad said. His own eyes stung. "Thank god, the majority of people don't believe that." 

He framed her face in his hands.

     "Yes, there are terrible cases we read of everyday, but the average person is still good. Not all parents are the same. There are also people like Malala Yusufzai's father. Yes, there are obstacles, but no one can stand in the way of a determined woman"you are the best example of that! And remember, I told you about Jhansi ki Rani?" 

She nodded. Zoya loved that story.

     "Tell me about her again," she begged as Asad laid them back down and tucked her head in the crook of his neck.

 

They were flying in for the engagement.  And every day Nikhat had been getting to know her future mother-in-law in all her vibrant avatars; every day she fell a little bit extra in love with her kooky heartiness. 

     But in their very first one-on-one phone conversation, Nikhat had hurriedly clarified: "Aunty, I don't watch soap operas." 

     "Call me Ammi, and so what if you don't! I watch enough for the whole family!" she boasted.

     "But why?" Nikhat blurted.

She hated those nasty soaps that Dadi and Ammi watched. Before she'd met and fallen in love with Feroze, those soaps were emblematic of everything she feared in a marriage. Scary female in-laws in the forms of saases and bhabhis and nanads and devranis or jethanis. And husbands who were easily brainwashed and manipulated by all these witchy in-laws parading around huge havelis in their designer best. The encounter with Haseena Bi and her weasel of a son had cemented Nikhat's distaste for such sordidness. 

Nikhat bit her tongue. 

She hadn't meant to sound judgmental about her mother-in-law's favorite pastime. 

She held her breath. 

Her mother-in-law laughed.

     "I know beta. And I get annoyed with them too and never stay long enough with a single show. They're so formulaic aren't they? So predictable!"   

     "I know," piped up Nikhat, finally feeling that she was on the same page. "A smart and sweet girl with many dreams will end up married in a big house with a big family of villains," she muttered shuddering. 

     "And the villains have super senses—they can hear everything, see everything, and control everything. But the good people will be dumb and silent." Her saas added. "Even when they get caught, there's hardly any punishment. Two days later, it's business as usual. Same saazish, same scheming. Nalayak kahin ke!" 

     "Exactly! Why do the villains have such power and the good people none?" Asked Nikhat. 

     "Because the idiot writers think that without evil there's no story. Besides, it's the only way to keep the lead couple apart. Because according to the formula, the lead couple can never be together. Apparently the world would come to an end." Feroze's mom joked. 

Nikhat giggled. 

     "But the lead couple will have their own theme song and land up falling into each other's arms a thousand times. In slow motion." Nikhat was liking this game a lot. 

     "Aha! So you have seen some!" guffawed her future mother-in-law. "There'll be lots of eye sex and dupatta and watch sex, but no suhaag raat!" 

Nikhat gulped and then snorted. 

     "Because that's the only form of family planning practiced in India!" Her future saas cackled with glee.

     "Ammi, you're too funny and I love you!" Nikhat couldn't resist saying through peals of breathless laughter. "Which one's your favorite? I'll try to check it out and then we'll compare notes," she finally gasped. 

     "Arre beta, they're all bakwas. I pretty much graze through 7-8 of them. I'll watch a little here and there to make fun of them. Might like the lead couple in one, a saas-bahu in another, or the dad or a villain in a third. It all changes week to week."  

Oh my god! Nikhat smiled to herself. It was confirmed. Feroze was definitely adopted. 

     "But you know, beta," her new Ammi became serious all of a sudden. "Sometimes I just quit them all. These soaps show too much female degradation. Trophy men are paraded as eyecandy, and the main stories revolve around woman-on-woman abuse. And I hate that! You don't want to know how many times I've written to the BCCC to complain about some torture track!" 

     "Wow!" Nikhat uttered in amazement. "That's so cool! What's the BCCC?" 

     "Some board that oversees content on TV. Not much changes, but at least the channel is forced to put an apology scroll at the bottom of the screen during the show." 

     "That's amazing, Ammi! Feroze didn't tell me that you are such a rockstar!" 

Nikhat smiled as she hung up. She remembered how Feroze had encouraged her to get back at that spineless Imran. So that's where he got his stand-up-against-bullies-and-creeps skills from! 

Mashallah!

You go Ammi!

 

Raziya sobbed at the reprieve she'd been granted. When Siddiqui Saheb told her of Zoya and Asad's mercy she had fallen to her sore knees and wept tears of shame. A part of her wished that they had chosen justice instead. 

This burden of grace was intolerable. She didn't know how she'd be able to face Zoya. Not appearing in front of her would be preferable, but then everyone would think she was upset— 

Her head lifted; her jaw tightened. 

May be that's what she would do. Play the offended stepmother so no one would expect her to come much before Zoya. She could unsheathe her former malignance, and huff and puff around in perpetual disapproval of the happy family reunions and waste away invisibly in some corner of the house. 

They would all leave her alone then.

 

     "I am going to meet her," Zoya said stubbornly. 

     "Zoya, no!" Asad swept an agitated hand through his hair. 

The one person he did not want his wife coming face to face with was Raziya Siddiqui! 

The nightmares would return, of that he was certain. 

He feared she would fly apart. 

That desolate night on the train was still too familiar. That night, in the midst of their honeymoon, he had held her limp body, worried about losing her forever. That night, he had battled for hours with her fears and his own, and it had nearly destroyed them.

No! Never again. 

     Zoya held his cold hand and raised it to her lips. "I know what you're thinking," she said softly. "I got through that night because of you. I got through the mehendi night too, because of you. You'll get me through this as well. Would I even consider this if it weren't for you? I trust you Asad. I can only think of doing this because I know I have you by my side."

She melted into him. 

He felt himself nearly relenting. Asad's arms tightened around her. Unbidden, a memory surfaced. It was from an eternity ago, when she had snuck into his room with cookies and coffee to pull him out of his silent zone. 

And even then, it all went back to that blasted gudia factory! The crimes of Raziya Siddiqui that had triggered the desperate actions of his father! 

Except that day, they hadn't known the entire story. 

In bitter hatred Asad had called the police on his father. Back home, he had clashed with Ammi that night, possibly the first and last time, and in blind fury she had slapped him for saying he wanted Rashid Ahmed Khan to rot in prison for murder. Asad had hated his father even more that night. Because of that man, Ammi had raised a hand on him! 

And Zoya had come in that night braving his wrath, to reach out to him in the thorny abyss of gloom.

     "You know what Mr. Khan? Hum dono ki aapas mein bilkul nahin banti. Hum kissi bhi baat par agree nahin karte," she had said then, to draw him out of his brooding stupor. 

Framing his face in her hands, she repeated some of those words softly now. 

Then, they had surprised him. He had never heard her speak that gently with him. She had initially tried humor; but it was her solemn intensity that had pierced through the fog of oblivion he'd buried himself in. 

     "Par jab bhi koi problem hoti hai na, toh mere dil mein ek bharosa rehta hai, ki Mr. Khan hain, woh sab theek kar denge. And trust me, main aap pe, aur aap ki strength pe bahut rely karti hoon." 

She feathered her fingers across his lips, and gripped his hand now. She was begging once again for him to trust her instincts and her faith in him. 

She had been right then, hadn't she? 

     "Dammit Zoya," Asad raged, pulling his hand out from her grasp. "You always sweettalk your way out of everything!"

     "Shh!" she implored. "You're scaring the baby." 

Hands on his waist, he looked at her in exasperation and shook his head. 

Really?

This would bother the baby, but the emotional blender she'd be putting herself through would leave the baby unscathed?

     "Exactly," he tried another tack. "It'll be bad for the baby to put yourself through this willful trauma." 

Grabbing his hand, she dragged him to sit on the settee and burrowed in his lap. 

Asad sighed. 

He knew he was about to be railroaded. Zoya cupped his face again, and he half-smiled. If his daughters had even a tenth of their mother's persuasive skills, he was going to be toast. 

     "Maybe you're right." 

Wait, this wasn't what he expected her to say. Asad's eyes narrowed in anticipation of being further blindsided. 

     "But I'll have to face her some day once Humaira knows. Then why not on my terms?"

     "But why?" He still didn't get this urgency. "What can you possibly hope to achieve by doing this?" 

     "I don't know," she said, her voice hollow. "Maybe I'm ready to hear her side. May be I'm ready to let go and face my nightmares." 

Zoya leapt up and paced the floor, gesticulating wildly. 

     "But I do know for sure that I want to be able to look at her without rancor. I want my relationship with Abbu and Humaira to be unmarked by any anger or bitterness toward her." 

     Asad rose too to embrace her. "Are you sure we're doing the right thing? Even now we can put her away with the evidence we have." He held her face, "what if you resent her later? She took away too much! Why are we agreeing to look the other way and let her go scott free?"

     "For our baby," she whispered, looking up into his face. He held her silently for a long time. She breathed in his scent and closed her eyes. 

His heartbeat knocked against her temple, steady and stirring. 

   

Asad waited outside. 

Zoya didn't want him looming over and scaring Raziya Siddiqui by his angry presence. And Asad too had preferred to pace outside so that he wouldn't be tempted to strangle the woman if she even dared lift an eyebrow. 

Humaira was still at the Khan house. Today's taekwondo session was to be longer. The girls' instructor had invited another instructor for a demo and then they would practice the forms to graduate to the next belt. 

He had whisked Zoya away under the pretext of a doctor's appointment.

Asad watched Zoya stand carved in stone as the oversized door swung open. Even without seeing who it was who opened the door, he knew it was Raziya Siddiqui. He swore under his breath as his fist balled and jaw clenched. 

He had a good mind to stalk over and sweep Zoya into his arms and carry her away. But for her sake he took deep breaths and paced like a caged lion in the driveway. 

The guard at the gate watched him uneasily. 

The door closed behind Zoya and his heart skidded to a stop.

 

Zoya had dreaded looking into this face. 

She had practiced many a dialogue in her head in advance of this meeting. But everything fled from her mind as she watched this woman's eyes filling with tears. She saw Raziya Siddiqui's hand lift the corner of her dupatta to hide her quivering lips. And that was the moment when Zoya decided to step into the house. She had wanted to bolt the minute she saw the door opening. She wanted to run into Asad's arms and never look back.

But her feet had grown roots suddenly. 

 

Through her wet lashes Raziya gazed at Zoya. 

And she thanked Allah for her earlier decision. It was tempting to regress. She could harden herself and be the malevolent effigy she had been all these years. 

But Humaira's wan face floated before her eyes.

No!

She was done pretending. She had lost too much and taken even more. She just didn't have the energy for facades and plots any more. Raziya just wanted to drift down the path of least resistance now, rudderless and rootless. 

She would let nature take its course.

Moreover, she couldn't rob Humaira's peace of mind any more. 

Nor Zoya's birthright.

She too had been on pins and needles since the moment Asad had called to curtly request a meeting with Zoya. Even through the phone, she had felt the waves of repressed fury in his voice. 

Asad had taken a shuddering breath. 

     "She wants to meet with you before we tell Humaira." 

That sentence had been a warning to her. But those words and tone were also a kind of plea. She sensed his worry and felt shame flood through her. Why did it feel as though he was sending in a lamb to the slaughter? 

Raziya had staggered with the weight of his anxious scorn. Please don't think that you're sending her in to face the firing squad, she wanted to reassure him. I should be facing the firing squad ...

Her heart had stopped when the doorbell rang. 

Ever since Asad's call, she had fretted about whether to stand or sit when Zoya entered. Where would she place herself? Not at the top of the stairs—no power games here. 

At the foot of the stairs? By the couch?

She had readjusted her dupatta on her head a thousand times.

Raziya waved the servant away and went in to open the door by herself. 

She dreaded, yet welcomed the meeting. 

Not that day, but today was her day of reckoning. 

 

Silently, she put her hand out to invite Zoya in.  A still shell-shocked Zoya stumbled, and Raziya's hands reflexively reached out in support.  

Zoya's eyes widened. 

Raziya led her to the couch and waited for the servant to set out the drinks and snacks. 

     "I'm sor—  thank you," she whispered brokenly when the servant left the room. She didn't know what to say. "I'm glad that Humaira has you," Raziya added, her voice a little bit stronger. 

She waited for Zoya to condemn her, blast her with questions, rake her over the coals or toss her into the fiery pit of hell that she deserved. 

Zoya had caught a glimpse of this woman only once at the courthouse when Asad's Abbu had been sentenced. She had seemed cruel then, bedecked in gold jewelry, haughty and imperial. She had glared at them as she led away a weeping Chhoti Ammi. 

Today she looked older. Greyer. 

And beaten. 

Shorn of her gold trappings and dressed in a plain suit, she no longer looked anything like the imagined monster of her nightmares. 

     "Why?" Zoya whispered. 

She saw the woman before her crumple; Raziya squeezed and twisted her fingers. Her head was bent and fat tears fell on those knotted hands. 

     "I didn't mean to," she bit out harshly. "I had just had Humaira, she was only three weeks old! I went insane with jealousy and fear when I found out about ..." 

She saw Zoya's lips whiten and quailed with remorse. 

Restless, Raziya rose to turn away, but the self-incriminating words just kept tumbling out.

     "There's no excuse. I could see that he loved her, he was so torn. I thought he'd leave us. We were fighting for the knife and ... and ... I went blind with rage ... oh my god, what did I do?" 

She sank to her knees, deflated. 

     "Did she ... suffer?" 

The barely whispered question crucified her. 

Raziya covered her face.

     "I'm sorry. I'm so terribly sorry! I wish I could die for the pain I've caused you. For robbing you. I know about your scar. I don't deserve your mercy. Why didn't you send me to jail? That's where I belong!"

Raziya wept bitterly. Blindly, she groped for something on the coffee table. The biscuits went flying. Dishes clattered to the carpet. Her arthritic fingers wrapped around a silver fork. 

     "I'm sorry," she kept muttering repeatedly as she stabbed the top of her hand ineffectually. Each stab was punctuated with a pathetically sobbed, "I'm sorry." 

     "I should've died, not your Ammi. She was a better woman than me," she continued bitterly. 

     "Aunty!"

Raziya felt soft hands on her shoulders. She looked up into Zoya's face wet with tears. Zoya tried to wrestle the fork away from her. 

     Raziya frowned. "I don't deserve to be called that," she said. She looked down on her bruised hand. The skin had broken and there were tiny drops of blood pooling. "Why isn't there more blood?" She asked Zoya in surprise as she held her hands out helplessly. 

Her eyes went dark. Blank. She remembered the horror of her actions from the night so long ago. There was so much blood. Warm and sticky, it clung to her fingers. It got under her nails, in the crevices of her hand. And it smelled—metallic, coppery. It smelled of death. 

Her bile rose. 

     "There's blood on my hands, I can smell it, then why can't I see any? Where is my blood?" She pleaded as tried to stab her hand with even more force. "Where is my blood?" she shrieked. 

     "Aunty!" Zoya tried to shake her out of her trance. 

     "I told you, don't call me that!" Raziya lashed out weakly. 

     "But I have called you that in the past, haven't I?" Zoya asked. 

     She looked at this girl, speechless. The fork slipped to the carpet from her clumsy and and now limp fingers. "How did you know?" she asked finally. 

     Zoya sat down by her and held her hand. "You no longer wear any jewelry, except for this pearl ring. It's unique and must be special." She had seen that ring when Aunty had helped her up from when she had stumbled earlier. 

And she had known. 

Raziya looked down at the only ring she wore. She had locked away all of her previously-beloved gold ornaments. 

She couldn't bear them touching her skin any more. It was as if they burned her. They felt like a million insect feet rasping across her papery skin.

Only this ring she kept on. 

Yes, it was special. 

For their twentieth wedding anniversary, Humaira had begged her Abbu to buy it for her.

     "It's so beautiful Ammi! I'm going to wear it for my nikaah, whether you like it or not," she had said. 

     "Zoya!" Raziya couldn't stop herself any more. She pressed her hands around Zoya's face. Some blood trickled down her wrist. "Main tum se maafi maangne ke layak bhi nahin hoon. Tab bhi tum? Kyun? Kaise?" 

Zoya closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her face. 

     "I'm done. For eighteen years I've been seeking, searching, longing ... waiting." She rubbed her tummy. "Nothing will bring back Ammi now. We're going to have a baby. I want a fresh start. And I want to hold Humaira." 

     "Your blood, your Ammi's blood, is in her veins now; it has replaced mine. Humaira is your baby too," Raziya stated fervently.

Zoya wept. And so did Raziya.

  

Asad couldn't bear it any more. 

He just shouldn't have let her go. Why did he give in to her?

The guard tried to stop him as he saw Asad advancing menacingly. Asad pushed him aside after a brief scuffle, which resulted in a ripped sleeve and bloody nose for the guard. 

Asad had set a mental deadline for himself. No more than thirty minutes. If she wasn't out by then, then he'd go charging in, all guns blazing, and get her out in a fireman's throw if he had to. 

He didn't have to.

When he crashed his way in, he stood shocked as he saw his weeping wife wrapped in her stepmother's arms. She too sobbed as she cradled Zoya's head against her heart. The barracuda formerly known as Raziya Siddiqui had been tamed, anointed by Zoya's falling tears. 

Through misting eyes he nearly smiled and shook his head. 

Why had he even worried? He should have trusted that sworn mantra: Zoya Farooqui kucch bhi kar sakti hai!

Once again, she had woven her magic spell and charmed the proverbial hornet from its nest. 

He cleared his throat. 

     "Zoya," he whispered. 

She raised her head and smiled at him. She held out her arm and he walked to her to clasp her hand. Raziya broke away, sneaking a look at Asad from under her lashes. 

Asad saw the smear of blood on Zoya's cheek and went crazy. He noted another bloodstain on her hand. His eyes had just registered the scattered dishes on the floor. 

He saw red.

     He grabbed Raziya by her throat and hauled her up, "what did you do to her? I'll kill you if you hurt her!" 

     "AS-AD!" Zoya screamed. 

Her hands tried to release his viselike grip. The guard had stumbled in by now and grappled with Asad who shoved him aside with one blow. He crashed into the table behind him and the glass smashed; the guard groaned in pain. The servant came running too and tried to feebly intervene. One look at Asad's face and he backed away in terror. 

     "Asad! Please stop!" Zoya pleaded. She wiped her hands on her jeans. "It's not my blood. I'm OK. See?"

His fingers loosened. Asad reached to touch Zoya's cheek and anxiously wiped the blood off. 

He breathed a sigh of relief. 

Raziya had slid down on the floor coughing, weak and dizzy. Zoya rushed to help her up. With the servant's help, she plied her with water. 

Raziya still gasped for breath. 

     "Aunty? Are you OK?" Zoya knelt in front of her. 

     She patted Zoya's hand and nodded. "Yes, I'm fine," Raziya gasped. 

     A furious Zoya rounded on her husband. "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan? Have you gone mad?"

Raziya watched in amazement. If she could breathe, she'd have laughed at the scene before her. Asad Ahmed Khan, the pugnacious man she had only seen glaring and scowling, fire-breathing and stomping, who scared the wits out of her, was being read the riot act. 

     "Do you even know what could have happened? What were you thinking?" Zoya still continued to rage at him. 

     Asad hung his head and covered his face. "I'm sorry. I saw the blood and thought you were hurt—" 

Zoya's eyes softened.

     She touched his arm. "I'm fine, I promise." 

She looked around the room. A chair lay overturned. Shards of glass and crockery huddled together with the decimated food and drinks. The servant had called the cook and together they were trying to restore order and clean up the place as unobstrusively as possible. 

They lingered a bit longer, curious about the unfolding drama. 

     "I'm sorry Aunty, my husband doesn't usually make such a grand entrance," she said apologetically.

     Asad's face reddened. "I'm sorry," he muttered shoving his hands in his pockets.

Zoya was petrified. What if Asad's meltdown had wiped out the fragile goodwill they had just groped toward? How would this affect her relationship with Humaira now? 

     "Sorry?" she continued to yell at her overprotective husband, angry yet also understanding his frantic concern. This was Raziya Siddiqui's lair after all. And Asad had been most reluctant to agree to this meeting. He had only consented because she had compelled him. 

     "Say sorry to Aunty! You almost gave her a heart attack! Allah miyan, I still can't believe you just did that." 

     Asad turned to Raziya, and with bent gaze said a solemn sorry. "Please forgive me," he said to her.

Her heart lifted at the simple words devoid of anger. This wasn't the surly man who looked daggers at her with the daily ferocity of an avenging angel. 

     "No, please don't worry about it. I deserved it," she whispered. Dashing the tears from her eyes with her dupatta Raziya ordered the servant to bring more juice and snacks. 

     Zoya's eyes prickled. "Aunty, main bhi inki taraf se maafi maangti hoon." 

     "No!" Raziya blurted out rushing to hold Zoya's hands in her own. Tears coursed down her face. "Never say that again! Main tumhare pair ki dhool ke bhi layak nahin hoon. Please, let's just forget about it." She poured out the juice that the servant had just carried in. "Sit. Here, have this. Your Abbu told me that you like this. We had it specially made for you." 

     Zoya made a face, "Abbu thinks that I like it, but I really don't!" Raziya looked dazed and glanced at Asad in mute confusion; he shook his head. 

     "She passes it on to me," he said.

     "Then have some water," Raziya insisted after recovering her poise. "So many tears, what if you get dehydrated? It's not right in your condition." 

Dutifully, Zoya had some water. And a bowl of cut fruits that Raziya wouldn't let her leave without.

Before they left, she pressed some money into Zoya's hand. Then removing the pearl ring, Raziya slipped it on Zoya's finger.

     Through tears she said, "Humaira always said she would wear this ring at her nikaah. Now all she has to do is ask her Baaji."

 

Her mother's and Ayaan's fears were indeed well-founded. 

Humaira had sub-consciously made the decision to postpone her wedding. God knows when, but she had promised herself, that just like the lost sister who lived in a permanent limbo, who had walked in the blistering sun while she rested in the shade, she too would walk in her lonely footsteps till they were united. 

No nikaah, no nothing. 

She had cried bitterly once her conscious mind had figured out this terrible alternative.

Ayaan! her broken heart had screamed. 

But once done, she stuck firm to this vow. 

In her own way, she had tried to expedite the investigation. Every day she enquired of her father of the progress on the case. She had already poked around in old albums in the storeroom for clues. 

Today she planned to invade Abbu's study. Each book was flipped through for any scrap of paper, or photograph, or address ... 

But two hours later, she had found nothing. Just dust, and bitter remorse that made her fingertips and eyes gritty. 

In desperation she even went to the room that Tanveer had been living in. 

This was the first time she had entered this room since her return back home. She wouldn't step into this monster's room who had tried to hurt Zoya Bhabhi, not once, but twice! 

Instinctively, her hand lifted. Her shoulders and biceps were more toned now, thanks to all the angst-burning taekwondo. Humaira was the fastest learner amongst them all. All her misery and self-recrimination was channeled and honed into a fierce tunnel vision of flying limbs and war cries. And the edge of her hand was now at the ready to strike a sharp blow. If Tanveer ever came before her, Humaira thought for the hundredth time, she's dead meat.  

She didn't expect to find much here. Maybe she had come here to sniff the enemy's scent. Maybe she was that bloodhound who is given a token whiff of the quarry before it sets off determinedly to pick the trail. 

That woman had taken all her belongings with her. Thank god! But maybe she'd left something incriminating behind. Humaira rooted through the closet and then the magazines by the bedside table. 

Listlessly, she looked through the drawers on the nightstand. A picture frame had been tucked away in the corner. Eagerly, she pulled it out only to be disappointed. It was an old, crackled, black and white print of some young men in traditional clothing. She looked closer. Wasn't one of the men on the right, Abbu? 

Humaira put it away, dejected. Abbu! She screamed silently, why aren't you doing more to find her? 

 

Humaira looked at the time. It was time for Ammi's medicines. Mrs. M. had left some weeks ago and Humaira had taken over administering the meds and keeping tabs on doctors' appointments and follow-ups. She took up a tray of food and Ammi's insulin injection. But Ammi was in the restroom. Humaira put the tray on the bed and sat down heavily, deep in thought. 

She looked around the room, heartsore and emotionally drained. 

Abbu's copy of the Quran was sitting unevenly across the nightstand. She moved to straighten it. But then she picked it up to casually leaf through it hoping for inspiration and strength. Please Allah! Please keep her safe and lead her to us. 

Something fluttered out. 

She bent to retrieve it and turned the stiff paper around. 

A photograph. 

Humaira gasped. 

It was from the photoshoot. A portrait of her and Zoya Bhabhi? 

Her eyes widened; her heart thundered. 

The door to the bathroom opened, and she hurriedly slipped the picture back into the holy book. 

     "Ammi, your food and medicines," Humaira said and dashed off to her room. 

From her closet she removed and held the music box to her cheek. 

Tears fell from her eyes splashing on to the music box: one of a pair, a cherished and shared inheritance whose partner nestled in the Khan home on a bedside table. Smiling through her tears, she opened it to let the melody wash over her, its chords braiding through her heartstrings. And her sister's. 

Thank you Allah miyan for answering all my prayers!  

She jerked hearing her phone ring. 

Abbu.

Humaira wiped her tears. 

     "Beta, can you come to my office? I have something important to discuss with you."

  

When she entered the office, Humaira saw Abbu walk towards her holding his arms out. But it was the person behind him that she ran to. 

Humaira fell into Zoya's arms, sobbing.

     "Aapi," she cried. "I always wanted it to be you!"

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012): "Abhi, Mujhme Kahin"


	89. Kitne Dino Se, Yeh Asmaan Bhi, Soya Nahi Hai, Isko Sula De

 

Before telling Humaira, Siddiqui first wanted to talk to Anwar and Zeenat, and then Rashid and Shireen. There were many wrongs to right. And he wanted a fresh start; a clear conscience wasn't completely possible since Zoya and Asad had firmly closed the door on the dreadful events from eighteen years ago. 

Neither was an easy conversation. 

Owning up to being a delinquent father was the easiest part, however. It had been harder to thank the man and woman who had raised his daughter as their own. 

He felt awful. 

He didn't want them to think that he was staking his claim just because he was her biological father.

     "She is still your daughter. Still Zoya Farooqui," he had wept. "I am just blessed that she has forgiven me and chosen to include me in her life. I don't deserve her." 

Even Anwar sobbed. But at least now the resentment he had felt when he'd first heard of this man, ebbed. 

     "Jab se hosh sambhala hai, it's been her heart's desire to find her Abbu." Anwar said softly. "And now I'm happy that she has you." 

     "Shukriya," Siddiqui said penitently. He also meant it as a heartfelt thank you for all the years Zoya had found love and strength with these people while her own father lived an oblivious life, unblessed and godless.

 

Shireen too had wept. Next to her, Raziya hid her face in her dupatta and sobbed for her crimes—both the ones acknowledged and concealed.

     "My selfishness and malice muddied your paak rishta with your munh bole Bhaijaan. Don't hold my sins against my daughter though," she begged. "She's always been pure-hearted and has always loved Ayaan. Meri wajah se she was delaying getting married. She's right to be ashamed of me." She completely broke down then and Shireen held her by her shoulders.

     "Bhabhi, bachhon ka dil saaf hai, let them show us the way by their innocence and goodness. And we've always loved Humaira as our own." 

     "Bachhon ke saaf dil se ek aur baat judi hai," Siddiqui told them, wiping his own eyes. 

Telling them about Zoya elicited gasps and tears of joy from Rashid, Badi Bi and Shireen. Somehow he sensed that knowing Humaira was related to Zoya made her even more cherished in their eyes.

And for that he was grateful. 

In finding his older daughter, he'd negotiated redemption for his younger daughter. Because Humaira's destiny was to no longer be recognized by her doomed parents' name; she would, from now on, be only Zoya's sister.

 

Eyes moist, Asad and Siddiqui watched the sisters cling to each other as they caressed and kissed each other's faces.

Zoya rained kisses on her eyelids and cheeks.

     "I'm so happy," she kept whispering. "I love you so much, Humaira." 

Humaira cried harder. 

Siddiqui stepped up to hug his daughters tight to him, fondly tucking their heads under his chin. 

More indebted tears rolled down his own craggy cheeks. 

Everything was finally all right.

The three of them stood like that for what seemed like forever. 

     "Umm Humaira, munna?" 

     "Yes Aapi?" Humaira sniffed. 

     "Can we sit and hug? My feet are killing me!" Zoya moaned. 

     Humaira giggled. "OK, and I'll massage your feet for you."

Asad walked over to offer Zoya his handkerchief; she took it gratefully.

Humaira looked up at him with streaming eyes.

     "Bhaijaan?"

     He grinned down at her and stroked her head. "I've always wondered what it would be like to be called Jeeju." 

     "Jeeju!" she cried as she rushed into his arms. Nearly knocked off his feet Asad laughed as he held her.

Zoya and her Abbu looked on, arms around each other. They knew the questions would come. But right now, each wanted the moment to last forever. 

Humaira wiped her eyes and they collided with Zoya's. Smiling, she flew back into her sister's waiting arms. 

     "Abbu! I'm going to be a Khala!" She crowed as her eyes locked with her father's. 

     "And I'll be a Nana," her Abbu boasted. 

Humaira led Zoya to the sofa and settled her in. She sank at her Aapi's feet and hugged her knees. Her hands massaged Zoya's calves.

     "How did you know?" Zoya was dying to know. 

     "I willed it into being you," Humaira stated simply, looking up into Zoya's face. "Ever since I found out I have an older sister, I've wanted it to be you. I prayed so hard, that Allah gave you to me!" She murmured softly, "kehte hain na, kisi cheez ko poori shiddat se chaaho toh' ... something ..." 

     " 'Toh poori kaynaat tumhe ussey milane ki koshish mein jut jaati hai.' " Asad completed the quote, looking deep into Zoya's eyes. 

     "Exactly!" beamed Humaira. "So shiddat plus kaynaat and koshish, equals you—the best Aapi I could have asked for!" 

Zoya bent to kiss her on the head and grip her fingers. Humaira saw the ring and her eyes teared again. She dropped a kiss on Zoya's beringed finger and held her sister's hand to her cheek. 

Her heart was full, her world complete. 

Ammi's acceptance of Aapi made this union even more perfect. It meant that she was making a sincere effort; Humaira knew how much she loved this ring. And it was as if Aapi wearing the ring sanctified Ammi's past, and pardoned her sins. 

Now, may be even she could think of forgiving Ammi. 

     "Abbu," Humaira said as she wiped her face. "We'll go to the Dargah after this to give thanks for finding Aapi!"

Siddiqui too came to sit by them. Asad leaned back against the desk, arms crossed. 

Every one looked at Humaira. 

And she looked back at each of them.

     "What?" she asked finally, self-conscious all of a sudden. 

     "Don't you want to know how all this happened?" her father asked. 

     "No," she stated emphatically, lifting her chin. "I don't care about the how or when! Does it even matter?" She squeezed Zoya's hand and their fingers interlaced. "All I care about is spending as much time as possible with you. And holding my niece or nephew when the baby comes." 

     Zoya cupped her face in her hands, "and changing diapers?"

     "I'll be the best diaper-changer in the world!" Humaira promised solemnly.

     "Only second to your Jeeju of course," Zoya countered with confidence. "In fact, before anyone can change diapers, your Jeeju will give classes on the correct technique, 90 degree angles and military precision of the folds!"

     "Even I'll take that class," their Abbu pledged. 

Everyone laughed. 

     "But before changing diapers, will you let us plan for your nikaah with Ayaan?" Zoya still held her face.

     "But Aapi I want to spend more time with you!" Humaira protested. 

     "Who says nikaah ke baad you won't be able to spend time with me? When your Jeeju and Raabert are at work, you'll be with me. And when the baby comes, in the mornings you can be Khala and in the evenings, Chachi!"

Humaira blushed and nodded shyly as her Abbu laughed and Jeeju nodded with approval. 

     "Give it up Humaira," Asad teased. "I don't think anyone's been able to say no to your Aapi. Believe me, I tried!" 

 

Raziya cringed. 

Idiot! 

Why did you have to mention Humaira's nikaah to Zoya as she was leaving? What if Zoya thinks that that's the only reason why I agreed to the reconciliation? 

She fretted. She hadn't meant it in that way. She didn't want Zoya to think that she held Zoya responsible for the hold up to Humaira's nikaah. 

She decided to text her. 

Her hand hovered over the screen of her phone. What would she say without sounding stupid or insincere?  

     "I wanted you to know that I—" 

She erased the message. 

     "Please ignore" 

She backspaced that too.

Raziya flung the phone away in frustration and then hurriedly picked it up and punched in Zoya's number before she overthought it too much.

     "Beta, it's me." She paused. "I'm so embarrassed," she started.

She smiled hearing Zoya's voice on the other side telling her to stop being ridiculous.

     "I'm more embarrassed, Aunty. I still can't believe that Mr. Khan did that!" 

     "Nahin! I forbid you to even think about it any more. I'm sorry that I pretended to be Raqeeba. I saw you at the clinic that day and couldn't help myself. I knew I couldn't appear before you as myself." 

     "Aunty, I am very happy that I met Raqeeba Aunty. She helped me out at a time when I needed to sound and sort out some jumbled thinking. And Mr. Khan told me that it was you who sent him the information on Tanveer that led to her arrest. Thank you for that!"

Raziya was mortified. 

The pain sharpened. Old abscesses oozed. 

Here was yet another sin of hers stabbing her in the heart. In myopic arrogance and malice, she had brought Tanveer to this town and unleashed an endless cycle of venom. Yet again, in trying to salvage one self-created crisis, she had freed an evil jinn that swept up everything good into a whirlwind of malevolence with Zoya at the unfortunate epicenter of it all. 

Tanveer had harmed Zoya more than once. 

And Humaira. 

Raziya bristled with anger at that tramp. 

But it all ebbed away to be replaced by profound shame.

Her own offense was graver. She had not only robbed Zoya of one parent, but two. And she had kept her away from her Abbu not once, but twice.

     Her voice quavered. "Zoya, I was the one who brought that woman here. I will never be worthy of your forgiveness. Kaash, maine pehle hi rishton ki ehmiyat samajh li hoti." 

     "Aunty, you promised that you wouldn't bring it all up again." Zoya pouted. "As it is, you are maaroing one of Mr. Khan's favorite dialogues from when he used to be constantly mad at me!"

     "What do you mean?" Raziya asked, wiping her eyes with her dupatta. 

     "Aapko pata nahin hai, Mr. Khan and I never got along when I first came here. He always disapproved of the way I dressed and everything I did. He used to say every second day," and Zoya changed the tenor of her voice, " 'Ms. Farooqui, aapko rishton ki ehmiyat nahin pata hai!' "

Raziya laughed.

     "But you cleared his misconceptions! Tumhare liye rishte hi sabse zyada ehmiyat rakhte hain," she said softly. "Aur maine tumhe apne sabse kareebi rishton se mehroom rakha." 

     "Aunty, I'm hanging up if that's all you are going to talk about." Zoya whispered. 

     "OK, OK, ya Allah! Yeh Ladki." Raziya cleared her throat. "Accha suno, I called because I didn't want you to think that I'm behaving myself only for Humaira's sake. Yes, I would like her to get married and be as happy as you, but—"

     "Aunty, please! I know it already. And I have to go now. I have so much stuff to do before everyone comes tonight. Accha main rakhti hoon, bye!" 

Raziya looked at her phone, dazed, and then shook her head. 

What was this girl? 

She looked at the time. 

Ya Allah! There was so much to do!

 

     "Go to the terrace," Zoya urged Ayaan. "I'll send her up in a few minutes." 

     "Why?" He quizzed stubbornly, eyebrows drawn together. "I can take her up there myself." 

     "Allah miyan what's wrong with you, Raabert! Stop being so unromantic! It'll be a surprise for her, that's why! Don't you want to re-propose to her so that we can get the nikaah back on track?" 

     His eyes gleamed. "Saali darling, you're the best! I'm on it!" He pounded up the stairs two-three steps at a time. 

At the landing he gave her a manic thumbs up. 

Clowns! Asad muttered to himself, shaking his head, as he watched them conspire and be pyaar ka farishtas. 

He was feeling blue and out of sorts. 

And watching these two yuk it up was just fresh salt on his wounds. With a supremely happy Zoya, and a hellion Ayaan in stealthy collaboration, there was no telling what plans would hatch next, and which merry schemes might derail sanity and logic. 

Thank god, Omar wasn't— 

He looked guiltily at Najma. 

Poor kid! Asad knew she was missing him terribly. They had all just facetimed with Omar, and Asad had caught the twin expressions of pain that had flashed across both their faces. It only passed when the girls gushed and thanked Omar for the gifts he'd ordered and had delivered for them; he glowed then. 

Thank god! If he had to stay away from for even a night— 

Asad swore under his breath.

  

     "Please stop staring at me," she said shyly. Humaira had come up only because Aapi had said that she'd left her phone up here. And Ayaan had grabbed her after closing the door behind her.

     "I can't help it," Ayaan said as he pulled her close. "Having an older sister must suit you, you look divine!" 

     "I'm just so happy!" Humaira whispered, throwing her head back and arms out.

     "I know, it shows. Will you make me a happy man today?" 

     "Ayaan, what're you talking about?" she asked suspiciously. 

     Hooking a finger under her chin, he brushed her lips with his, "will you finally marry me now? I know you've been reluctant to talk about the nikaah for so long. But now everything's OK, right?" 

     "I was always going to marry you. Since I was in the fourth class and you cracked your head open trying to run away with my favorite doll." 

     "When?" 

     "I just told you, when I was around ten. You must have been a little over thirteen." She smoothed his hair and traced his jaw with a finger. 

Aapi must have been twelve around that time. 

In New York; so far away from her. 

Had she been here, she'd have wrestled the doll away from Ayaan, pulled his unruly hair, and returned it to her younger sister after yelling at him: Allah miyan, what's wrong with you!

     "No, I mean when will you marry me? Don't make me wait any more," Ayaan groaned, molding her to him. 

     Humaira took a deep breath, "give me at least three months."

     "No! Why not the same day as Nikhat and Feroze?" 

"Because I want to spend more time getting to know Aapi. You've had all your life with Bhai— no I mean Jeeju and the girls, I just got a brand new sister! I have a million questions for her, I want to know everything about her life in New York, and I want to spoil her as the pregnancy progresses. I have to make up for years of sleepovers, makeovers, midnight gossip, borrowed clothes, pillow fights ..." She sighed as she ran out of breath.

     "But Humaira, why can't you do all that after we're married?"

     "No, I just want it to be Aapi and me time. I want to be spoiled rotten by my Jeeju, I want to go crazy preparing for my neice or nephew's arrival."

     "But jaan, she's married. Do you think Bhai will be too pleased about sharing Mona darling?"

     "He'll have to! I'm his only saali."

     Ayaan sighed moodily. Humaira pressed her lips to his cheek. "Please Ayaan, for me!"

     "Two months?" he asked hopefully. 

     "... OK."

Ayaan whooped, and she laughed as he lifted her up to spin her around in circles. She stopped only when he put her down and swooped to kiss her breath away.

     "Who knows," he joked later. "We could make a little sister or brother for Bhai and Mona darling's kid!" 

     "Ayaan! I'm not having kids the first two years of our marriage," she asserted.

     "Fine," he countered. "But we'll keep trying not to have kids right?"

     "Ayaan!" She blushed and struggled to free herself.

He clasped her tight to him till all the fight drained out of her and she melted against him. 

 

As the night wore on, Asad glowered more and more at anyone who dared look at him.

The girls were going to have a sleepover at the Siddiqui house at Humaira's insistence, and he hadn't been able to say no to all those bright eyes pleading with him to say yes. But spending just a few hours away from Zoya was going to keep him up all night. 

Moodily he wondered how Najma and Omar did it and got through the days. 

He sighed as he wandered over to crash on the sofa next to Abbu.

     "Another one bites the dust," Rashid commented, immensely happy with himself.

Asad nodded. He knew his father was talking about Nikhat, but right now he felt too dust-bitten and beaten to respond. He couldn't decide whether he should be happy for the time here with Zoya, who was just too busy being a social butterfly and queen bee rolled into one, or angry that the night just never seemed to end, and would be even longer in an empty bed. 

Everyone's obvious glee around him only made him crankier.

 

Rashid's house was a zoo. 

Nikhat and Feroze's engagement ceremony had just concluded; giddy congratulations, blessings and duas were still being tossed around like belated confetti. The blushing lovebirds were surrounded by teasing cousins and raucous siblings. They'd just been force-fed phirni since the moniker FerNi had caught on like fire. Feroze's Ammi was entertaining everyone; his father was beaming.

In contrast, Najma and her mother-in-law were tucked away in a quiet corner trading Omar stories.

He had prevailed upon his mother to attend the engagement and wedding and stay back to be with Najma—as a proxy for him. Hana had come armed with gifts, cards, letters and DVDs of childhood pictures, class projects and videos. Barely left with any room in her bag for her stuff, her son had flippantly advised her: "So what? Buy the latest fashion sarees and jewelry in India! Najma will help you. It'll give you even more time together."

     "He's this close to quitting his job," she'd told Najma the moment she landed at the airport two days ago.  

And Najma had burst into tears. 

     "Na beta," her mother-in-law hugged her. "He'll kill me if he found out I made you cry as soon as I landed."

     "Ammi don't say that!" Najma protested. 

     "I mean it!" She had continued to tease her bahu. "I've been given strict instructions on what to do everyday of my visit. There's even a list he's emailed me. I promise!" 

Najma had begged to see that list and laughed and cried to see some of the items on it: Ammi had been instructed to take her bahu out for a movie or three, a spa date and mani-pedis. A day was to be set aside for watching home made videos when they finally tired from all the shopping. Then his mother was supposed to cart back DVDs and momentoes from Najma's pre-marital life, or LBO, as he teased Najma: life before Omar.

Najma told her saas about how every morning and evening she saw her husband prepare breakfast and dinner for himself while they chatted. She was pleasantly surprised to find out that Omar was pretty adept in the kitchen. 

Nice job Ammi!

     "Make sure you keep him on his toes even when you come to the US. In fact make him responsible for the cooking on the weekends," Omar's Ammi had advised her shocked bahu. 

     "He sent me a list too," Najma shared shyly. "I'm supposed to pamper you. It'll all begin with taking you to the Dargah and showing you where we tied strings together for the first time. Then the lake where he proposed," she added, her face a fiery red.

     "I'll bring my bahu too," Feroze's mom had interjected. "Phir hum dono saas mil ke inn bahuon ki band bajaenge!"

     "Naz!" Her sister reprimanded her. "Kabhi toh serious ho jaya karo." 

     "Please, serious hoongi apne jaanaze pe! As it is you're serious enough for the whole family."

     Her sister looked at her patiently. "If I wasn't serious and sensible enough, tum kahin jail main band baja rahi hoti'n!" 

Both Najma and Nikhat had gasped in alarm. 

     "Come girls, let me tell you about Naz and her rangeen duniya," Omar's mom said, linking her arm with her sister's. 

     "Yes girls, come," Feroze's Ammi parried as they continued on to the airport parking lot. "It's much better than Hana's sangeen duniya!"

     "Naz, must you always have the last word?" 

     "Why do you think I was born after you? To have the last word! And to add color to Abba Ammi's black and white world." Usually older siblings teased younger ones about being unwanted, found on a trash heap, or being adopted. But Naz had hijacked that narrative a long time ago. In her world, she was born, exactly eleven months later, because their parents were in a hurry to have a real baby, not a boring holier-than-thou angel. 

     "Ya Allah!" The discussion grew fiercer on the way to the Dargah. "I thought I'd have some peace when you got married. But then Omar was born. I've always wondered if he's a mini you." 

     "Just like Feroze is a mini you! You did some tona totka like that vamp in that show."

     "Uff! Your ridiculous shows! Which show? What vamp? Zaroor, you must have caught sight of yourself in the mirror!" Hana said. 

She smiled serenely at her sister's open-mouthed speechlessness. Only she could keep a leash on Naz once in a while. 

In the backseat the girls sniggered. All of Najma's melancholy had evaporated. 

Ammi was right. 

Naz Khala did have a lot of Omar in her. 

But that put down was Mashallah! Khala was still recovering. 

 

Shireen and Dilshad had also decided to join them for the Dargah, along with Zoya and Humaira. 

     "This is the Bhopal saas-bahu express and that one's the US saas-bahu express," Zoya joked in their car. 

     "Haye Dilshad, why do our girls have to go so far away?" Shireen protested. "Itne pyaar se ladkiyon ko bada karo, only to give them away to complete strangers. Uppar se, to go so far away! Bahut ghalat baat hai."

Dilshad nodded in agreement. Najma's impending departure, even if months from now, creeped upon her once in a while and left her heartsore. But at least the sisters would be together, even if thousands of miles across the vast country. 

     "But Chhoti Ammi, don't worry," Zoya tried to cheer them up. "You have two new daughters in exchange!" 

     "That's true," Shireen said, feeling much better now. 

     "Ammi, remember we have to pick up mangoes later." Zoya had fallen in love with Indian mangoes. Mexican mangoes in the US were good; but the Indian mangoes were just M.A.! 

Must be the baby, she wondered for the fortieth time. It was, after all, one of the few foods she could keep down without fleeing to the nearest restroom. She was convinced that the baby would be Indian with a vengeance!

   

     "Jaldi karo Ammi, you'll make us late!" Ayaan nagged his mother for the fifteenth time.

The excitement was making him bounce off the walls.

     "Mona darling, you always have the best ideas!"

The girls too jostled around, chatting and squealing, eager to set off. 

Finally, Zoya had her heart's desire. 

Or at least one of her heart's desires. 

The cricket match was yet to happen, but everyone had loved the idea of camping out to catch the meteor shower after the engagement ceremony. And everybody would have been on their way too, but for the fussing mother brigade. While dinner was done, the Ammis still bustled around to put together snacks and paper supplies, achars and chutneys, drinks and everything else needed to feed an army. 

For a month. 

The servants had already made multiple trips to load up the cars.

Asad groaned again in frustration. 

Ayaan riding herd on everyone meant that they all would leave too soon. He had hoped that everyone would linger, slowed down by the food coma. Leaving late would delay them at the hilltop to watch the shower. With half the night spent oohing and aahing at falling stars, the sleepover would surely be cancelled. Or postponed. But no. 

He frowned at his brother. 

Ayaan's euphoria was a serious dash mein bamboo. 

Incredibly foolish! 

 

Zoya hid a smile as she watched her husband scowl mutinously. Being a generous and bindaas Jeeju was turning out to be hard for her Jahanpanah. She sidled up to him and slipped her hand in his for comfort. He crushed her fingers to avenge her treason. 

     "Ouch!" she hissed. 

He blushed as heads turned. And got even madder at his wife's continued betrayal. She seemed gung ho enough to spend a night away from him.

Fine!

Asad stalked off to wait by the cars now being loaded with mats and dhurries, and shawls and blankets.

He missed Zoya's downcast eyes. 

Asad pretended to be interested in Ayaan who was supervising the loading of his telescope that Bhai had given him just last year. 

Zoya sighed, miserable at her husband's sulky rejection.

     But she smiled when Humaira came and hugged her from behind. "Aapi, it's going to be so much fun," she gushed.

 

And it was. 

But not if you asked Asad.

It was one of the longest nights of his life, half of which he spent seething with martyred indignation.

 

In the middle of his presentation two days later, a mellower Asad casually slipped a hand in his pocket and felt something silky brush against his fingers. Puzzled, he pulled it out and blushed furiously, immediately stuffing it back into his pocket. 

He should have known better.

His wife was out to get him. 

Not a minute's peace. Just trouble with a capital T.

She may have forgiven him for being a cad on the meteor shower night, but her revenge wasn't done.

Her text a little later simply stated: thanks for the memories Jahanpanah! Loved your gift. Hope you liked mine!

He shook his head. One of these days she really was going to get him into trouble! Asad rubbed his wrist ruefully. 

The red welt on the inside made him smile. And blush,

Asad couldn't help thinking of last night: the night of their making up; the night of her homecoming.

She had worn his gift to her; his breath had caught. 

Hair over a bare shoulder she had looked at him, sultry and smoky.

He hadn't seen her in nearly 24 hours!

Asad's hungry gaze had travelled from the spaghetti strings that tied behind her neck, down the peek-a-boo lace and silk sarong-style concoction that hugged her body and swirled around her ankles. Her feet were clad in matching feather high-heeled mules in the palest pink. As she slow-walked toward him, a bare leg peaked from the delectably parting folds. 

     "You remembered," Zoya said shyly, eyes luminous. 

     Taking her hands in his, he'd kissed the tops of both, "I never forgot. And I'm sorry for being such a bear." Asad replied. 

Turning her back to him he'd rained contrite open-mouthed kisses on her naked back.

     "You smell and feel so good," he groaned. "Zoya, I missed you so much! Never leave me again!" His hands had traced her body through the wanton lace as if he hadn't touched her in ages. Impatient fingers and thumbs had drawn lazy circles. 

Her sighs and hisses had filled the room. 

His hands became bolder, resenting the sheer barrier warmed by her body heat. They snaked under the lace panels to part the draped silk. His fingers stroked and strummed her arching body.

     "I missed you too," she moaned leaning into him. 

He repeated a favorite couplet at her ear. Goosebumps flared across her skin. 

     "When someone quotes the old poetic image

     About clouds gradually uncovering the moon,

     Slowly loosen knot by knot the strings of your robe.

     Like this." 

Her breath had hitched.

One tug at the silk ties at her neck, and the blushing fabric had pooled at her feet. 

Zoya had laughed huskily.  

     "Jahanpanah, for something that you special-ordered, paid a fortune for, and surprised me with, shouldn't I have worn it just a little bit longer?"

     Lips at her throat and hands everywhere kneading her to him, Asad murmured, setting her blood on fire, "I saw your face even before I saw you looking at this in the gift shop window. For nights after, I imagined you in it, and fifty different ways of how I would get you out if it. When I saw you blush, I knew you were thinking the same." 

     His teeth rapsed along the slender column of her neck, "it's stayed on long enough!"

     "Oh god, Asad, don't remind me of that time!" Zoya pleaded.

 

In the late afternoon when she'd returned from the sleepover, she'd spied a giftbox on the bed, wrapped with a wide silk bow. 

A single long-stemmed red rose lay on top, a virgin on the bridal bed.

The moment Zoya had undone the packaging and seen this wisp of a thing nestled in the tissue, her eyes had stung bringing back memories from a time long past. 

Her fingers skimmed over the fabric. She missed him so much! 

They had just barely exchanged a text or word all night. She knew he was still unhappy about the nightlong separation.

 

Zoya had held the negligee to her cheek and re-read his note: "Get all the sleep you need before I return, because you're not sleeping tonight. I'll be late. Dinner with a client. 

P.S. I saw you looking at this that day in Agra. I've wanted you to wear it for me ever since."

 

Hugging the gown, Zoya sank back into the bed, tired and mush. 

     "Asad," she moaned as she curled into herself. 

She remembered those days of blistering grief!

And shuddered. 

All the torment from that first trip to Agra resurfaced. 

On their way in to the restaurant for dinner at the Oberoi hotel, they had passed various boutiques with exquisitely appointed window displays. Some young girls were giggling and whispering in front of the La Perla display. When they dispersed, Zoya saw what they were looking at: A headless mannequin was posed draped in exactly this gown. 

She had blushed imagining herself in it, and then out of it. 

Just for him. 

     But then she had blanched in pain when Najma giggled and whispered in her ear, "may be I should tell Ammi to buy something for Tanveer from here for the honeymoon!" 

Zoya had ducked her head, cross with herself. When she had prayed at the gravesite of the two royal lovers at the Taj, Zoya thought that her acceptance of an unrequited love's fate would numb, if not reduce the pain. 

But Najma's words had sickened her to her stomach. 

The pain had slammed her, wave after wave. Dinner had been an ordeal of forcing down food that her constricted throat refused to swallow, and haunted eyes that begged teary release.

 

She didn't know that Asad had seen her face then. He was waiting for them a little ahead having peeled past the shopfront at a brisk clip. Later, on his own, he had retraced their steps to see what it was that had arrested Zoya's attention, making her blush first, and then turn paperwhite with pain.

She didn't know that he too had felt the twin emotions of searing lust followed closely on its heels by piercing anguish and loss. 

 

For their honeymoon they'd stayed at the same hotel and he'd gone to buy that negligee. They didn't have any more left. Only the display piece was available at a discounted price, would he like to buy that? 

He'd grimaced. 

No! Not the display that so many hands must have touched and eyes leered at. It had taken long enough because the style had been discontinued, but they had specially re-ordered it from somewhere in Europe, and delivered it to his office the other day. Asad hadn't wanted it delivered at home. If Zoya opened the package in front of everyone, then he'd have to probably relocate to another city. 

He would never be able to look at Ammi and Najma!

Asad had snuck it into the house in a non-descript paper bag and left it on the bed for her that morning as a welcome home gift. And as an apology.

 

Last night, hands still exploring her dewy warmth, Asad had bent on his knees to tug at the g-string tied with tiny bows low at her waist. 

With his teeth. 

Zoya had gasped in surrender.

Those teeth had then skittered across the bare skin of her undulating hips. He'd turned her to face him and tugged the strings off on the other side. That silky scrap, that now sat steaming in his pocket, too had blushed to her feet.

Her fingers had clutched his hair in anticipation. 

He'd dipped his tongue to taste her. Then tease her. With his thumb he'd stroked her, lifted her nub's hood and dipped his head to lick her her again.

Zoya had keened, all former heartache and separation long forgotten.

 

     "Even then, that first time in Agra, I thought of doing this," he'd drawled between nips and firm licks. And then a deep tug to suck hard ...

Zoya jerked and swayed, molten and satiny. 

Her brain barely registered his words. It was only focused on the sensuously darting tongue that brazenly parried and thrusted, branding her, healing her.

     "But then I also imagined making love to you without removing either of these. That night too was sleepless. I would have parted the gown with my hands and steadied your bucking hips. 

     Like this. 

     And I would have parted your legs ..."

     He'd found her sweet oh-my-god-yes-yes! spot. 

     " ... Like this." 

And she had gone crazy.

 

     Later, she'd told him, "I went down to buy that gown on our second visit to Agra. But they didn't have it. I made up for it by buying these!" Zoya had triumphantly swung the matching feathered handcuffs on her finger. But with the assault on them at the Taj the next day, she had completely forgotten about this little toy.

But last night she'd had such fun with him in those! Hands tied behind his back he had begged for mercy. Being blindfolded by the silk strap that had earlier held the gift box together only intensified the sensory overload. 

When she moved in for the kill, he had completely lost his head.

     "Zoya, please!" he'd implored to no avail. 

He had strained against his restraints, his own hips bucking and vaulting at her skilled ministrations. Her tongue too had punished and lashed him and then tugged deep ... 

When she eventually did release him, because she found it equally unbearable to not feel his hands on her, he'd ripped off the blindfold, grabbed her by her hair to sink his teeth into the crook between her neck and shoulder as he took her. He had intended to discipline her, but c'mon, it was really to muffle his hoarse cry. 

Because if he didn't— 

He wouldn't be able to face Ammi or Najma the next day.

     "Welcome home!" Asad intoned as she crested again in his arms, slick with spent passion. "No more sleepovers for a long, long time," he'd threatened weakly, still breathless.

 

Zoya had laughed at that. When she was able to catch her breath again, that is.

She'd remembered Feroze's mom's comment from the night before at the meteor shower. A crestfallen Asad, in one last ditch effort, had tried to convince everyone that Zoya was too tired for the sleepover and needed her rest. Even his mother hadn't come to his rescue!

And his protests had been easily dismissed by the girls. 

     "Bhaijaan, we promise we'll let Bhabhi sleep well," Nuzzhat had affirmed.

     "Yes, Jeeju, I promise, she'll be well-rested when she returns home," Humaira vowed. 

Asad had sighed in defeat. He tried one more tack. 

     "But she always gets sick in the morning and—"

     "So what?" Feroze's mom had butted in. "The girls will take good care of her. Unless you think there's something special that only the baby's daddy can do!" 

After a second's pause everyone had roared with laughter and Asad had perished of embarrassment. Luckily the night hid his reddened face, more tamatar than his sister's. 

     "Ammi!" 

     "Naz!"

Both Feroze and Omar's mom had tried to scold her, but their feeble reprimands were lost amidst the guffaws.

Just shoot me, he'd groaned to himself.

Asad had only breathed again when the stars started to rain around them in the next second. 

Saved by the skin of his teeth by shooting stars! 

 

Two hours later, Nikhat had called him. He'd been thrashing like a delirious castaway on an unmoored skiff tossed on an angry sea.

     He'd grabbed the phone in alarm, "Nikhat, is everything OK? Zo—!" 

     "Everything's fine Bhaijaan. But Zoya Bhabhi hasn't smiled even once since we got here," she told him softly. 

He felt mortified. 

His grouchy possessiveness was ruining her time with Humaira and the girls. Asad immediately called her. 

But only after he had pizzas delivered to the Siddiqui house from a place open 24 hours.

     "I know I'm being irrational and temperamental. I just miss you." he'd lamely excused his behavior when Zoya picked up, but said nothing. "Remember when you messed up my phone and I had to say the password a hundred times to unlock it?" 

     "Umm-hmm," she said softly as she smiled at the memory. Zoya waited for him to say that verbal password. 

But he was her Akdu after all. 

     "I won't say it till you recite that ridiculous sher," he teased. 

     Zoya laughed fully for the first time in hours that night. "No!" she protested. 

     "Please!" 

She moved away to the balcony and cupping her hand around the phone repeated that sher that had infuriated him all those months ago, but thrilled him now. 

     "Truck ke peeche bus, bus ke peeche lorry,

     Truck ke peeche bus, bus ke peeche lorry,

     Phone theek karwane se pehle, kehna padega sorry!" 

     "I'm sorry Zoya." Asad said huskily. 

     She sniffed. "I'm missing you." 

     "I miss you more. Now go and have fun. Because you're not spending another night away from me for years to come." 

     "Jo hukum Jahanpanah!" she chirped.

He heard the giggles in her voice and grinned, finally a little more at ease.

 

She'd glowed the next morning when the girls squealed in delight at the chocolate dipped strawberries and assorted pastries Asad had ordered for them for breakfast. 

They were home delivered by Ayaan and Feroze. 

 

Song in Title:

Jhoom Barabar Jhoom (2007): "Bol Na Halke Halke"


	90. Dil Kahe Sambhal Zara Khushi Ko Na Nazar Laga, Ke Dar Hai Mein To Ro Doonga

 

 

 

 

 

 

After the presentation, Asad walked to his office shaking his head ruefully, his wife's mischief still burning a hole in his pocket. He halted at the door to see Humaira moping at his desk. Her face in both her hands, she stared moodily into space. 

     Setting his laptop down he looked at her with worry. "Humaira, what happened?" 

He knew Ayaan was fine because he'd just seen him on his way in from the conference room. 

     "Is it your Aapi? Is everything OK?" 

     "Jeeju!" She burst into tears. 

     Asad knelt by her. "Did you have a fight with Ayaan? Come here. Tell your Jeeju what happened." He soothed, as he gently took her in his arms and led her to the couch. 

     She hiccupped. "I'm sorry!" 

     "What for?" He asked, puzzled.

Asad poured out a glass of water for her and pressed it into her hands.

     "I didn't mean upset you by insisting on the sleepover. I saw how sad Aapi was yesterday." She looked up at him from under her lashes as she sipped the water. 

Asad covered his face and groaned. 

     "Jeeju?" 

     "Na bachhe, I'm sorry for being such a buzzkill! I should have realized how much you both need each other. I was being jealous. I promise, I'll behave better from now on. I feel terrible for making you and your Aapi sad."

     "Jealous? Of me?" Humaira asked surprised, tears forgotten, eyebrows to her forehead. 

     "I don't know!" Asad sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "I know, it seems weird. Even I can't explain it. But it's nothing, I'll get over it." 

     "So we can have another sleepover real soon?" she asked, hands clasped hopefully. 

     "Umm, voh, actually ..." 

Humaira laughed. 

     "OK, not that soon," she kidded. Her humor fled however, to be replaced by a pensive look. 

     "Jeeju, I'm sorry for what Ammi did." 

     He hugged her sideways. "You have nothing to be sorry about. We just want you to plan for the nikaah and enjoy the rest of the time with Zoya. The honeymoon's on us. Your Aapi said something about Hawaii?" 

He laughed to see her blush and duck her head.

     "And Humaira?" 

     "Ji Jeeju?"

     "You can plan a sleepover whenever you want."

     She grinned. "You're sure?" 

     Asad chuckled, "yes. I'm not thrilled about it, but I'll survive!" 

     "This Saturday?" 

     "Umm, how about next Saturday?" 

     "Deal! And Jeeju?" She loved calling him that. 

     "Hmm?" He walked her out. Ayaan was leaning against the door looking at them quizzically. 

     "Make sure you tell Aapi that the lipstick stain on your vest is mine, or the sleepover will be happening tonight!" 

 

She had asked for a meeting at the Dargah. 

Raziya steeled herself. 

Even though Zoya and Asad hadn't said it, she knew that Dilshad knew. As averse as she was to doing this, she knew that it needed to be done. 

Humaira was truly happy. 

Raziya needed to give thanks. 

And after Zoya, she had hurt Dilshad and Rashid the most. She shuddered to think how she had threatened Najma's life. Seeing a newly-married and chanchal Najma in her house for the sleepover, made her think of Asad and Dilshad's generosity. For them to allow her and Zoya to spend the night at the Siddiqui house must have taken a special kind of strength and faith.

Raziya clawed the barely healed gash on her hand. 

Ya Allah, how many sins have I committed? Give me a chance to make things right.

This had become a daily prayer in her head.

 

Hearing the girls' giggles and chatter in her house two nights ago, made her regret her actions all over again. But the sound of their perfumed laughter and teasing, the sight of flying feathers from disemboweled pillows, the shrieks and squeals set to loud music, had all lulled her into the best sleep she'd had in a lifetime.

And that was addictive. 

She wanted it more, and more frequently. She wanted to hear the deep voices of sons-in-laws, and the cries and pitter-patter of contented and cherished babies in her house next. 

And that is why she needed to meet with Dilshad. 

They could have had this for eighteen years. She could have co-existed peaceably with Zainab, like Shireen and Dilshad. Humaira could have had her Aapi by her side all her life, just like Ayaan had Asad.

Raziya sighed.

But at least now the house that was lately shadowed by sorrow and penitence was coming alive. That night, all the girls had worn matching cotton nighties gifted to them by Raziya. She had made sure that they were full-sleeved. Even then she had shriveled up in self-disgust. A three-year old Zoya's face contorted in pain swam before her eyes.

Allah, give me a chance to make things right. 

The morning after the sleepover had been noisier and more boisterous. The girls had jumped fully-clothed into the pool and splashed everything and everyone around indiscriminately.

Siddiqui Saheb hadn't been spared either. 

He had laughed as he sat by the side, sipping his coffee prepared by Zoya. 

He later stood guard over her till she had finished her "favorite" juice. Raziya hid a grin when she saw Zoya's dismayed face.

     "It's either this, or the haldi milk," her father threatened. Zoya had gulped it down in record time.

But Raziya had spluttered in fear when she saw Zoya go into the pool and be the most playful of them all.

     "Zoya," she fussed. "Be careful," "don't do this," "don't do that," "bhaago mat, beta, farsh gila hai! " 

She couldn't help herself. What if she slipped? 

Humaira had laughed.

     "Aapi, Ammi is terrified that Jeeju will demand a full report and take her to task for not looking after you!"

She didn't understand why both her Ammi and Aapi had smacked their heads at that. 

Humaira wasn't too far from the truth! 

     Raziya had grinned sheepishly. She held up her phone and scolded Zoya, "if you don't listen, I'm calling Asad." 

And she almost did call him when the girls went to the backyard and Zoya insisted on showing off her basketball moves at the rusted hoop installed for Ayaan years ago. Raziya finally put her foot down and herded the girls inside when Zoya discovered one of Ayaan's battered skateboards and decided to demo her "mipster" attitude. 

     "What's mipster?" Nuzzhat asked trying to do what Bhabhi had just shown her. 

     Zoya giggled. "That's what we call hipster Muslims in America! You should check out this youtube video on the Mipsterz'. It's based on a Jay Z song. It's really cool!"

Raziya had let her back into the house only after closely examining her hands and feet, worried to death about contact with rusted nails and septicemia. She ordered the servants to clean up the backyard even more thoroughly. 

Petis of mangoes had been trucked in. Brunch with the boys was dominated by a mango-eating contest which Ayaan won, hands down. Except afterwards he rolled around clutching his stomach and belching up a storm. Everyone had roared when Zoya nicknamed him "Raaburp" for the rest of the day. 

Siddiqui Saheb had taken the day off from work, and just smiled benignly as he watched the girls flit from one end of the house to the other. As a surprise he had called in manicurists from a local beauty parlor. At least then, the girls stayed put in one place without Raziya following them around to make sure that nothing happened to Zoya. 

Both the parents had hung around, unashamedly eavesdropping on all the girly gossip. Their Abbu kept getting confused between Ranbir Kapoor and Ranveer Singh. His daughters repeatedly corrected him, which he didn't seem to mind one bit. 

     "But why didn't she go into badminton? We could have had a national level woman player," he had clucked in disappointment at Deepika Padukone's unfortunate career choice.

     "Abbu!" the girls had rounded on him. "How can you even say that?" 

     Raziya had to come to his rescue. "Beta, you are both missing the big picture here. Can't you see how far your Abbu has come? You should be proud of him that he's even talking of professional women's sports like this. At one time he used to frown at Sania Mirza in disapproval!" 

     "Wow!" Zoya said in belated admiration. "I never thought of that. Good job, Abbu!" 

He beamed.

 

Raziya beamed now as she relived all the cheery moments, and that's how Dilshad found her.

She smiled too.

     "Zoya ka asar aap par bhi nazar aa raha hai," she kidded. "We really missed the girls yesterday. They had a great time!" 

     "Kitni pyaari bachhi hai! Kaash ..." Her face fell. "I could have had this ... but I ruined it ..." she said. 

Raziya cleared her suddenly clogged throat. 

     "I'm sorry," she whispered through fresh tears. "Zoya ke baad, main aapki sabse badi gunehgaar hoo'n. I don't know how Zoya and Asad, and you, can bear to even look at me. I should be rotting in jail, not breathing in this fresh air, and that too at a place of worhsip." 

Dilshad looked long at children playing in the puddles outside the Dargah. Vendors loudly hawked their wares; colorful banners fluttered at the Dargah entrance. Pirs, dressed in green, waved incense and peacock feathers at pilgrims, muttering blessings and dispensing taawizes.

Dilshad sighed. 

     "I think the kids have shown remarkable maturity and compassion in all of this. Let's just follow their example. I just hope they'll find the happiness that we were unable to hang on to." 

     "Insha'allah!" intoned Raziya softly. "Ab unhi ki khushiyaan meri duaon mein har dam shaamil hain." 

Heads covered, they passed into the shrine to pay their respects and pray for everyone's well-being, especially the kids'. 

 

     "I loved your gift," he texted. "It's keeping me warm here without you."

Dissatisfied with just texting, Asad called her impulsivley.

     "Humiara was here making me feel guiltier about being a total ass about the sleepover!"

     "Aww!" Zoya sympathized. "Poor Jahanpanah, now a saali to be answerable to as well!" 

     "And a local sasur!" he kidded. 

     "Mr. Khan!" she scolded him. 

     "Was I so obvious that night?" Asad asked. "First Nikhat, and then Humaira?" He ran a sheepish hand through his hair. 

     "Maybe you weren't, but I was too transparent," she sighed. "I was dying. First, to be away from you, and then to field your sulking! But I also wanted to spend time with Humaira." 

     "She's asking for another sleepover next Saturday."

Zoya exhaled.

She had loved the sleepover, but the day after had been a blur of groggy exhaustion. When would she stop feeling this tired? The doctor had said that she'd be less tired in the second trimester. 

She couldn't wait! She had never felt this delicate or fragile before. 

She would also begin to show in the next trimester. 

... a little give, a little take. The circle of life.

But if there was another sleepover, there would be Asad's fiery temper tantrum to contend with all over again when he took on his Akdu avatar.

Zoya groaned. 

     "My thoughts exactly! I'm not happy about it." He laughed. "But I promise, I'll be good this time. Specially since I get such a nice welcome home surprise to cheer me up! And if there are to be more sleepovers, then Jahanpanah will also need a lot of attention the night before."

     "Oh really?" she bantered. 

And they phone sexed the rest of the lunch hour away.

  

Humaira glared at Ayaan as she walked out of her Jeeju's office. 

     "What?" he came bounding after her. "What did I do?" 

     "I'm never getting married," she hissed as she trotted to the parking lot. 

     "Humaira! Why?" 

     "Because then you won't let me have sleepovers too!"

His multiple texts and calls, and refusal to let her hang up on him had been cute that night. But in the light of day, it felt overbearing. Would he be jealous too, like Jeeju? 

Ayaan laughed and she got madder, itching to smack him. 

     "Humaira, babes!" He held up his hands defensively. Only he knew the sting of her hard karate chops. "Of course I'm not going to let you go for sleepovers after we're married!' he said as he blocked her knifehand strike. 

     "Ayaan! How could you?" 

He grabbed both her hands in his and twisted them behind her back. She slammed up against him; her breath hitched. 

     "Look, I've been waiting for so long to get you into my bed," he whispered in her ear. "But you keep postponing our nikaah. Why the hell will I allow you to spend a single night away from me once you're officially my begum?" His tone became more intense, more urgent; all playful flirting was gone. "I spend the nights alone now because I have to. But once we're married, every night away from you will be hell! I will NOT share you with anyone!" Ayaan held her wrists with one hand behind her and twisted her face up to him with the other, "and if you didn't feel the same way about being away from me, then I'd be mad as hell too." 

     "So I'm supposed to be miserable when I'm not with you?" 

     "Exactly!" He nuzzled her neck. "RTFM! It's right there in the manual!" Ayaan said as he nipped her earlobe. 

     She blushed, "Ayaan, stop it! People will see." But she blushed harder as she now understood her Jeeju's point of view a little better!

Maybe she'd give her Jeeju a break just this once. 

 

     "Tell me about Jhansi ki rani again," Zoya demanded out of the blue that night. 

     "Why? Me being married to one isn't enough?" Asad teased. He chuckled as she whacked his shoulder. "See what I mean? OK, OK stop pelting me!" Asad settled her in his arms, palm on her stomach. "She was the queen of Jhansi and fought fiercely against the British."

Zoya breathed in his scent. His chest rumbled just as she loved it, when she put her ear to his heart as he spoke softly. 

     "This was during the revolt of 1857. They say she fought on horseback with her son strapped to her back." 

     Zoya sighed dreamily, "you know, the baby on her back reminds me of Sacagawea. She was a native Indian woman, possibly America's first female explorer, interpreter, diplomat and everything else! She never got the credit!" Raising her face in her hand she told him with pride, "in the third grade, I gave a book report on Sacagawea and I dressed up like her with a doll on my back!"

     "Do Aapi and Jeeju have pictures of that? I'd love to see that!" Asad stroked her cheek. "You were big into dress up I hear! Sleeping Beauty and Disney princesses, and what not." 

     Zoya grinned. "My princess phase gave way to Jo March, Maria from 'Sound of Music,' and Hermione! For many Halloweens I dressed up as a pirate or a witch."

     Asad laughed. "Yeah, I can't see you as a princess, but you must have been the perfect pirate and witch!"

     "Tell me about her shield." Zoya returned to his narrative about Jhansi ki rani, not at all offended by his teasing. 

     "How many times have you heard this before?"

     "Please!" 

     "We went to Gwalior for winter break with some cousins and visited the Scindia museum. They have her shield displayed there. It weighs around 25 kgs." 

     "That's more than 50 pounds! To hold that on one arm, on horseback, and a baby strapped to your back. That's badass!" If she had known about her as a kid, she'd have loved to be Jhansi ki rani on every Halloween! 

     "And don't forget, a sword," Asad reminded her. 

     "Which must have been just as heavy! Wow! Asad?" 

     "Hmm?" 

     "When are you going to take me to all these places, Jhansi? Gwalior?" 

     "It's too hot right now!" 

     "But any later and I'll be big as a baby elephant and immobile," she pouted. 

     "Elephants aren't immobile. Don't you remember Gauri at Amer?" Asad teased and got a smack across his chest for really being wicked this time.

     "And Anarkali at Chokhidaani," Zoya reminisced softly, momentarily distracted by the painful memories. 

     "Arz kiya hai, teer-e-nazar se aashiq ghaayal ho jata hai,

     Teer-e-nazar se aashiq ghaayal ho jata hai,

     Elephant se zyada, pregnancy mein insaan immobile ho jata hai!" Asad recalibrated one of her old shers to shake her out of her sudden quiet. 

     "Mr. Khan!" Zoya really pounded him now. "I'll make this aashiq so ghaayal, he'll be immobile!" 

     "Zoya! Stop it," he laughed. Asad trapped her flailing hands in his and rested them on his chest. "This baby is going to come out fighting and karate-chopping at this rate," he joked dropping a kiss on her head. 

     "I can't wait to feel the first kick," Zoya sighed.

They heard a muffled crash somewhere in the house and sat up in alarm. Asad turned on the light.

     "Stay here," He commanded. "I'll go see what it is." 

     "But Asad, don't go like this! Take something," she looked around the room frantically. What could he arm himself with? Where's a baseball or cricket bat when you really need one? She dashed to get her purse and rummaged for the pepper spray. 

     "Here!" 

Asad looked at it and rolled his eyes. But he took it obediently when she glared at him. 

     "Call the guard and lock the door after me!" he instructed. 

 

He stepped out cautiously, closing the door softly behind him. Ammi and Najma were at the landing craning their necks to see what was up. 

     "Go back to your rooms Ammi and lock the doors. I'll check it out," he ordered. 

His heart hammered. He had seen the broken wondow. The moonlight streaming in glinted harshly off the glass shards. 

This was deliberate. 

And no commotion outside meant that the guard had been immobilized. 

The grim irony of the word hit him square in the face. 

     "Please! And call Rakesh." he whispered roughly to jolt Ammi and Najma out of their frozen state. 

They scampered upstairs.

The pepper spray in his hand mocked him. 

He duckwalked to the kitchen, keeping low behind the table and the counters. The light from the windows threw just enough of a glow to eerily illuminate the darkened house. A knife would be best. A rolling pin may be good too. Whatever he could lay his hands on, and quick! He tried to think which drawer they'd be in and how he'd open it without the slightest noise. Feeling his way around the dark, his fingers brushed against a tall bottle. 

The Roohafza bottle on the counter! 

Asad grabbed it by its neck and hefted it to feel its weight. It was nearly full. 

Good.

Stealthily, he moved toward the living room window. Body shielded behind the wall, he tried to peer out in the darkened courtyard. 

Nothing moved.

Asad crept toward the broken window and nearly yelled out as he stepped on some broken glass in his bare feet. Damn!

Feeling with his hand he tried to remove a sharp piece from the sole of his foot while still clutching the bottle in his other hand. 

A sudden movement and crunching glass underfoot startled him. Before he could turn around, someone seized his shoulders from behind to pin him in a headlock. The attacker tried to choke him, intensifying the pressure. The smell of sweat overwhelmed Asad as he gasped for breath. 

Instinctively, his elbow whipped out behind him. 

He heard a grunt as the assailant reeled, stunned from the blow to his solar plexis. Asad spun around to yank the man's neck. His knee jerked up to hit the intruder smack in his face. Hard. 

He heard a crack and knew he'd broken the man's nose.

But the attacker was stronger than he'd given him credit for. 

They grappled and thrashed around trying to get the better of each other. The bottle nearly slipped from his grip. He seemed unable to get into the right position to hit the man with it. 

More glass embedded itself in his soles.

He heard a crash and then a scream from their room. 

     "ZOYAAA!" 

A knife blade flashed. 

Asad staggered backwards to avoid being sliced at the throat. Raw anger made the blood pump in his ears. 

He had no time for this. 

He needed to get to Zoya. 

Fast.

The assailant lunged at him again. Swiftly blocking another thrust with his free hand, a well-placed knee in the groin, and Asad tackled him to swing the bottle in a wide arc, smashing it on the man's head. 

A bellow of pain, and the man went down like a pile of bricks.

The smell of Roohafza filled the room.

 

Feet bloody, Asad leaped toward the bedroom and cursed himself for telling her to lock it. He could hear a scuffle followed by Zoya's angry cries and his blood boiled even as his heart climbed up in his mouth. Asad slammed his shoulder into the door to break through. He heard more grunting sounds from the room and his panic grew. 

Sirens wailed in the distance.

He hurled himself at the door again. 

The wood splintered. 

One more shove, and it crashed open, swinging violently on its hinges. 

His eyes were wild with terror. The sight before his eyes staggered him. The lamp at her bedside table rocked violently, having being knocked on its side. The swaying light cast maniacal shadows on the wall and ceiling. 

The chairs were in disarray.

     "Zoya!" He rushed to her, nearly slipping on some mysterious pellets. His already injured feet protested. Asad gritted his teeth through the pain. 

A man in black was trying to wrench something away from Zoya's hands who huddled by her side of the bed on the floor and cussed a blue streak. 

Blinded by rage, Asad roared wildly and lunged to lay his hands on the scruff of the intruder's neck. He lifted him off her to slam him into the wall. A couple of lightning fast left hooks and furious jabs knocked most of the fight out of the prowler, disabling him. But Asad continued to punch the man in the face repeatedly till he slid down to the floor barely conscious. 

Asad wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; he dashed his hair off his forehead.

He heard her moan behind him. 

Terrifed, Asad gathered her in his arms. 

     "Zoya? Talk to me! Are you OK?" he crushed her in his arms. 

     She was sobbing. "I'm fine," Zoya hiccupped.

Asad looked at her hand. It was bloody. His own blood ran cold.

     "Asad!" Dilshad called out from the living room. 

Rakesh and two policemen rushed into the room and immediately collared the groaning culprit who was still clutching his face and whimpering.

Asad couldn't get a more coherent response from Zoya.

     "Call the doctor!" he yelled to anyone who would listen. "Zoya?" he cried, nearly blinded by tears.

     Her hand came up to cup his cheek. "I'm fine," she said. 

     "There's so much blood," he whispered, voice cracking.

     "It's not mine," she huffed, offended that he'd even think that. 

     Zoya opened her palm and held out his cricket ball. "I scattered the marbles on the floor to trip him, and then when he tried to grab me, I smashed him in the face with this! Mr. Khan! I told you that day, we should have kept your cricket bat in here too!"

And then his Jhansi ki rani promptly fainted. 

 

Within the hour, everyone had stampeded to the Khan house. 

Zoya was conscious now, unscathed, and being fussed over in her old room by the women. Asad's injuries were bandaged and iced; the men conferred at the dining table. 

Siddiqui insisted that they all regroup at his place. 

This house was unsafe till the windows and doors were fixed. He and Raziya invited them to spend at least a week with them, not brooking any dissent.

A quietly seething Asad agreed. 

It was late; everyone needed their rest, Zoya the most. 

And she would feel much better in her father's house. 

But first thing in the morning he and Rakesh were going to sit down together and figure out the how and why, and what next. 

Tanveer was still in custody. Her visitors and contacts were being closely monitored.

Then where had this attack come from?

The guard was unconscious and gravely injured. He had been taken to the nearest hospital. Rakesh's people would work all through the night to suss out most of the details of the assault: point of entry, prints, sketches, and interviews with neighbors, without getting too much in the police's way. Once the guard regained consciousness, he would be able to tell them more.

 

Asad hobbled in to check on Zoya. Humaira and Raziya cleared the space next to her and stepped out. Dilshad and Najma were packing their belongings with the help of Shireen and Nikhat. An anxious Nuzzhat had been left at home with Dadi. 

Before leaving, Humaira grinned cheekily up at him. 

     "Sleepover tonight, Jeeju! Hah, in your face!" And she did a little bhangra step. 

Asad and Zoya laughed for the first time since the blitz. A smiling and scolding Raziya dragged her away. She had already tied the taawiz from the Dargah on Zoya's arm while reciting holy words and blew the air around her head to ward off evil spirts. 

     "Asad!" Zoya cried as he sat down by her side. 

She examined his bruised knuckles and blew on them. She dropped soft kisses on both hands. Seeing his bandaged feet brought tears to her eyes. Asad held her to him, just grateful that she was fine. But she could have been seriously harmed if not for her presence of mind. Fear for her safety and bristling anger at the home invasion made his jaw clench tighter. 

     "See?" His wife patted his cheek, "we should have kept that security system I tried to install when I first came here!" 

Asad groaned remembering the disaster that had been. 

Those days Ms. Farooqui was a musibat-inviting guest, a constant thorn in his side, bent upon wreaking havoc on his sanity! She had become suspicious of Ayaan's nightly visits and used to patrol the house armed with her pepper spray. The last straw was when she tried to wire the house for a burglar alarm to protect her precious Phuphi and Tamatar. The devastation in the living room that night was comparable to the mess tonight! He had gotten entangled in the yards of wires, fallen hard on his butt, and broken another brand new phone. A phone that had replaced the earlier phone she'd commandeered and tinkered with to teach him how to say sorry! 

     "It was meant to be Mr. Khan! Just accept it," she had exulted later. "It was karma for tackling me to the floor my first night here."

He cracked a smile now. 

Irrepressible! And unparalleled, as always!

     "You're OK?" Asad asked. When she nodded yes, he teased her, "I got so scared when you fainted. Kahin aapne salute karte waqt apne aap ko behosh toh nahin kar liya? Aapka haath itna strong jo hai?"

     "Asad!" she smiled.

     Zoya cupped his face, frowning earnestly, "tell whoever is cleaning our room that I want every marble picked up and dusted, and returned to the jar by my table. I'm not leaving till that's done. And I want the ball cleaned up too and returned to me ASAP!" 

He took a deep breath and grinned.

     Bumping noses with her, he promised, "I'll get Ayaan to do it."

Her frown deepened.

     "What?" Asad asked in alarm.

     "I'm so mad at that stupid chor! Cleaning up the marbles will remove all your tiny fingerprints from when you were a kid." 

Zoya kissed each of his fingers. Pressing her head to his chest Asad closed his eyes in silent gratitude. Thank god, his wife was OK. Mental, but definitely a 100 percent OK.

 

That night they clung to each other in a strange new house and bed. Zoya wept quietly in his arms. The adrenaline had crashed and fear of what could have happened was beginning to insidiously creep into their hearts. 

Asad sucked her tears away.

     "When the baby comes, I'll tell them about the 19th Century Jhansi ki rani, and then about my 21st Century Bhopal ki rani!" 

     Zoya sniffed. "I was pretty awesome wasn't I?"

     He laughed in the dark. "The best! You kicked ass!" Asad didn't even know when he'd started to speak in Americanese.

     "Really? And then you finished him off! We are a super jodi number one!"

     "Koi shaq?" Asad gloated. 

     She rubbed herself against him, horny as heck. "Asad?" 

     "In your father's house?" he groaned, but not being able to resist nuzzling her. 

     "But everyone's upstairs. We have the whole downstairs to ourselves!"

They had been given the room down here because of Asad's injuries.

     "I'm too wired to sleep!" Zoya harrumphed.

She turned her back on him and tried to settle into a comfortable position. 

She wiggled.

And tossed. 

And turned. 

But she just couldn't feel right. 

She flipped the covers off. 

And then she pulled them back on. 

Zoya boxed her pillow trying to find the right angle to fit in the crook of her neck. 

She sighed loudly. 

Asad was wide awake through all this bed wrestling, pillow-fluffing drama. 

Finally flipping her on her back he tucked her under him, pinning her arms on top of her head. 

     "Enough!" he growled. "Stop your burrowing and tunneling."

     "Make me!" she sassed, slipping her hands under his kurta and raking his muscled back with her nails. 

     He jerked and ground against her to whisper hotly in her ear. "I guess I'll just have to do some burrowing and tunneling of my own to get you to stop!" 

     "Asad!" she gasped in shock, and then moaned, "yes, please!" 

Her back arched helplessly and her toes curled. 

They fell into a bone-deep sleep afterwards, their grateful bodies entangled and finally still.

 

     "Shit!" he swore and flung his phone away. All this planning and bold action! And nothing concrete to show for it. 

Imran paced in the tiny mezzanine barsaati he was holed up in since Asad Ahmed Khan had ruined his life. His family had slunk away to live with reluctant relatives in some podunk town. 

He'd refused to go. 

Tanveer and her cache of illicit money were here. He made do with freelance and seasonal work. Imran hadn't intended to mount the midnight attack on Asad's house.

But he had seen her. With him. 

That meteor shower night! 

Imran punched the wall and yowled in pain.

He had been there too with some drunken buddies who were more interested in ogling starry-eyed girls coming to the place in droves instead of the starfall. He had wandered off to be by himself. 

He felt discontented. 

For the thousandth time he cursed his fate. If he could wish upon a falling star, he'd ask for Asad Ahmed Khan's head on a golden platter.

It was then that he'd caught sight of a large group of happy revelers. They were dressed in their finest, as if celebrating a family function or milestone. He felt drawn to the mirth and easy camaraderie. A little closer, and he had come to a jarring halt. 

It was them! 

Imran had pushed his baseball cap lower on his head and inched closer. At the center of the group, he saw Nikhat laughing up into a young man's face. And that man looked down at her, indulgent, smitten. 

Corrosive acid lanced through Imran's gut. 

He hovered and burned. For god knows how long.

Imran saw that young man lead Nikhat away from the family. They walked, arm in arm, leaning into one another. 

He followed them, unable to stop himself.

He heard their laughter and her soft voice. Once, he even heard her say, "Feroze!" in mock-anger and unfeigned love.

He saw her run from Feroze and him chase her. She shrieked as he caught her up from behind and swung her in his arms. Imran watched through a hateful haze as Feroze bent to kiss her. On the lips! How dare—?

He spun away, furious and breathless. 

Wasn't this just the perfect bow on top of the shittiest box! 

They would pay. 

He still hadn't forgotten that phone call from Nikhat when she had hurled every known insult at him. That bitch! 

He had rustled up a couple of hooligans from his blighted neighborhood. They needed little persuasion to vandalize and terrorize the inhabitants of the Khan house. There would be only one man in the house. They could choose to do whatever with him and the women. They could walk away with whatever they could lay their grubby hands on. 

It was a rich family. It would be an easy jackpot. 

It was just his luck that the morons had messed it up! Not only had they been unsuccessful in taking his nemesis down, they had gone and got themselves nabbed by the police too. 

Thank god, he'd given them a fictitious name!

Imran gnashed his teeth. 

He'd still find a way to get even.

  

Breakfast was a riot. Asad had been nagged into taking a day off. His protests to work from home went unheard. 

Humaira threatened to confiscate his laptop and phone. 

She was really glorying in her new-found powers as a saali. 

Everyone from the other house had come too. Feroze and his mom and aunt were present as well. After all the night's comings and goings were rehashed, Asad conferred in Siddiqui Saheb's study with Rakesh. Zoya itched and moped to be a part of it and was finally let in. So were Ayaan, Rashid and Siddiqui. Rakesh showed them all a sketch his people had put together after talking to the two suspects. The name of the person who hired them had turned out to be a dead end. 

The sketch showed a man's face covered in thick facial hair and a baseball cap pulled low over the head. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes.

Ayaan looked at the sketch the longest.

     "What is it Ayaan? Do you know him?" Asad asked. 

     "I don't know Bhai," he raked his hand through his hair. "But he looks vaguely familiar. Maybe ..."

He shook his head. 

When the sketch was passed to Zoya, she too looked long at it. Not the face, but the black cap with an orange logo of flames seemed familiar.

     "Mr. Khan, why does this cap look so familiar?" she mused. "It's like I saw it recently." 

Rashid and Siddiqui tried to peer at the figure too but couldn't seem to come up with much.

     "He looks like a thousand men we see on the street everyday," Rashid said in frustration. "But yes, Ayaan, there is something so familiar about his face at the same time." 

His eyes shone as he looked at Rakesh.

     "Is there a way to re-draw this without the mustache and beard?"

     "It's worth a try," Rakesh nodded. "I'll try to have that done by the end of today." 

Everyone looked at Zoya as she gulped loudly and squeaked. 

     "What?" Asad asked, worried. "Are you OK?"  

She looked at Rakesh with barely concealed glee.

     "If you can scan that for me, I can try to erase the facial hair digitally and match the face as well as the logo on the cap from any secure database." 

Asad groaned. No one understood why he was clutching his forehead in this manner. 

Siddiqui instead, beamed at his daughter's genius. Ayaan took a picture of the sketch with her iPad that Zoya handed to him. He sent it to the girls and the mothers to see if the image jogged their memories. 

     "You have a program that can do that?" Rakesh asked in awe. 

     "Umm ..." she looked at Asad and he rolled his eyes. 

     "She doesn't, but she hasn't let that stop her in the past," he sighed in defeat.

     "I'll need your laptop," Zoya batted her eyelashes at her Akdu husband and reached for it.

     "No!" he hollered, twisting to push it far out of her reach. 

     Rashid was aghast at his attitude, "Beta, how can you talk to her like that? Bechari humari dost, help hi toh karna chah rahi hai." 

     "Abbu, woh bechari nahin hain," Asad growled. 

     "Take mine," Siddiqui offered, miffed that his son-in-law was being so rude to his brilliant and obviously gifted daughter.

     "Umm, Siddiqui Saheb," Asad said gently, "you probably shouldn't give her yours either. What Zoya plans to do may not be a 100% legal, and your IP address could be compromised and flagged."

Siddiqui's eyes bugged; Rashid laughed.

     "Obviously my dost has done this before! Shaabash mera cheetah!" 

     "Now that's what I'm talking about," Ayaan whooped. 

 

Nikhat touched her ring again and smiled. Feroze had dropped her off at work. Thank god Zoya Bhabhi, the baby and Bhaijaan were OK and safely ensconced in Humaira's house! She giggled to herself remembering Feroze's groan when she had broached the subject of postponing the nikaah for a few days.

     "You're right, we should, specially after what happened with Zoya and Asad. But am I so terrible for not wanting to?" 

     She had squeezed his hand, "just a few days, please?" 

     "OK, we'll move up the date," he sighed. "But then I want another week added to the honeymoon!" 

She blushed at that even now.

     "If we do that, then Faiz can attend the mehendi and sangeet too," he let out a martyred sigh, not the least bit happy. Faiz wasn't free to attend the pre-wedding functions and was flying in on the day of the wedding. 

When her phone pinged to indicate a message from Ayaan, Nikhat opened it hoping for an update on Asad Bhaijaan and Zoya Bhabhi.

She looked at the attached picture in puzzlement. Ayaan's message "He looks too familiar, do you have any idea?" made her look at it even closer. 

He did look familiar. 

But why? 

Who was this man? 

She texted him back saying that while she couldn't place him, he did look very familiar.

 

     "Weird," Ayaan remarked as he read Nikhat's text.

     "What's weird, Raabert?" Zoya asked. 

After a half hour of nagging, she had finally managed to sit Asad down so that she could apply more ice packs on his bruised and discolored knuckles. She had loved forcing him to gulp down haldi milk that Ammi had brought in. 

Asad made a face and she'd gloated in triumph. 

See? I do this everyday, she seemed to say. 

After much fussing Zoya had even convinced him to put his feet up so that she could apply the doctor-prescribed antiseptic ointment and wound dressing on his cuts.

     Earlier, she'd teased him in private, "aw, look who's immobile now!"

     "Both Nikhat and Nuzzhat say this sketch looks familiar. So do Ammi and Abbu, and Humaira and Mumani. But Najma and Badi Ammi, and you both don't seem to know him."

Ayaan scratched his head.

     "So obviously you guys know him from before," Zoya stated simply. 

     "Know him? But from where? And why can't we recognize him?"

     "From before the time when Mr. Khan reconciled with Abbu. That's why we can't recognize him, but you guys find him familiar."

Asad and Ayaan looked at each other. Ayaan whipped out his phone to look at the picture again.

     "Mona darling, do your magic and clear off his facial hair!" he urged.

     Asad picked up his laptop from the bedside table, "here." 

Zoya rubbed her hands in glee and got started. But after a while she huffed in irritation.

     "Too many security filters on Mr. Khan's. This'll take forever!" she grumbled. "Humaira get me yours."

 

Badi bi had come to visit too. She wandered into the room wondering why everyone was crowding around a computer screen. Ayaan explained to her about the sketch.

     "Hum ko bhi dikhao," she demanded as she pulled out her glasses. She peered at it forever. 

     "Arre suno, Ayaan," Badi Bi said after a long time. "Doesn't this boy look a little like Imran?" 

Before a surprised Ayaan could respond, his phone pinged.

     He opened Nikhat's message, "This guy reminds me of Imran. How weird!" 

     "Bhai!" he yelled. "It's Imran!"

     "Imran Qureshi?" Asad grabbed the phone from Ayaan. "Yes, it could be him." 

He had seen him all of two times. 

The first time was at the Thai restaurant when he had finally confessed his love to Zoya. But then he had barely looked at that man twice, because that evening he had eyes only for Zoya. The next time had been in the hotel room when they had confronted him and Haseena bi about his relationship with Tanveer. 

His blood froze. 

Of course!

Zoya had cleaned up the image by now. She held up the laptop for everyone to see. 

It was indeed Imran.

But why? Asad stepped away and was already on the phone to Rakesh.

     "Find him," he ordered in a low tone, giving him Imran's full name, last known address and work information.

He hoped that Imran hadn't changed phones, and that they could still track him from the number they had for him from the time they were trying to find Tanveer's pregnancy details. He listened for a while and then hung up, looking grim. 

     "Asad, what is it?" Zoya asked fearfully as she followed him to the closet.

     "They showed the sketch around at the jail. The same man visited Tanveer yesterday." Asad told her through clenched teeth. He didn't want to talk about that woman in front of everyone else.

     "That bitch!" Zoya muttered. "When are we going to be free of her?" Her palm fluttered to her stomach. With the other she clutched his sleeve. "Asad, I'm really scared now." 

He drew her into his arms murmuring assurances and endearments. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he was worried too.

 

 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Bachna Ay Haseenon (2008) "Khuda Jaane"


	91. Zurrat Sau Baar Rahe, Ooncha Ikraar Rahe, Zinda Har Pyar Rahe

 

 

  

  

She jackknifed straight up in the middle of the night and gasped. Asad too shot up next to Zoya to hold her. He was afraid that her nightmares would return. Last night she'd been too exhausted, but tonight ... 

Just being under Raziya Siddiqui's roof might be the stressor to trigger an episode.

He shouldn't have listened to Siddiqui Saheb! 

     "Zoya! It's OK baby, I'm right here," he soothed, holding her against him and brushing her hair off her face. He tucked her head under his chin letting his warmth soak into her body; she was taut as a bowstring. 

     "He was at the meteor shower!" Zoya exclaimed. 

     "Who?" he asked, disoriented.

     "Imran!"

     Asad frowned. "What are you talking about? How do you know?" 

     "I remembered that cap with the logo from that night! Asad, he was watching us." 

     "Watching us? Why didn't you say anything at that time?" 

     "I didn't think too much about it. Besides, you were too busy being Grouchy Ahmed Khan and mad at me for the sleepover!" 

     He pulled her down with him. "What else do you remember about him? Was he alone? When was this?" 

     "I noticed him when we all were singing 'zindagi ki yahi reet hai.' " She gripped his arm. "Oh my god, Asad, I think he was watching Nikhat!" 

Asad made her close her eyes to reimagine the scene and setting. How long was he there? Would it help if they went back to the place to jog her memory?

Between the two of them they had already hashed and rehashed all the possibilities of the Imran-Tanveer conspiracy. Had he always been in cahoots with her? Or was this a new alliance borne out of the old adage: my enemy's enemy is my friend? Should they try to entrap Tanveer using Zoya's idea of a fake escape? But that would still leave Imran as a loose end. And what would the collateral damage be?

Now there were new questions: was he following them? If so, then since when? 

Arm curved around her, Asad stayed awake long after Zoya fell asleep. He didn't like this feeling of being watched and hunted. He feared for Nikhat now. 

What if Imran tried—  

He needed to talk to Feroze first thing in the morning. 

 

Omar had already called, equally worried about the incident and Najma's safety. He insisted that Najma stay with his mom at his relatives' house for a couple of days. 

     "But Omar, there's better security here. If someone is after the family then Najma is safer with us," Asad tried to explain to him. 

     "I just feel so helpless being so far away," Omar muttered. It was bad enough to be newly married and thousands of miles away from your bride, but to imagine the danger she was in, and not be able to do anything about it was ten times worse. "The immigration paperwork seems to be bottlenecked too," he groused. 

He didn't know how long he'd last at this rate. He put up a brave and bindaas front for Najma during their facetime chats on most days, but he brooded long afterwards. Between themselves they propped up each other's sagging spirits. On the days when she was most upset, he'd cheer her up with his goofball antics and infernal teasing. 

     "I'm getting your name tattooed on my arm," he told her one day. 

     "No!" she had shrieked. She had covered her face. "Please no, that would be so embarrassing!"

     "Embarrassing? My love for you is embarrassing! You don't think about the pain I'm willing to sit through for you, but no, let madam not be embarrassed!" he'd huffed, and she had to talk to him down from his raging bull act. 

On the days he felt edgy, and ready to drop off a cliff, Najma talked about how they would go home and furniture shopping once she joined him. Because he'd told her that they'd buy a house when she came to the US. Every now and then, he sent her pictures of open houses in good neighborhoods with excellent schools. 

On other days, she told him about what she would cook for him, and what saucy surprises she'd have waiting for him when he returned from work. 

     "I'm trying to wrangle an overseas business trip," he told Asad. "If it comes through I'd like Najma to join me." 

     "Of course. Where?" Asad asked. 

     "Still working on it. Let's see. At this point, I don't care if they send me to Timbuktu!" 

     "They don't have offices in India?" 

     "They do, but nothing related to my line of work." 

     "Visa?"

     "Don't sweat it, I'll take care of it. But you'll have to take her to Delhi." 

     "No problem."

Asad unclenched his fist and rotated his stiff neck as he hung up. Tension seeped through his frame. Feroze and Nikhat's decision to delay their nikaah by a few days now felt like an ominous sign. They'd all be sitting ducks if Imran and his henchmen decided to mount some kind of an attack at the function. 

His mind ran a mile a minute, plotting more devious trips and traps than the ones cooked up by the writers of the pulpy caper films his wife loved to watch.

A decoy? Several decoys? 

It would be expensive to do, he thought for a second. 

But more expensive not to, Asad decided.

 

     "I might know a little about why she did it," Zoya murmured as she tapped away on her iPad one night after dinner. Asad sat by her side doing his own work on the laptop. 

     "There's no excuse for what she did." Asad said. They were talking about Raziya. "Though I know she's making a genuine effort to be good. But she better not forget that she walks free only because of you!"

     Zoya stroked his arm and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you," she said. "I know you didn't want to ..." 

     "Only for you," he said softly.

He shut down his computer and put it away. His arm tightened around her waist as he pulled her closer to him. 

     "Asad, I know you're right about there being no excuse. But I have a feeling it might have been post-partum depression." 

     "What's that?" Gently, he pulled her iPad out of her grasp to deposit it on his laptop. With his free hand, he thumbed her plump lips watching them move as she spoke. 

Her voice became breathy. Zoya was this close to dropping the subject entirely.

     "I've been reading about it. And it can be pretty scary. Some new mothers find it hard to adjust to the demands of post-pregnancy stresses. They self-hurt or can't bond with the baby, or even fall into a deep depression. Ammi turning up with me at the time that she did, could have been a stressor." 

     "Zoya! Don't even try to excuse her crime by a citing some medical condition. No, what she did was plain wrong!" 

     Zoya hugged him and smoothed his frown. "You're right. But I'm scared."

     He stiffened. "We'll leave right now and move into a hotel if we have to. You don't have to live here a second longer than you want to." 

     "No, not her. What if I have post-partum depression? What if I can't bond with the baby?"

     Asad relaxed and smiled. "Impossible! The baby might get depressed because of how much you'll bond with him or her! But you? Never!" 

     "Really?" 

     "Really." 

     "Aw Jahanpanah, you're too good for me!" Zoya gushed. She bit down on his thumb that was still trailing promises, and he hissed.

     "Koi shaq?" 

     "Asad, really? Again, so full of yourself!" 

He leered at her suggestively and pressed her down on the bed. Zoya laughed and blushed remembering what he'd said the last time she'd said this to him: "tonight Mrs. Khan, you'll be full of me too!" 

His intent gaze meant that he remembered too and was ready to follow through on that promise.

Her phone pinged and Asad swore under his breath.

     Rolling away he sighed in mock frustration. "Go, it's story time!" 

     "Yay," she squealed and dashed off.

 

Asad shook his head indulgently and sitting up, reached for his laptop. 

The attack had turned out to be a blessing in disguise of sorts. It gave Zoya unrestricted access to time with her Abbu and Humaira, while ensuring that she spent the night in her husband's arms. Bedtime stories had become a quirky nighttime ritual at the Siddiqui house. 

With both his daughters in their nightclothes on either side of him, Siddiqui read aloud short stories or chapters from books, with constant interruptions and commentaries from them of course. He read them some of his favorite Hindi and Urdu writers. Last night, all three had tears in their eyes when he read them Premchand's "Eidgah." Tonight they had forced him to read a chapter from Humaira's battered copy of Harry Potter. They giggled shamelessly at his pronunciation in English.   

     "Tum log bahut badmaash ho," he scolded them again. "Jao, hum nahin padhte!" 

     "No, Abbu! It's so cute. Please," Zoya begged. 

     "Promise Abbu, we'll be good," Humaira pledged, winking at her sister. 

He resumed, only to cross his arms and huff with displeasure when they roared again fifteen minutes later.

Raziya removed her glasses and hid her own smile behind her hand. She sat in the rocking chair making lists for the ceremony tomorrow. The mothers had insisted on hosting a Quran Khawani to pray for peace and give thanks for everyone being safe. She now laughed outright at her husband's pretense to be mad at his girls when she knew that all day long he looked forward to this time with them. 

 

This whole week Siddiqui had taken off from work. He took the girls (Nikhat too was off from work because of her nikaah) to the bookstore and the university library for some peace and quiet after they'd dragged him to the mall the previous day. At the mall, he had thrilled them all by buying each of them a silver charm bracelet with their initials as the inaugural charm. They could individualize and customize these bracelets at will, or with each milestone. 

Siddiqui presented Zoya with a special charm of a baby carriage for her bracelet. 

He wanted one of a miniature music box, but there were none in the right shape. He decided he would secretly special-order one from their jeweler. They could make an exact miniature replica of the music box he had given her so long ago. 

Everyone also visited the Dargah and the children's center, armed bodyguards in tow of course. The construction of the new addition was coming along nicely. Everyone trooped in through the construction zone; only Zoya was forbidden to set foot anywhere near it as per Asad's strict orders. 

She fumed silently at having to idly twiddle her thumbs as the others oohed and aahed over the annex taking shape. Nuzzhat called out to her from the first floor and the girls waved to her, rubbing more salt on her wounds. She smiled up at her Abbu who had decided to stay back with her in sympathetic company. 

Zoya took her Abbu to visit her mother's gravesite. Together they offered prayers and a chaadar. On the way Siddiqui had given her a silver meenakari box. It held that precious bundle of letters and photographs that Tanveer had stolen from her months ago. It also had a new and unfamiliar stack of yellowed papers, neatly folded in threes.

     "The letters your Ammi wrote to me," he said through tears.

She had pressed them to both her eyes, hugged them to her before eagerly leafing through them and tracing her mother's handwriting.

  

Asad meanwhile was overseeing the clean-up, repairs and upgrades at the house, but most importantly, the installation of a state of the art security system. All the locks on exterior doors had been changed. At the same time he had insisted that the workers be completely vetted before working inside the house. Ayaan had been posted to monitor all renovations. Feroze had volunteered to give him company and be a second pair of vigilant eyes. What else was there to do? Meetings with Nikhat had now been forbidden so close to the nikaah. 

Asad wasn't taking any chances. They wouldn't be caught unawares now. 

He would have liked bulletproof glass at the front windows, but it would take too long to order and replace. And, his wife had teased him about overkill: not going overboard with making the house a fortress, even if he was the Jahanpanah! 

Asad grinned as he spied the pepper spray canister on the kitchen counter during one of his late evening inspections. Some worker must have picked it up from where it had fallen that night. 

Pepper spray! Ms. Farooqui's weapon of choice in those days. Besides her tongue of course! Even now he couldn't get over how riled he'd get by her single-minded ferocity to stand up to him and get under his skin ... like pepper spray.

     Asad had joked once: "If you ever decide to stand for election, your chunav chinh will be the pepper spray!"

He made a note of buying one for each of the girls to keep handy. 

In the now nearly-restored bedroom, Asad smiled again when he saw the jar of marbles and the freshly polished cricket ball in a new bone china bowl. The old one had been used as a missile by his wife. 

That assailant really mustn't have known what hit him! Cocky about an easy mark, he must have been stunned by a flying saucer aiming straight for his head. Even before he must have recovered from that and taken a step forward, he must have started to roll and slip on the scattered marbles. And when in fury he'd have finally gotten to her side to grab her arm, a solid sphere socked him smack in his eye! 

Looking at the cricket ball gave him an idea, and Asad smiled.

His smile vanished though at the thought of what could have happened. Zoya was pregnant for god's sake! What if the baby— 

His fist clenched in cold fury. 

He would make Imran, and anyone else who dared look at his family sideways, pay.

 

When she came down from story time, Zoya yelped and gasped aloud at the last step. Suddenly she was airborne and scooped up into her husband's arms. He swore under his breath at her inability to keep the noise levels down.

Incredibly foolish! 

     "Kya hua, Zoya beta?" Siddiqui came running to the landing above, followed closely by Raziya. They peered worriedly in the dark. Raziya moved to turn the lights on.

     "Umm, I'm OK Abbu," she called out, dying to giggle. "Goodnight!" 

     "Be careful, and don't turn the lights off till you get to the bottom of the stairs," her father fussed. "You have to be more careful now." 

     "Ji Abbu," she called out, still repressing a giggle. Abbu didn't have his glasses on or he'd see that she was still being held aloft in Asad's impatient arms. 

     "Enough with the father-daughter banter and story time," he growled in her ear. "Time for Jahanpanah and Jhansi ki rani to—"

     "Asad!" she hissed him as she covered his raunchy mouth with her hand. Shaking her hand off, his tongue slashed through her ear as he whispered promises of hot, carnal delights between two royal personages; she moaned, thighs clenching with want. 

Inside, he set her down and locked the door behind them. Before she could move, he had backed her against the wall, arms extended up, fingers interlaced. Asad nuzzled her neck, she moaned and softened against him. 

     "Re-writing history in my father's house?" she teased.

     He bit her neck and she mewled. "It may be your father's house, but," his hands roved over her aching body. "but you, Mrs. Khan, are all mine, across all time."

His fingers snaked in through her kurta slits and Zoya's back arched in anticipation. But instead of moving his hands up, Asad surprised her by tugging at her salwar's drawstring. As it pooled at her feet his hands moved to unhook the clasp on her back. Gripping the ends of her kurta he drew it and her bra off her head. Her own restless hands roamed and explored his body. He pinched her nipple so tight before swooping to suck her hard that she came up on her toes, nearly undone. 

The silver bracelet glinted in the starlight as her hand came up to cup his cheek at her breast. Entranced, he nipped her wrist where the letter Z' dangled alongside the baby carriage. The innocence and promise of that tiny charm swinging from her arm as she arched wantonly in his arms, naked, made him insane with desire.

Zoya tried to wrench her hand from his grasp so she could pull his kurta off. He held tight, still nibbling on the inside of her wrist.

     "Asad, get this off, please," she begged. "I want you now!" 

     "Not so fast."

He toyed with and tormented her some more till she was nothing but a hissing, ticking ragdoll, limp and replete, just molten lava cooling. Zoya stood splayed against the wall, held up only because his body was pressing against hers. Finally, when he was done punishing her for abandoning him for bedtime stories and outing his amorousness by squealing loudly, Asad picked her up to deposit her gently on the bed. 

He shucked off his clothes. 

Her grateful arms came around him as his body covered hers. 

Zoya sighed. 

This felt so right. How was it that this skin against warm skin, flesh skimming over soft flesh dissolved all tiredness, all worry? How was it that every sense crystallized into that red-hot pinpoint of impact, that moment of erotic contact when she was already so wet, slick and swollen for him? And how was it that he sensed the tear sliding down the side of her face and bent to lick it even as he moved powerfully inside her? As more tears threatened to swim to the edge, her body clamped around him and he convulsed, cradling her head in his hand. She raised her head to bite him on the neck this time. And as her hand came up to grip the hair at his nape, the swinging baby carriage completely undid him. 

     "Oh god, Zoya!" he groaned. 

     "I love you, I love you much," she cried out as he crashed on her, his heartbeat drumming against her palm. 

  

The Taekwondo classes had regrouped at the Siddiqui house too. Humaira was the happiest, second only to her Abbu, and Raziya only shook her head in merry wonder these days. 

Martial arts for girls, in her house? 

One of the girls working? 

And his older daughter perpetually in jeans? 

Her friends and relatives would never believe it of Siddiqui Saheb!

The classes were going well and the girls' skills were improving day by day. Except the girls' regimen was ramping up, but Zoya's was slowing down. She wasn't allowed high kicks anymore, no pad-work either. 

And sparring was an absolute no-no! 

Pretty soon she'd just be a spectator. Only stretching and ringside seats for her and Baby Ahmed Khan while the baby's khala and phuphis got better and stronger. 

Not fair!

But then she was already so good at self-defense, what with her ability to salute and make herself faint because she was so strong! 

At Asad's behest Zoya talked to Ms. Sheena. The girls needed to be trained to anticipate and block any strike, choke hold, or grab. They needed to be able to react swiftly, use their thumbs, nails, elbows, knees and heels as effectively as possible to gouge and disable any attacker. 

They were under siege.

A stalker was on the loose. 

     "But what about you, Mrs. Khan?" Ms. Sheena asked, worry lines on her forehead.

     Zoya blushed a deep red when Najma came up to hug her from behind and announce, "I think the plan is for Bhaijaan to personally train Zoya!" 

The girls hooted. None noted Nikhat's blush. 

     "But Jeeju may have to learn a thing or two from Aapi," Humaira bragged. "My super Aapi is pretty capable of taking on gundas and cracking their heads open like ripe watermelons!"

     "Really?" Ms. Sheena asked, impressed inspite of herself. "Can you show me some of your moves?" 

Enthusiastic cries of "yes Zoya Bhabhi," and "Yay, Aapi," made Zoya really itch to show off her moves now. 

She glowed.

And then she mimed her favorite and most practiced skill that she and her friends could do even in their sleep because they'd done it so often after watching Sandra Bullock in "Miss Congeniality." 

She could do SING with one hand tied behind her back, blindfolded! She was so good that she virtually danced the steps to some internal music in her head. She had it timed to exact seconds.

Zoya punched her elbow out behind her, raised her foot to stomp with her imaginary high heels into an imaginary assailant's instep, then she swiveled to smash the heel of her palm into the same attacker's nose. But when she raised her knee to jam it into his imaginary groin, she nearly toppled. 

Wait, what?

What the f—?

Zoya teetered on one foot and fell to the floor. Humaira and the girls rushed to her aid. 

     "Aapi! Bhabhi!" 

Asad came storming into the room the next instant. He was just on his way to work and had heard the cries of alarm. So did Dilshad, Raziya and Siddiqui who were all still sipping the last of their breakfast tea at the table. 

One look at her tumbled on the floor made him slide to his knees by her.

     Asad grabbed her face in his hands, "What happened? Zoya, are you OK?" He looked up in barely repressed anger at the girls. "What happened?" 

They all stared at him mutely with wide panicky eyes. 

     "Mr. Khan!" Zoya had to force him to turn his face to her. "I'm fine. I'm just so freakin' mad!"

A reluctant half-smile tugged at his mouth.

     "Why?" he asked, as he lifted her up in his arms. 

She wasn't too happy at that either. It made her feel even more helpless and fragile. And she wasn't one of those feeble women types.

     "Because I fell, that's why! Put me down, I'm fine!" she flashed her eyes at him, mortified to be the center of all the attention and have the whole procession follow them into the living room. 

Allah miyan, all they needed was a band. 

     He ignored her and carried her to the sofa. "How did you fall?" Asad glared down at her, arms crossed impatiently. 

He knew that she must have been up to no good—being disobedient as usual. 

     "I told you no more high kicks. Dr. Sharma said so as well." 

     "Umm ..." 

     "Zoya, what were you doing? Were you doing the kicks?" he growled. The pulse in his forehead throbbed.

     "I was showing off my battle moves OK! Are you happy now?" 

     "You have battle moves?" an incredulous Asad asked even as he tried not to snort. 

Dilshad and Najma looked at each other, all too familiar with this battle of wills. 

But the others were new to it. Siddiqui and Raziya nervously sat down at the edges of neighboring chairs to watch this drama. The girls crowded around Najma, worried, but curious. Humaira perched on the sofa arm swiveling her head from her Aapi to her Jeeju. 

Zoya had heard that barely-there snort and her head reared dangerously. As it is she was embarrassed about not being able to complete showing off her superpowers. 

What the hell had happened? 

And then here was her husband undermining her supergirlness even more. She scrambled up to stand on the sofa and pointed an accusing finger at her husband. 

     "I do so have battle moves and you said so yourself that I kicked ass that night! And then in Agra and Manga—"

His eyes widened as he realized where she was headed. Pretty soon she'd be babbling about Mangalpur too! And then there would be questions that would need a whole month to sort out. And if more details of how prone they were to violent attacks came out, then both their families would gladly handcuff them and put them under house arrest for all eternity to come. 

Asad tilted his head to the side ever so subtly that only she noticed. His eyes narrowed, signaling her to keep quiet.

She huffed and retracted her finger, instead clenching her fist. Her lips thinned into a grim line. 

     "Beta, what happened in Agra?" asked her worried Abbu. 

     "Voh actually, Abbu ..." she hedged as Asad helped her down from the sofa.

Siddiqui and Raziya, and Ms. Sheena, could not, for the life of them, understand why the rest of them were laughing so suddenly. Asad grinned harder as he saw his still-mad wife glare at him. Pretending to see him off at the door with his suit jacket in hand, Zoya pointed her finger at him and whispered furiously, "I kicked butt at Agra and Manglapur, and you know it too!" 

     "Oh please," Asad hissed back, tongue in cheek as he slipped into his coat. "You did nothing of the sort," he teased in mock-anger just wanting to see her get more riled up. Neither knew that they were still being watched by an avid audience. "Mrs. Khan," Asad goaded her further by continuing to rag her in a low tone, "you just like making up stories of how you beat up gundas, when in reality, each time, I've been the one who's had to come and rescue you like the helpless damsel in distress!" 

He walked out of the house.

     "Mr. Khan ke bachche!" Zoya hollered and chased him down. 

     "And then you always faint like a Victorian princess who needs her smelling salts!" He added as a parting shot, twisting the knife in deeper. 

She gasped and spluttered, and fluffed up like an angry chicken. You could call her any name, but no one got away with calling Zoya "helpless" or a "damsel in distress." 

And definitely not a "princess!"

Zoya followed him out, blinded by justified rage. 

     "Oh rea—?" she bumped into his solid back.

He turned and hauled her into his arms. Zoya resisted even though she couldn't think of a single comeback that would restore her dignity and crumbling street cred. 

"Mr. Kha—!" she hissed, but he swooped to kiss her hard and shut her up for good. Asad bit and then sucked her lips, and thrust his tongue in to conclusively end their duel and give her comeuppance. Zoya squirmed, but eventually her head fell back in surrender as she vined around and clung to him. 

When she opened her glazed eyes he was grinning at her shamelessly. 

     "You think you're the only one who can pick a fake fight!"

And with that he clicked the car open, climbed in and roared off with a jaunty wave. 

Zoya stared open-mouthed after him, not even blushing to see the guard studiously avoid her gaze. When she skipped back into the house she had no idea how mussed up and thoroughly kissed she looked. Everyone sniggered and dispersed in a hurry. 

Dilshad slapped her forehead. 

Allah, yeh dono! 

Thank god Siddiqui Saheb had just left to attend a phone call. Humaira dragged her Aapi away to her room and stood her in front of the mirror. 

Zoya turned a dull shade of pomegranate red.

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with me!"

  

Feroze brooded.

Asad's clipped words of caution were still echoing in his head. He had briefly explained about some woman Tanveer who was calling the shots, but as far as Feroze was concerned, Imran was the real threat. 

He agreed with Asad. 

The bike was out. He had read and heard too much about acid attacks against women in India to not immediately grasp how much of an easy target a passenger on a motorcycle would be.

While Imran's photograph had been circulated all around Rashid's, Siddiqui's and Asad's offices, he had proved to be more slippery than an eel. And the fact that he could hire petty criminals meant that he had some kind of resources and a network.

Pulling his phone out, Feroze gazed long at Imran's image. Having Nikhat call him up that day and curse him out now seemed as irresponsible as waving a red flag in an enraged bull's face. 

He fumed. 

Why did innocents have to live in fear while jerks like Imran roamed free? 

But soon his heart squeezed in terror. 

After the nikaah and honeymoon, he would leave for the US. And Nikhat would still be here, caught in the crosshairs of a madman. While he trusted Asad and his team to be able to eventually corner Imran, he also knew of the notorious ineptitude of the Indian judicial system. 

Feroze checked the time. It was too late to talk to Omar. But they needed to talk to immigration lawyers on the double about expediting the girls' paperwork. Thank god an FIR had been filed for the attack that day and a warrant for Imran's arrest was out. The official paperwork to prove the existence of a threat would be a good starting point. And Zoya's word about Imran's presence at the meteor shower night just might escalate the urgency to consider the imminent danger of a stalker determined to cause harm to the Khan family.

 

By now Rakesh and Asad thought it best to share the entire convoluted history of Tanveer and Imran with the police. It was also a good thing that Tanveer's previous attempts against Zoya were also officially recorded. Imran must have changed Sim cards if not his phone. He'd also fled the neighborhood that the two hired assailants had led the police to. He was in the air. The only tenuous hope was that he would try to visit Tanveer again. 

But Imran was being too cautious. 

It all came back to keeping an eagle eye on Tanveer. And since getting his people hired was taking too long, Rakesh just increased the number of people's palms to be greased at the jail. Nearly a third of the staff was on his payroll. 

It had become a running joke by now. 

People were now lining up and asking to be paid informants. Zoya joked that if Tanveer and Imran kept the Bhopal gunda population gainfully employed, then Rakesh and Asad were soon becoming competitors in putting together a vigilante army of Indian government karamcharis.

     "I can even create a web site for you guys," she teased Asad one day. "We'll call it Chai-paani dot com!" 

But soon her eyes got dreamy.

     "Asad, wouldn't it be really cool if we could have like an underground network of good Samaritans who looked out for the innocent and stood up to bad guys?" 

     Asad grinned, "you mean like the Justice League or X-Men?" 

     "Yes!" Her eyes shone. Asad rolled his. 

He brushed the tip of her nose with a knuckle.

     "You'd be Wonder Woman, I guess?" 

     "You bet! Though this morning you didn't seem to think so." Wrapping her arms around his neck, she cooed, "and what would you be Jahanpanah? Batman? Or Superman? No, not Superman," she decided. "Batman! Cos. he's more Akdu!" 

     "I'll be whatever you want me to be," he said huskily. "Count Dracula?" and he bit her neck. Twirling her, he slammed her back against his chest while nuzzling her ear and grinding into her, "Batman?"

     She giggled, "how about each member of the league and X-men every night of the week?" 

     "Jo hukum Mrs. Jaha—!Damn!"

     "What?"

     "Your phone. Isn't it too late for story time?" he complained.

     "Shh, I'll take care of it," she promised. "But Mr. Khan, I'm serious about the Justice League concept."

     "Superheroes? You're crazy."

     "I know," she giggled. "And that's why you love me so much! But seriously, I mean it about some kind of a secret society that helps out people in need. Like the Underground Railroad! Let me just tell Humaira that no story time tonight for me cos. I'm beat. And then I'll tell you this awesome story about Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad!"

 

It was the night of the nikaah and thank goodness everything had gone off without a hitch. Feroze and Nikhat had been whisked away and were already half-way to Bali for their honeymoon. So what if the suhaag raat had to be delayed? 

Safety first.

It had all gone off without a hitch; and it may have had something to do with the fact, that all three houses were decked to the nines pretending to be the nikaah venue with loud band baja and dancing baraatis for hire, when the nikaah had actually taken place at a private farmhouse on the outskirts of the city. 

A heavily guarded private farmhouse. 

All residences had surveillance teams posted to keep track of uninvited guests.

After the initial unease, the ceremony had proceeded beautifully.

The thick veil of tension and strain about security and everyone's safety was momentarily forgotten thanks to Zoya, Dadi and Ayaan's boisterousness, and Feroze's mom and Faiz's retaliatory smackdown. While some elders had frowned at the collective bachkanapan of the families, specially the Americans, everyone had managed to whoop it up and have fun.

Nuzzhat had been teased mercilessly for not following through on the Khan tradition of a wedding and sagai combo. 

     "Sure, why not? Shouldn't mess with tradition!" Faiz had volunteered gamely.

He backed off only when Asad came and stood in front of a blushing Nuzzhat with his arms crossed menacingly.  

Shireen had been a nervous wreck because of her kids' escalating misbehavior. Seeing the disapproving expression on Maulvi Saheb's face hadn't helped. 

Asad was the only one she could rely on. He ocassionally talked the revelers down from their giddy high. They behaved for all of fifteen minutes, then went back to being the death of her. 

Her own Bhaijaan was of no help any more. Siddiqui just smiled and even egged them on when the girls demanded ransom. He had been apprised of the ritual and seen the DVDs and albums of Zoya's and Najma's weddings. 

     Standing with Zoya and Humaira on either side, Siddiqui had proclamed loudly, for all to hear, "We think we'll keep our daughters with us for a little longer, we love them too much to give them away. Kyun, ladkiyon, qubool hai?" 

     "Qubool hai!" the girls and Dadi had squealed, jumped and pumped their fists in the air. 

And Shireen had nearly keeled over with stress.

Only Omar's mother could calm her down. But by the time she calmed down, it was time for the vidaai. Both Naz and Shireen wept in each other's arms. Feroze's father surreptitiously wiped a tear himself.

And it was confounding how, just as quickly, Zoya, the girls, Dadi and Ayaan had become subdued and somber. 

     Faiz couldn't help but rag his mom, "Ammi, but why are you crying? I thought you'd be a thrilled saas who now has her own brand new bahu to torture!" 

     "I'm a saas now," Naz bawled. "The most detested creature in Indian culture!"

  

When Dilshad was rubbing oil in her hair the day after, Zoya complained to her about her disappointment with falling over when she was showing the girls her self-defense skills. 

     "It's normal," Dilshad soothed her. "During pregnancy a woman's center of gravity shifts, so balancing for too long on one foot becomes tricky."

     "So unfair, Ammi! Why do these things happen only to women?" 

     "Poochho mat," Raziya joined in. "When I was pregnant with Humaira, my feet grew a whole size!"

     "The acidity!" groaned Dilshad. 

      "My teeth shifted!" Shireen added sadly.

     Dadi showed a ring on her finger. "It's been stuck on my finger forever. Can never get it off!"

     "What?!!" Zoya shrieked and leaped up to run to her room to check her teeth, fingers and feet. 

     "I'm never getting pregnant again," she furiously texted her husband. "And once the baby comes, I'm never having sex again either!" 

Her phone rang the next second.

     "What happened?" her alarmed husband thundered. What the hell was she talking about? "What did I do?"

     "You made me pregnant, that's what you did!" she bawled. "Not only will I be ugly and fat in the next few months, but I'll be a fire-belching, gap-toothed monster with big feet and sausage fingers! I'll be like Fiona from Shrek'!" Zoya wailed. 

     Asad frowned. "But what does that have to do with not having sex?"

     "MISTER KHAN!"

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Dor (2006): Yeh Hausla

 


	92. Jitne Paas Paas, Saagar Ke Lehar, Utne Paas Tu, Rehna Humsafar

 

 

 

  

     "Jaldi karo!" Siddiqui urged his daughters.

He didn't want them to know that he wanted to find out what happened next in _Harry Potter_. He had taken to reading the book by himself. But he would grumble to them about what a nonsense book it was, and how he could have written it much better.

They giggled, charmed by their father's falling in love with Hogwarts and its denizens. And because they knew how the story ended, it was really hard not to blurt out things and eagerly discuss characters or events from the books. They promised to watch all the movies with him. In fact they'd watch the first one as soon as he finished Book I. 

A new Harry Potter vocabulary had become their secret language that Raziya and Dilshad couldn't, for the life of them, decode.

There were other mysteries too.

Why had frothy cold coffee been re-branded Butter Beer? Why were dupattas being worn as capes and Siddiqui Saheb's sherwanis being worn as robes suddenly? What were the girls doing swishing Dandiya sticks around for? And where had all the brooms disappeared to?

Zoya was loving this! Back at home when the first Harry Potter craze had started, she and Jeeju would annoy Aapi the same way since she was just a Hufflepuff; always losing at Quidditch.

Such fun!

  

In the middle of the ninth lap he came to a dead stop. His head shot up out of the water as Asad shook out his waterlogged ears.

Should they take this extra precaution? Have everyone move under one roof for better security and protection?

Asad dove his head under and soundlessly sliced through the water letting it ripple over him.

Since the decoy locations for the wedding had worked so well to disable potential attacks, could they use one of the residences as a decoy or bait to entrap—?

He let the idea percolate in his head as he flipped over to do a languorous back crawl letting his arms propel him forward and stretch him out. 

Asad had taken to swimming in the evenings in the indoor pool to de-stress. It cleared his head as nothing else.

But as much as she loved to watch him do a slow crawl one end to the other, trace the long arc of his arms power through the water as his legs scissored under the rippling surface, Zoya forced him to wear a T-shirt over his swim shorts.

     "Why?" he'd protested the first time. 

Her face flamed.

     "Because I don't want anyone to see the marks I leave on you! And I definitely I don't want Abbu to see my face when I'm drooling over those six packs!" 

     "Hmm," he growled, pretending to be put upon for having to make such a big sacrifice. Those marks he wore as a badge of honor. "Battle scars," he'd teased her once. "From when my Jhansi ki rani slays me!" But then he frowned. His wife had an uncanny way of tricking him to do her bidding by blackmail or flattery. 

     "OK fine, have it your way, be a showoff. Don't wear a T-shirt!" she huffed. "But only if I can swim too."

His eyes hooded, all speculation about her motives forgotten.

     "In my bikini ..." she added huskily. 

     Asad gulped. "You wear bikinis?" Asad rasped in a hoarse voice.  

     "Wore." 

     "Little g-strings? Barely-there, skimpy, two-piece nothings? And went out in public?" he choked out, half-rabid with disbelief and lust. 

     "Nothing as revealing as that. They were two-piece, but cute, virginal bikinis." 

     "Virginal bikinis! Is there even such a thing?" Asad foamed at the mouth.

Asad was at a loss for words, not sure whether it was because he had found out a startling new detail about her, or because he couldn't get the image of her in a bikini out of his head.

     Asad edged closer and crowded her against the wall. Nuzzling her neck he whispered, "tonight, when everyone's in bed, you and me, in the pool. Wear your bikini." 

     Zoya sighed. "I don't have it with me," she moaned.

     "Then I'll go home right now and get it for you." 

     She laughed. "Mr. Khan, when I packed to come to India, I had no clue that I'd meet you and you'd invite me for a midnight swim. If I'd known, I'd have packed all three pairs." 

     "Three pairs? What colors? 

     Zoya giggled. "One was a turquoise blue, burgundy with white flowers ..."

He groaned.  

     "And the other was white?" Asad guessed. 

     "No!" she corrected him. "White is dangerous. Once it gets all wet, there's a pretty good chance of a peep show." 

     "Oh. My. God." He groaned louder. "That's it! Tomorrow we're going shopping and you're buying a white bikini," Asad declared.

     "No!" Zoya ran from him. "In a few days I'll start to show and then when am I ever going to wear a bikini?" 

     "I don't care. I want to see you in one, and that's final. You'll wear one for my eyes only!" 

     "Fine! I kinda want you to see me in one too," Zoya breathed as she cuddled up to him, arms around his neck. "But what do we do about tonight?" Zoya dug her hands in his hair still damp from his post-swim shower. 

     Asad's eyes gleamed. "Those sinful shorts and my vest!" 

     "Deal! You'll have to get them from home though." 

He promised that he would. He could even dash out now, if she wanted.

     "In the meanwhile," Asad frowned down at her. "Do you have any pictures of yourself in a bikini on facebook?"

     "Umm ... May be one from when I was in high school." 

He threw his head back and groaned. High School! 

     Asad kissed her hard and shook her. "Why didn't I know you in High School?"

He shook his head in wonder, more at himself than her. Asad was initially shocked that she wore bikinis, but he was turned on too. It was only right that all his preconceived notions of proper femininity be toppled one by one by the one woman he had fallen head over heels in love with. He'd told her once, "it scares the hell out of me that I'm so in love with you," and she'd laughed in his face before blowing him an airy kiss. 

A bikini?

He imagined her in it, and then how quickly he'd get her out of it.

Asad blushed.

If his college friends (yes, he did have friends, he would have to tell his wife now and then. "How come I've never met one?" she'd ask tartly) could only see him now ... 

     "Show me that picture," he ordered as he plunked her iPad in her lap.

 

The foreplay began early the next morning at the dining table. She looked up to see him staring at her, heavy-lidded, and felt awareness zing through her veins while the color heightened on her cheeks.

Holding his gaze she winked at him.

He choked on his cereal. 

Later Asad called from the office.

     "But weren't you conscious about your scar?" He still couldn't get the image of her in a bikini out of his head. 

     Zoya laughed. "I always wore one of those tattoo sleeve covers on my arm. Problem solved!" 

     "What's that? Who gets a tattoo to only cover it up?"

     "Because Mr. Khan, we Americans think of everything! The sleeve covers are for people who have badass tattoos but work in conservative establishments where your customers or clients may get offended if they saw employees with tats."

     "Hmm," Asad demured, still vaguely dissatisfied. 

Twenty minutes later he called again, still mystified.

     "But why not just wear full sleeves? You Americans are known for branding solutions to non-existent problems!" 

     "Hey, watch it!" she hollered. And then Zoya explained patiently, "because some places have uniforms with short sleeves." 

     "Be ready," he reminded her. "I'll come get you at around 1."

She smiled. He really was serious about shopping for a bikini! 

In the car she cribbed for the umpteenth time.

     "You're the only girl I know who finds shopping boring. Even Dadi gets excited about shopping!" 

     "It's dumb," Zoya complained. "I hate having to paw through miles of racks in department stores stretched across acres. Back home I'd order things online and if I liked something, I'd just order it in multiple colors! And if I really, really, like something, I just multiple order the same thing. Saves so much time and energy." 

     "I noticed," Asad teased.

He probably had more clothes than her. Her wardrobe had doubled, but only because of the various lehengas, sarees and suits that she'd gotten as gifts, not because she had gone shopping for them. 

     "Since you really, really, like me, how many of me would you order?" Asad asked as he swung the car into the underground parking.

     "A whole boatload of you! Imagine how much I'd have to pay in shipping and handling!" Zoya laughed taking his arm as they walked toward the elevators. 

     "I'd order you in all colors," she whispered in the lift. "A purple one for when you're at your most Akdu. Yellow for when you stand guard over me as I drink that disgusting haldi milk. White for when you're at your sexiest. And red for when, you know ..." 

     "Say it!" He braked his feet, refusing to budge as they exited on the main floor.

     "Asad!" she admonished him in a low tone as people glared at them for blocking access and being forced to walk around them.

He glared at her and she sighed.

     "Red for ready." Her voice dropped an octave and she leaned into him. Asad bent his head to catch those husky, silky words of hers, "for when you're fully aroused, ready to enter me," she whispered.

He threw his head back and groaned letting her impel him forward. Asad shook his head to clear the red mist of desire that had already made his pants a bit too snug. Trust her to take a bean of an idea and spin it into tall tales with complex back and cover stories and end up turning him on in the process.

     "And pink for when you're most romantic," she continued as she pinched his cheek. 

     "Pink!" he spluttered. "With a tutu and a tiara! Of course the pink me will be missing some vital body parts!" Damn, he still couldn't get his mind off some vital body parts! 

Zoya doubled over with laughter. 

     "Jahanpanah, behave!" She backtalked. But then she looked with dismay at the mall stretched out before her. "I'm here, and doing this only for you and your R rated fantasies. I'm waiting for this 3D printing technology to really take off. Imagine if you could just 3D print a bikini at home!" Her feet faltered. "Asad look at this place. Isn't it so depressing?" 

The cloying smells from the perfume counters nearly gagged her. And the army of eager beaver salespeople with "ma'am, sir, can I help you?" was plain annoying.

She felt bad for them.

Only in India would you find dozens of uniformed employees bowing and scr@ping and falling over themselves to treat shoppers like feudal lords. Please, just let me be, she wanted to tell them. What part of "thank you, I'll let you know," was so hard to understand? At least in America they left you on your own with a polite, "let me know if you need any help." 

Zoya sighed miserably. 

     "Come on," Asad pulled her along. "If you're good, you can have pizza and kulfi." 

That put a spring in her step. And the sooner they got this done, the sooner they'd be out of here. Her hand itched to pinch his cheek again in gratitude.

     But she restrained herself by only interlacing her fingers with his, "Aw, now that's my white Jahanpanah with a dash of pink!" 

     "Pizza and kulfi is sexy and romantic?" Asad asked after trying to remember her color-coding system. The only one he really cared about was red.

     "You know it is for me!" 

But shopping with Asad wasn't that bad, thought Zoya much later. May be because the act of shopping itself had become foreplay too. She had held up the skimpiest bikini up against her and his dark eyes had hooded.

     "White," he'd mouthed as he jerked his chin to the side, and she'd blushed. He'd bent to brush his lips against her ear and breathed, "I'm pretty close to red right now."

She'd shuddered and nearly moaned aloud. Allah miyan, skewered by her own imagination and motor mouth!

And he insisted that she buy a red bikini too. 

     "Asad," she'd hissed. "It's such a waste. We don't even have a pool at home!"

     "I'll build one if you want, and in the meanwhile, you'll wear these for my own private shows." 

     Zoya had sighed as he ushered and steered her toward the section with kurtis. "I don't need any," she told him firmly.

But Jahanpanah was in no mood to hear no today.

Or any other day for that matter. 

The two salespeople jumped to attention and brought over dozens of styles and colors. She just sat and watched as Asad hand-picked a turquoise blue kurti with zari work, and a black one with large gold and red paisleys on the sleeves and back. It was beautiful. 

     "Ammi won't let me wear black," Zoya reminded him with regret. It was a beautiful kurti.

But he ignored her. Asad finally picked out a white kurti with blue embroidery on it and she fell in love with it. She didn't even mind trying them on, but Zoya put her foot down after the first three. 

     "I'm done!" she announced and this time Asad had to back off. But he did drag her to the shoe department and their mating dance began all over again. This time she was grateful for the over-eager salesmen who brought boxes to her as she rested on a chair.

Thank god for shopping in India!

You just sat, and the merchandise came to you. You pointed and Voila! In an instant it was at your fingertips or feet.

Again it was Asad who told them which styles to pull out and slide on her feet. She tried them on and paraded up and down only to see the look on his face. The pedicure from the sleepover was still fresh and she knew that he liked what he saw. Today she was sporting a most delicate toe ring. Its rhinestone winked at him in those kitten-heeled burgundy slides. He made her buy two of those.

And one in black.

Zoya was now regretting telling him her secret shopping formulas and worry-free retail philosophy. 

     "Asad, in the next few months my feet are going to swell up, when am I—"

He looked down at her patiently; she sighed and happily shut up. After all, he had told her that night when they first confessed their love to each other, "I want to spoil you!"

And he had, every day since then.

So why stop today?

Zoya was exhausted and now tugged him away. But she couldn't help but squeal and gasp as they passed the baby department. Rows of tiny clothes and the most darling shoes no larger than her Jahanpanah's thumb! Zoya clapped her hands and bounced up and down when she spotted a tiny blue cricket jersey with Dhoni's name. Hand to her heart, she refused to budge from there. But Ammi had expressly told them that they weren't to shop for anything for the baby.

     "Nazar lag jayegi," she had cautioned them.

Zoya turned away knowing that they shouldn't buy it. Maybe later. But she wanted that jersey so bad! It was so cute. And of course her husband had to get it for her. When he went to pay for the items after settling her down in a comfortable chair, he ordered the saleperson to get a teddy bear and the blue jersey. He'd suffer Dhoni's name in his room as long as she kept the teddy bear on the settee and off their bed! 

When Asad dropped her off at her Abbu's house with all the purchases, he told her to get some rest.

     "Remember, I need you to be fresh and alert for our midnight swim tonight!" 

Oh god, she quivered and hugged herself. This was turning into quite the production, a hunting game where the predator brazenly stalked and taunted the prey.

But the prey was powerful too.

A raised eyebrow, a licking of the lips or biting them, could make the predator groan in agony. And a butt wiggle, and arched back, had the power to bring him crashing to his knees.

     "Yes Boss," Zoya grinned cheekily at him over her shoulder. "Would you like a lap dance to take the edge off?" 

     "Aaannnhhh!" Asad groaned. "I have a meeting woman! How do you expect me to concentrate with that image in my head?" 

     "Simple! I don't," Zoya said and shut the car door with a flourish, sealing his protracted sexual torment. 

 

     "Zoya," "Aapi," Bhabhi, what'd you get?" the girls swarmed around her. 

Zoya blushed.

     "Umm, let me just freshen up and I'll show you." She dashed to their room to hide the bikinis in the cupboard. Just as she was closing the closet door the girls spilled into the room and plonked themselves on the bed. They tore through the bags and Zoya breathed a sigh of relief that their seduction paraphernalia had just narrowly escaped detection.

Jahanpanah, one of these days, you'll get me into serious trouble! 

But she forgot everything when she saw the teddy bear wearing the Dhoni jersey. She squealed the loudest and Siddiqui, Raziya and Dilshad came running from all directions with alarmed cries of "kya hua?"

Dilshad was the first one to interpret the mayhem as she watched her bahu hugging a teddy bear. 

     "Kusch nahin, Siddiqui Saheb. These girls just like giving us mini heart attacks for no reason at all. And it's all the boys' fault for spoiling them rotten." 

     "But reason hai na, Badi Phuphi" Humaira quipped. "It's to check your reflexes and to see how alert you all are. Ab umar ho chali hai aap sab ki! At 4pm there will be another test." 

     The girls sniggered and Raziya swatted her back. "Hatt, badmash kahin ki! Aise kehte hain baddon ko?"

     "And at 5pm tum logon ka IQ test hoga," Siddiqui retorted. "Dekhen toh sahi ki tum Muggle millenials ko kuchh aata bhi hai ya nahin."

     "Good one, Abbu," Zoya cheered him. She held her Dhoni bear aloft and he smiled indulgently. 

 

But at 6 in the evening Nuzzhat could be seen rolling her eyes in Humaira's room. Because everyone around her had gone mental.

Even though they were all together, the other girls wore secret smiles and blushed looks. Of course, they were all probably sexting and not letting her brothers or Jeeju work. Soon, when she returned from her honeymoon, Nikhat Baaji would join this gang too and she'd be left all alone.

So damn annoying! 

She bitched about feeling left out to her friends.

     "Tu bhi dhoondh kissi ko," one of them replied. 

     "How about that brother of your Jeeja? He was so cute!" 

     "Shut up," she typed. "Don't even! I don't want Ammi to get any ideas about ladkas and rishtas! Thank god she's still recovering from Baaji's nikaah." 

Nikhat's nikaah was bittersweet for her.

Nuzzhat loved her Feroze Jeeju to pieces, but missed her sister terribly. She loved that Nikhat Baaji had found the best guy and funnest saas in the world, but then she would go so far away. More than half way across the world! It was great that Ammi's fears about Baaji's nikaah were unfounded and now laid to rest, but now it meant that Ammi would transfer all that pent up marital and maternal attention to her and worry day and night about her nikaah. Soon she would begin nagging Abbu at dinner, "ghar mein jawaan ladki baithi hai, aur aapko toh uski fikr hi nahin hai!" And very soon she would start off any where and everywhere, begging anyone and everyone: "Aap ki nazar main koi ladka ho toh ..."

Nuzzhat groaned.

And that is why she needed Faiz to get out of town ASAP, or her mother would start getting ideas.

Damn! So depressing. Parents! Why couldn't they get amnesia once in a while? 

She group texted her Bhaijaans and Jeeju, still miffed about the current state of affairs.

     "Your begums are being totally annoying. How about going back to work now so they can pay some attention to me?" 

     "Aadhi gharwaali, my workday hasn't even begun yet, so I'm entitled to some wife time. Let me and my begum be. But yeah, your brothers should have their noses to the grindstone, not pressed against and fogging up their phone screens!" Omar group texted right back. 

     "I love you Omar Jeeju, you're the best! Sowwie!" Nuzzhat replied. She'd forgotten about the time difference. And Najma Baaji she could forgive, but not her Bhabhi and Bhabhi-to-be who were still being so annoying. 

     "I survived the meeting no thanks to you. 6 more hours to our midnight date," Asad reminded her. "And Nuzzhat is feeling ignored," he added before signing off. 

Zoya looked up guiltily and noticed Najma and Humaira's expressions mirror her own. Nuzzhat was pouting and had her head buried in her phone as she tapped away furiously.

The girls' eyes met and sealed in conspiracy.

Zoya held up three fingers for a silent countdown. At one, they collectively pounced on Nuzzhat and she shrieked in fear first, and then gasped for breath when they tickled her to death. 

     "Ab kya hua? Five points off for Gryffindor!" Siddiqui called out from his study. 

     "Kucch nahin, Abbu Dumbledore!" Humaira called out, breathless with laughter. "We're just trying not to ignore Nuzzhat!" 

 

     "Only I can help you," Imran told Tanveer. "And I'll do so only if you give me a cut of that money you've squirreled away somewhere. It's no use to you rotting away here on the inside." 

He had come to meet her even though he knew it was risky. But that money was calling out to him. He needed it if he wanted to set his life right. Get out of town may be, start over somewhere else with a clean slate. Nikhat was married, and all his attempts to find out where she and her new husband had disappeared off to had failed.

Once again that Asad Ahmed Khan had got in his way.

First, he'd thwarted the attack. Next, he had created an elaborate ruse to cover up the nikaah whereabouts. If he had more money, Imran could have hired more intelligent and better experienced goons.

But scarcity was a bitch.

As it is he was scraping the bottom of the barrel and coming up empty.

The heightened security at all three houses was another deterrent. Even petty thugs weren't keen on messing with that. Tanveer and her stash were his only hope of retribution and rehab. 

     "You owe it to me. I am the father of that child you're carrying after all." 

She glared at him. She was so pissed at him, the baby, and everything else around her. Why had she even consented to meet with him? Initially, it had been for the entertainment value.

She knew exactly why he was sniffing around her.

But now she was just so fed up.

The heat, the flies during the day and mosquitoes at night, the terrible food, the wretched tramps around her, were all too much. She better get out of here fast or she'd be doomed. So far she had lay low to gather her strength after that stint which took her to the jail hospital. She had hoped to find an avenue of escape, closely studying the lay of the land, but nothing concrete had materialized. And then when she had returned, some idiot had knocked into her and she'd twisted her ankle.

But now that she was feeling much better, Tanveer needed to get back on track. 

She tried not to roll her eyes as Imran droned on self-importantly.

Really? Now you claim paternity? When I'm freaking locked up in jail! Had you manned up six months ago, may be things would have been a lot different, you bloody fool! How far will you run once the baby comes? Or if the baby has a birth defect, which the doctors had warned her about? 

     "So tell me what's new with the Khans," she cut his tired spiel off. "How are we going to get even with them?"

He sat up eagerly in the molded plastic chair and leaned forward. Imran told her about all that he'd done so far and how he'd failed because these days even hired gundas were lazy scum.

Tanveer squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. The morons she had to deal with! If he really wanted to do it right, all he had to tell those idiots was to slash the gas hose and set the place on fire.

Cheap, dramatic and final.

Amateurs!

She'd have to do her own thing. If she relied on fools like this, she'd never get out of here.

 

     "I think we got him," Rakesh updated Asad. He went on to tell him how an elderly man had come to visit Tanveer today. 

     "We think it may be Imran in disguise and my guys are staked out at some sleazy hotel where he may be holed up. I just alerted the police who might raid the place."

Asad heaved a sigh of relief. Please, let it be Imran, he prayed. Please let it end. 

     "My people are in place whenever you want to greenlight the great escape." Rakesh's voice broke through his solemn reverie.

Ayaan had been apprised of all the history as well as the plan; he had named the mission "Operation Great Escape."

     "How long before your people send out the feelers to test if Tanveer will take the bait?" Asad asked tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk. 

     "I'd say, anywhere from three days to a week. Two people pretending to have a conversation about planning an escape with outside help, and another to make sure that she overhears it. The ball will be in her court. Then all we do is wait for her to approach my guys." 

For a second, Asad hoped that Tanveer wouldn't take the bait and just give it all a rest.

But he also knew better by now.

If she'd salted her money away somewhere, then for sure she wouldn't be parted from it for too long. And if she was determined to get out, then he'd prefer it to be his way, on his terms, so that he could control the outcome. 

     "Do it," he told Rakesh grimly.

 

Zoya and Siddiqui sat at the dining table as she showed him what she'd done so far regarding the college class proposal. She had already created a website which she hadn't published as yet. It had a violence-against-women tracker and mapper, videos and talks, links to non-profit organizations and a resources page. After consulting with Asad, she had even added their assault in Agra as one of the numerous survivor stories, as well as Miriam's story in Mangalpur. She had changed their names for safety and privacy reasons. Zoya had contacted Miriam in Dubai to ask if she would be willing to do a follow-up interview and even if she wanted to be involved with the project. They could muffle her voice and put her behind a screen for more safety. 

Miriam had heartily agreed.

So far so good. 

However, because they were going for systemic changes, they would face stiff resistance besides apathy and cynicism. She had studied in some detail, the history of sexual harassment prevention and gender policy and legislation in the US and India. Repeatedly, her research showed that resistance came from the far right, religious groups, businesses, administrators and bureaucracy, and sometimes, even from women.

What if there were protests from youth and student groups? Educatonal institutions would cave in to ward off prolonged curriculum disruption. 

Zoya produced hard copies of several studies from reknowned scholars and professionals, and handed it to Siddiqui for further reading.

     "To even get the ball rolling and set the stage for this program, our approach has to be multi-pronged. The will to change must come from the top, because faculty and administrators may resist the idea too. They could drag their feet or may throw up legal and logistical challenges that could derail the idea even before we launch." 

Ordering change, would not make people's minds change. At the same time, lecturing people about the issue would turn them off too.

Siddiqui looked on, more and more impressed as she went on. He had faith in her, but may be he suspected that not much could be achieved in such a short time. And they had had many distractions since he first proposed the idea and entrusted her with it. 

     "And the youth and student groups need to feel invested in this process too." Zoya continued. "We'll start with a survey for faculty, staff and the student body to assess involvement and commitment to the issue. We can't make it mandatory but we can incentivize it with raffles, gift certificates, or any other kind of recognition." She leaned forward eagerly, "wouldn't it be awesome Abbu, if people proudly put participation in such programs on their resumes and it made them more marketable as a valuable employee to have?"

He nodded, infected by her optimism and vision. He made a mental note, in hiring interviews he would insist on including questions that addressed this issue. His mind wandered: what if men put down such kind of training on their CVs on matrimonial websites and profiles? 

Siddiqui smiled as Zoya touched his arm to bring his attention back to her. She had already created the pre- and post-program questionnaires and related spreadsheets where they could start inputing data once it started to roll in. 

He watched, charmed, seeing her become more and more animated. She sat up, crossed her legs on the chair and rattled on about bringing celebrities on board.

But then Siddiqui frowned.

He used to think of all this celebrity endorse*ment as fluff and a kind of selling out, but as the other girls crowded around them and threw ideas into the midst, he could see the value of marketing an idea to create broad-based consensus by adding a "cool factor" to the mix.

It was about changing attitudes after all. And if celebrities could do it, then why not?

Programs like Aamir Khan's Satymev Jayate had already paved the way for such activism and consciousness raising. 

     "If we get a Bollywood or cricket star, a well-known journalist or popular writer to talk up the importance of changing our mindsets through such programs, then we can really make this stick in people's minds, Abbu!" 

     Humaira jumped in too, "and find as many men in support as women. There are many groups such as Men Against Rape and celebrities already discussing the issue. But so far we've been talking of what's wrong. This can start the conversation about what we can do." She had been helping her Aapi with the research. 

Zoya's Prezi presentation showed comparative success rates in the US and western European countries. Zero tolerance policies helped, but in a country such as India it would run into immediate obstacles. Expelling and blacklisting offenders who'd been charged with assault and rape would be too hard. She brought up cases where universities had to backtrack in the face of political pressures if the defendant was a politician's or government official's son.

The stats were staggering and sobering. 

They had to instead find ways to harness the power of men as allies not painting them as the enemy. And here is where celebrities, bystander intervention, self-defense training, and expert guest lecturers came in. She was in talks with a local street theater group to script plays that would integrate prevention and empowerment by emphasizing bystander intervention as an effective deterrent to eve teasing.

A great change was sweeping across India. The Nirbhaya case had energized the masses and now rapists were being shamed instead of victims. 

This was the moment. It was theirs to seize. 

Zoya went on to present best and worst-case scenarios and a timeline. If they were aggressive enough, the first session could be within six to eight months. Ideally, the hope was for them to become the first institution of its kind to offer such a comprehensive training and education program, and get a chain reaction started if they could get accreditation and national recognition. 

This was a lot to digest and she hadn't even compiled the final report. Her Abbu would study the materials and reassess how much and how far he could extend himself. 

Siddiqui walked away, deep in thought elated and proud of Zoya, but simultaneously terrified of the responsibility this would thrust upon them.

This was a noble enterprise. But did they have the mettle to see it through?

Because there was another barrier to this campaign of change too. And it was the basic risk of a backlash. She had already seen this fear in Asad when she had run her ideas by him. As much as he supported her, he couldn't hide his reluctance in letting her go too far with these plans. Such a public campaign would bring her and anyone associated with the issue, under the radar of disgruntled and disaffected males, domestic abusers, and anyone who saw female empowerment as an assault on the status quo. Since the beginning of time, any social change was seen by some as a loss of god given privileges and rights. And when perceiving their familiar rights under attack, such people often resorted to violence. Statistics showed that with each wave of gains in women's rights, violence against women shot up too.

Didn't they already have enough enemies in the form of Tanveer and Imran?

Zoya knew Asad was right, and even that concern she had factored into her report, which was still a work in progress. After all, many parents would object to their daughters participating in such programs precisely due to such a fear. Men who did participate, would be made fun of for being pussy-whipped and emasculated.

But they had to get started somewhere, didn't they? And as much as Asad hated the idea or his gut twisted in fear, he stepped back when Zoya reminded him, "Jhansi ki Rani didn't become Jhansi ki Rani because her husband told her to stay at home." 

     "But you will stay behind the scenes. I don't want you to be the face of this campaign." He had put his foot down.

     "You're right, with the baby coming I won't have the time either." She solemnly agreed.

 

She sat up at dawn and shook Asad awake.

     "What?" he grumbled trying to tuck her under his arm, eyes still closed. 

     "The bikini top!" Zoya squeaked. "It's probably still floating there waiting to be discovered by whoever wakes up first. Mr. Khan! I told you we shouldn't have!" 

Asad's eyes popped open wide in alarm and he bolted out of bed to go retrieve the telltale sign of their midnight romp. Ammi would seriously kill them if she even caught a whiff of their besh*aram activities.

He kicked away Dhoni bear who was blocking his path. Thank god his wife didn't see him do that. 

And thank god there wasn't a full moon last night! Because otherwise the large domed skylight over the pool would have acted as an indiscreet spotlight. The oblivious moon had its back to them, the domed searchlight was switched off, and the silhouetted darkness wrapped them in a velvety embrace. Asad held her against him, lazily trailing a wet hand on her cheek and tucking her hair behind an ear.

The water lapped around them.

It drove him crazy that she couldn't muffle her hisses and soft cries of arousal as much as she bit her lips or burrowed in his chest. He had already done an in-room inspection of the bikini's translucence and given it an enthusiastic thumbs-up. 

His hand moved up to her nape and he tugged the strings loose. 

     "Asad," she gasped softly. "What if someone sees us?" she whispered, even as her eyes closed and her lambent body invited his ardent caresses. The wet material still clung to her even though the strings had come loose. 

     "Shh," he bent his head to tease her free with his tongue. She forgot all questions and any doubts as his fingers sneaked between her legs and pushed the bikini bottom aside to stroke her intimately. She bit his shoulder to keep from whimpering with electric pleasure. 

She was molten, golden in his arms.

Asad raised his head to look at her face. 

     "Come for me. Now!" he commanded, his voice rough with desire. He kissed her eyes and mouth as she shuddered and peaked. Her hands had spasmed on his arms and she was unaware that her nails scored him. He loosened the strings at her back and buried his face in her cleavage. "Zoya!" he moaned.

     "Oh god Asad, no, not here," she had begged helplessly as he unsheathed himself and moved to mount her. His thumb had feathered across her bruised lips. Merciless, he'd pressed on, seeking and craving her tight clench.

He knew she was terrified of discovery and her warranted fears inflamed his blood.

Asad knew she was a noisy lover and its promise pushed him to breaking point. Because he knew how he would silence her and swallow her dissent and consent.

Lifting her to fit him he slid in and her head rolled back. Her short gasps and quick breaths scorched him. 

     "Say it," he told her through gritted teeth. 

     "I love you, I love you." Her breathy litany in his ear punctuated each grateful thrust as he hitched her hips closer impaling her deeper. Her strangled words faded. 

     "Keep saying it," he shook her.

     "I can't, oh god, Asad I ca—!" 

The water churned and tossed around them, a heaving blanket and blushing voyeur.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Fanaah (2006), "Mere Haath Mein" 


	93. Jaane Kya Hoga, Kya Hoga Kya Pata; Iss Pal Ko Mil Ke Aa Jee Le Zara

  

 

 

 

  

     "No Ammi, I won't go and you can't make me." Nuzzhat shouted over her shoulder and flounced off to her room.

She knew exactly what Ammi was up to. Just because Nikhat and Najma baaji were going with their in-laws to Ajmer Sharif in two weeks, didn't mean that she had to tag along too. But no, who'd explain that to Ammi who could already smell the mehendi and hear shehnais? And Naz aunty too was looking at her funny these days. 

Abbu never said no to Ammi. And the other girls were useless too. No one understood why she hated being teased. Only Asad Bhaijaan was on her side. He glared at them all when they continued to rag her about Faiz. 

     "Focus on your studies and ignore these people," he told her one evening when the teasing had gotten particularly oppressive.

     Zoya had held her face, "aw, we're sorry for messing with you, Nuzh! But we'll never force you to get married. And we'll stand up to Chhoti Ammi, so don't worry. I have so many tricks up my sleeve! Aapi used to bug me too about marrying all the time! She would chase down boys at the mosque or the community center and ask them, 'beta aapka naam kya hai, aap kya karte ho?' So embarrassing, Allah miyan!"

     "Oh my god, Zoya Bhabhi!" Nuzzhat hissed. "Will you keep it down? I don't want Ammi to get new ideas about how to find raah-chalte eligible boys! But what tricks? Tell me more."

     "I would wear shorts or a mini skirt when Aapi invited ladkewalas home and 'accidently' forgot to tell me about it!" Zoya told her, using air quotes. 

Asad grinned in approval, perfectly satisfied with her evasive blocks of nikaah to anyone else. 

     But Nuzzhat frowned. "I don't have any. Can I borrow yours?"

Now Asad frowned in disapproval and Zoya laughed, teasingly bumping his shoulder with hers.

She was familiar with all of Aapi's sneaky chaals and had her own well-appointed arsenal to counter them. 

But she had become over-confident.

Because the Akram-ambush she hadn't seen coming. That was when Aapi pulled out all the stops.

Zoya looked up at Asad.

But then that sneaky trick was the one that got her to flee the nikaah from hell, all the way to the Dargah where Asad saw her … and ...

... and the rest is history!

She sighed happily and returned to soothing Nuzzhat's fears.

     "When Aapi sent Omar to check me out, I was planning to put stinky oil in my hair and braid it into sausage rolls, draw a unibrow to connect my eyebrows, and wear my oldest, most faded jeans! You don't know how much I missed my Halloween witch make-up kit that day! I had a whole collection of glue-on tattoos and piercings."

Asad laughed at the image. Yes, she did have a flair for drama. He still remembered when she'd pretended to have chicken pox to avoid deportation!

     "Why didn't you do some of those things?" Nuzzhat asked. She remembered vaguely that Omar Jeeju had first met them all because Aapi had proposed a potential rishta between him and Zoya Bhabhi.

Zoya looked at Asad again and held out her arm.

Surprisingly unembarrassed, he took her hand in both of his, and placed a lingering kiss on it. 

Their eyes locked.

Nuzzhat blushed. She had never seen Bhaijaan be so demonstrative. But she became serious when she saw something painful flicker in both their eyes.

Zoya blinked several times and cleared her throat.

     "I didn't, because your Bhaijaan was going to be there too. And I wanted to look my best ... for him." 

The piercing ache of those days gave her sudden goosebumps. 

Zoya shivered.

But when Asad squeezed her hand, she smiled. 

The cloud passed. 

The pain of the past mattered only because it was meant to bring them closer. 

     He bent his head to whisper a line from an old Rafi song for her ears only, "Hai ban ne sawarne ka jab hai maza, koyi dekhne wala aashiq toh ho!" 

So true!

Zoya glowed with pleasure.

     Nuzzhat gripped her other hand with urgency and dragged her away. "Bhabhi, promise me that you all won't press me to get married until I find a guy who makes me want to look my best?"

     "Done!" Zoya shook hands with her on that promise. 

     "And looks at me the way Bhaijaan looks at you!"

Zoya turned a shade of red that would make Tamatar look pale by comparison. She nearly fled to hide her face in Asad's shoulder. Because suddenly she remembered the way he had looked at her last night, in the pool, just before she was about to come.

     "Umm, your Bhaijaan is right," Zoya added. "Studies first, and whatever else you're passionate about. Now stop worrying about a nikaah ambush, and tell us about your next theater performance. Were you able to contact anyone at Pandies for the workshop?"

Pandies was a Delhi-based feminist-activist theater that organized workshops for children in villages and slums. Nuzzhat and some members of her theater group were excitedly talking about attending one of their workshops.

As they were walking away arm in arm, Zoya froze. She gasped as a sudden idea came to her and she began to shake with glee.

     "Nuzh! What if your troupe did a street play on this exact issue—girls being pressured by their families to marry young, instead of pursuing their studies and ambitions?"

     Nuzzhat shrieked with joy, "oh my god, so many of my friends would relate to it too! One of my friends has stopped taking solo pictures because she's sure her mom will sneak it out to show to ladkewalas or post on matrimonial sites!"

By now Najma and Humaira had joined in too. 

Everyone nodded their heads in understanding. 

Yes, the solo pictures which Indian girls become wary about taking around the time they turn nineteen or twenty. Because you never know when your mother could get her hands on it to float it around in the marriage market. 

Could the selfie-culture be playing right into eager moms' hands? Well, Nuzzhat and her friends only took group selfies now. Whatever it took to discourage their mothers' match-making hopes that were hard-wired into their DNA.

Asad shook his head as he watched them all hatch loud conspiracies to undo millennia-old power structures. Earlier, he had no idea that girls hid this additional fear in their hearts. Zoya had told him once about her own fears regarding marriage—she had called it a game of chance, "Russian roulette, where you didn't know what you'd get when you pulled the trigger."

She's told him that she was terrified of marriage not just because of her own parents' history. As was he. But also, because she could have very easily ended up being married to someone like Akram, or in Nikhat's case, someone like Imran. 

Imran— 

Asad felt a chill creep up his spine.

 

A smile tugged at her lips. 

It could only be under these circumstances that a woman would smile when she couldn't button up her jeans! 

In the mirror she couldn't really see a bump, just a gentle rounding out of her stomach, and if she wanted to, she could fasten her jeans, but for the first time in her life, jeans felt uncomfortable. 

Zoya pouted and then rubbed her tummy. OK baby, I get it. You're getting ready to put on a show. 

Bring it!

Reluctantly she changed into a salwar kameez. But that started its own chain of discomfort.

Not physical discomfort, no.

     "Are you going to the Dargah?"  Najma asked. "I'll come too."

     "I wasn't planning to, but sure, let's."

     "Then why're you wearing a suit?" Najma frowned.

     And everyone after that asked her the same thing, "going to the Dargah?"

So, Zoya'd improvised. Leaving the top button of her jeans undone and just covering up by wearing Asad's shirts seemed like a good compromise: it helped her be comfy without having to sacrifice her street cred.

But that problem-solving came with its own complications. On some mornings they would fight over the same shirt. 

     "I was planning to wear that," Asad fussed one morning, shirtless.

     Her frown matched his. "First come, first serve," Zoya tossed her hair in irritation.

She'd just hugged her porcelain buddy thanks to the morning sickness, and was in no mood to put up with Jahanpanah's scowls. 

And the sight of his flat abs was another red flag. 

     Asad pulled her to him by her wrist, "moody, Mrs. Khan?"

     "You would be too, if you'd just hurled your guts out and couldn't pull your jeans together!"

In a burst of temper she tried to stomp his foot. But he was a bit more agile than her, and swiftly lifted her off her feet before she could do much damage.

     "Asad!" she scolded. "Put me down!" 

     "So you can practice your famous battle moves on me? I don't think so."

Her temper was fast fading. Why wouldn't it? The freshly applied spicy cologne was already doing a number on her. She was up in his strong arms against his bare chest, how could it not? But she couldn't resist prolonging the pretense. Zoya crossed her arms to stop her hands from roaming the expanse of warm, hard flesh.

He said something.

     "Hmm?" she asked, already half-distracted. 

     " ... dimple first," he urged.

     "No!"

     "Then Jahanpanah will have to issue a begum-tickling farmaan," and dumping her on the bed he proceeded to coax the obstinate dimple out by tickling her till she giggled helplessly. He bent to kiss her stomach and whisper daddy-to-baby chatter. A lazy finger traced his daily love letter to their baby just above her open fly.

She moaned, dissatisfied, when he moved away.

A recharged Zoya sighed with giddy pleasure as she rolled over to watch him.

     "I'm sorry for being so grouchy lately," she said to him as she watched him eye his remaining shirts, debating which one to wear.

     "It's OK," Asad said. "I'd be grumpy too if I had to deal with morning sickness every day!"

     Getting up to put her arms around him, she generously offered the shirt off her back. He was such a sweetheart for saying that after all; Zoya just loved that he got it. "Fine, take this shirt, I'll find something else to wear."

Asad waited for her to slip out of it. He tapped his foot impatiently, and looked at the clock several times as she shook it out.

He leered at her in a bra and half-undone jeans bending to kiss her cleavage. She held up the shirt for him.

     "No, it smells all girly now, and you've already wrinkled the sleeves by rolling them up," he announced with a micro-smile.

     "Oh. My. God!" Her flash of temper returned at the rejection. "Mr. Khan, you're so high maintenance!" She huffed back into the shirt buttoning it up with a vengeance, "and lecherous as heck!"

     "Sab aapka asar hai," Asad yelled to her departing back. "I used to be Akdu karela, remember?" 

     She came back to wag a finger in his face, "you also used to be a sarru, pyaar ka dushman, Tayyib Ali who wasn't gettin' any! Keep this up, and you won't be gettin' any in the near future either!"

     "Zoyaaa!" he yelled. But she'd skipped out of earshot.

Damn, again with the weekly sex strike blackmail! 

But, no worries. 

Asad always managed to charm his way back into her graces. Tayyib Ali had come a long way from being a pyaar ka dushman since Mrs. Tayyib Ali walked into his life.

 

Nuzzhat gulped. 

What the hell was he doing here? Thank god Ammi wasn't home or she'd get stars in her eyes just at the sight of this guy. Dadi was a much better person to have at home—so much more normal and laid back, and right now snoring slightly as one of her favorite TV shows blared away. 

Nuzzhat had just gotten out of the shower and was wearing a light suit because it had been so hot outside as they practiced in the stuffy auditorium. She was part of the street theater troupe and was the one who had hooked up Zoya with the organizer for research on her report. 

     "Hi," she said tentatively, not really sure why he was here.

Faiz didn't answer; he just did his best to not glare at her.

What? Why does he look like he's swallowed a lemon, Nuzzhat wondered. Zaroor must be a case of Delhi belly. These firangis had weak stomachs. They needed mineral water and hazaar chonchle to survive the Indian spice and heat. 

Not that she didn't love her Firangi Jeejus, but she still teased them about their snobby, anti-Indian, ABCD stomachs.

     "I'd like to know why my cousins are ragging me about having an American girlfriend?" Faiz asked. 

     "Ask them. How would I know?" Nuzzhat rolled her eyes. Who the hell did he think he was? 

     "I did. And they told me that you're the one who went about saying at the Sangeet and Nikaah that I was living with my white girlfriend."

     She gasped. "Never! I never said anything about a live-in relationship. Your cousins are either deaf or liars." 

He didn't get this under-the-radar low-grade hostility that she threw at him at each meeting. God knows why Nuzzhat seemed so bent out of shape. She wasn't exactly rude, but there was this veneer of distaste when she was with him. It was as if she'd heard a nasty rumor about him and had permanently reserved judgment. 

     "Excuse me?" he couldn't believe his ears. Calling his cousins liars? Now that was low.

When she didn't answer and just stared down her nose at him, Faiz adopted another tack.

     He smiled sweetly. "Does Bhai know that his little saali is such an imaginative journalist and chef?" 

She looked at him blankly. Chef? Journalist? 

This is what Attention Deficit Disorder must look like. Must be an American thing. 

     "That she seasons everything with mirch masala and broadcasts stories for ratings?"

She gasped in outrage.

     Nuzzhat drew herself up to her full height. "Jeeju is the one who hinted that you had a girlfriend. And I do not spread stories. Your information is coming from defective sources." 

     "Really? Cos. to me it seems that you've made up your mind about me and are determined to think the worst of me." 

Nuzzhat's gaze lowered in shame. 

He was kinda right. 

Trying to sabotage the developing narrative of a nikaah between her and Jeeju's younger brother, she had been deliberately rude and flippant. And truth be told, she may have been purposely indiscreet in airing his supposed relationship status. But she didn't think that he'd actually come here to face off with her. 

Ashamed now, Nuzzhat berated herself. 

She'd thought that he'd be leaving for the US soon, and everything would be forgotten. But she hadn't realized that she had embarked on some kind of spiteful character assassination. 

If Baaji found out, she'd be furious, and if Jeeju found out, he woulnd't say anything, but he'd be terribly hurt. 

Nuzzhat felt miserable now. 

Glancing briefly at Dadi, she grabbed him by his arm and dragged him to the balcony.

Faiz was too shocked to resist at first. 

     "What're you doing?" he spluttered.

     "Shh," she put up a finger to her lips. "You'll wake up Dadi."

Nuzzhat felt embarrassed and shy now. Should she tell him the whole truth? Would she be able to? 

     Twisting her dupatta end in nervous fingers she tried to pacify him. "I'm sorry. It's not you that I have anything against. It's just ... just that I'm getting really annoyed with everyone pairing us up and coming to the foregone conclusion that we'll get married."

     "Hunh?" Faiz couldn't believe it. He'd heard similar talk, and also been teased about it, but he hadn't reacted this way. Then why had she? "So what?" he tried to reason with her. "Let them talk. It doesn't have to come true."

     "Because you do have a girlfriend?" she asked archly. Nuzzhat pinched herself. Now where had that come from? 

     "That's neither here nor there," Faiz replied stiffly.

     Nuzzhat sighed. "Look, you don't get it. For you, it's just light talk that you can easily brush off. You'll be leaving soon anyways. But for girls, such talk is scary. It becomes prophetic and takes on a life of its own. Mothers start to daydream about rasms and shopping, invitations and dahej. I don't want this matchmaking bakwas to go any further." 

     "So you built this elaborate story of my degenerate character just to get out of marrying me?" 

     She blushed. "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have."

     Faiz smiled. "My cousins think I'm a stud, so I'm not complaining too much. But if mom finds out, my life back home will be hell. She'll camp out at my place determined to do jasoosi on an imaginary white bahu. And if that happens, I'll blame you." 

     Nuzzhat gulped. "I'm really sorry, but why would having Aunty with you be so bad? She's awesome!" 

     "That she is. But she's also a social creature who'll host parties and get-togethers and TV marathons. She'll grill my friends about my social life and parade nice Muslim girls for me to stumble upon every other weekend. She tried that with Bhai. And I've no time for it. I've got my LSAT to study for." 

     "Oh?" So maybe he understood a little bit about what it was like to be a commodity in the matrimonial bazaar? 

     "Exactly!"

     "What can I do to dispel this rumor?" Nuzzhat asked contritely.

His eyes gleamed and lips twitched devilishly.

     "Pretend to be my girlfriend?"

     "No!" 

     Faiz laughed. "Relax, I was kidding!" 

 

The wheels had been set in motion. Any time Tanveer could well take the bait. They hoped.

But they worried nevertheless. 

Sometimes the best-laid plans could self-destruct. But at the same time, they had to risk it to ensure freedom from this daily worry. 

But the hyper-vigilance, and permanent alert mode was taking its toll on everyone. 

It was like living in a bomb shelter. 

They jumped at the slightest sounds, pensively checked rearview mirrors, stayed clear of windows and glass doors, and restricted all recreational outings.

Everything looked suspicious, servants were frisked coming in, undercarriages of cars were minutely examined. Prayer beads clicked, prayer mats unfurled and were refolded with sincere fingers.

Siddiqui Saheb could be seen on his secret midnight vigils checking and re-checking doors, windows, gas cylinders and recharged emergency lights and supplies. Around 2AM Asad did his own silent inspections after a quick check with the night guards. And between 3 and 4AM, Raziya walked around re-tracing the men's anxious steps. 

None knew about the others' sentineling.

Understandably, Zoya fretted about Asad till he was back safe at home. He wouldn't listen to her, often dismissing her worries with a crooked smile. Every morning she argued with him about having a bodyguard with him, but he'd flat out refuse. That got her so mad. And although she hated the idea of owning a gun she wanted him to consider it. 

     "Relax. Tanveer won't hurt me physically. She'll try to get to me through you or Ammi. Or Ayaan and the girls." 

He pulled her in for a hug and she wrapped herself around him.

But it still did nothing to relieve her anxiety. 

     "But what about Imran?" Zoya protested another time. "He wants to go after you and Nikhat."

     "I'll be fine," he repeated, downgrading her fears as he got ready for work one morning 

     She shook him by his collar. "Mr. Khan! You're really making me mad! I'll kill you if you let anything happen to you."

Zoya did box his stomach when she saw him bite his lip to stop himself from laughing.

     "I'm serious!" she growled. But her playfulness was soon replaced by worry. "At least think about a gun though. I hate guns, but if it keeps you safe—"

     Asad hushed her with a finger to her mouth. "No guns," he insisted.

Zoya frowned and opened her mouth to argue further.

     He crooked a finger under her chin to stall her. "Remember the last time you found me with a gun in the house?" 

She hid her face in embarrassment as Asad laughed and hugged her.

Ah yes, the days of the Jahanpanah Bond mystery and misunderstanding!

When she first came to their house, in true Zoya fashion, veteran watcher of many a crime drama and spy thriller, she'd confidently concluded that Mr. Khan was a secret agent. One night, when she had burst into his room to catch his mystery visitor red-handed, Mr. Khan had pulled a gun on her to keep her quiet, and that had verified all her suspicions. 

And terrified her.

For once, Mr. Khan had been able to render Ms. Farooqui speechless without covering her mouth with his hand or his own mouth. 

So sure was she of her super-sluething abilities that when he had put his hand in his coat pocket to retrieve something the next day, Zoya thought he was going to pull the gun on her again. What better way to deal with the mohtarma musibat he hated so much? She had assumed that her visa expiry woes were his diabolical doing too.

And for all of two minutes she had even donned her best goody-two shoes avatar. Asad had enjoyed the brief moment of triumph when he'd been able to bully her into good behavior.

But, much to his dismay, that hadn't lasted long. Because Zoya had turned the tables on him soon after. She'd tried some blackmail of her own.

     "You were so funny with your super detective act and scared face! And as always, armed with that pepper spray!" Asad teased her now, flicking the tip of her nose with a finger as he slipped his laptop into its protective sleeve. 

     "And you were so mean to threaten me like that!"

     "That's why, no guns."

     "You're right," Zoya sighed in resignation and rubbed her tummy protectively. 

     "Guns are more trouble than they're worth. We have too many crazy gun nuts in America, and too much gun violence. But I'll admit, I felt this weird little thrill when I thought you were an agent! I even imagined us as a super crime-fighting duo!"

     "I'm not surprised," he teased, smiling despite the half-urge to roll his eyes.

Asad was quite familiar with her vivid imagination and the crackpot conclusions she was capable of jumping to. That imagination had got them into many troubles before, but, to be fair, it had also saved them from many a scrape too. And by now he'd learned to take the good with the bad. Or at least, pretend to take the good with the bad.

His wife's imaginative leaps were legendary. 

There was a time when she'd first started living with them, when she'd misinterpreted his relationship with a foreign client. Sure of her deductions, Zoya had managed to convince Ammi that he was in love with the woman and breaking up with her because she lived in New York. How could a sane person confuse "deal" with "dil"? 

Only a very imaginative Ms. Farooqui, of course!

And of course, it had gotten Ammi wildly excited who'd even given her blessings for the nikaah; he'd been mortified!

But then, who'd have known that he'd end up marrying a woman from New York anyways! 

That imagination was trouble with a capital T. But it came with some extraordinary benefits, no doubt. 

As he was about to find out. 

     "How could you even think that I was a secret agent? Too many TV shows and movies, of course." Asad shook his head in wonder, but then saw the glint in her eye and grinned.  

     "Asad?" Zoya pouted, wiggling her hips against his in that familiar rhythm. He felt himself leap in response, and she knew it too.

     "Fine, I'll be Jahanpanah Bond tonight!" He nuzzled her neck as his hands grabbed those mischief-making hips of hers.

Zoya squealed with delight already planning the wardrobe. May be her pink feathered handcuffs could come handy again. But she'd have to send him home to pick them up. And some other accessories too. 

But that would ruin the surprise. 

Her lips puckered in thought. 

     "Will you be a Russian spy, or Moneypenny?" Asad wondered aloud. He was also mentally calculating if they had time for a quickie. 

     "Oh please, I'll be your boss!" Zoya retorted. 

     "M?" Asad asked, even as he locked the bedroom door and herded her toward the walk-in closet.

     "No," she sassed, slapping his wandering hands away. "I'll be Z." And she shook her charm bracelet with the dangling initial in his face.

     "You mean Zed?" Her dark teal top whispered to the floor. His fingers reveled in her softness.

     "No, I mean Zee!"

     "It's Zed," Asad insisted, tongue firmly in cheek, but hands zigzagging across her denuded upper body. He snicked her zipper open, his warm fingers skittering down from her stomach.

     "No it's not! It's Zee." She bit down from his jaw to neck, sucking him hard on the way.

Now he'd have to wear a tie to work. 

     "Americans! If you're playing a British role, it's Zed." he clarified, hooking his thumbs in her belt loops and dragging her jeans down. 

     "Please! Americans kicked the British out on their asses 200 some years ago! It's Zee." And she ground her ass into his tenting pant's front for emphasis. 

Asad groaned. But her victorious smile quickly faded. Zoya swung around to face him.

     "Asad, please be careful. I'd die if anything happened to you."

     "Shh."

     Her lips thinned in determination and her hands planted themselves on her waist, "in fact, as your boss, I command you to not get hurt. Or else!"

     "Yes, boss!" He hauled her up so that she could wrap her legs around him giving him perfect access. 

     "Be safe," she clung to him. "Please, promise me!"

Hand on her contrary mouth, he jack-hammered home. 

     "Oh god Zoya, you're so tight!" 

She jerked, and her eyes rolled back in her head.

Zoya's fears faded in his arms. 

Temporarily.

 

The Siddiqui house had become the de facto gathering place and war room —"The Situation Room"Zoya would playfully call it. Humaira took it a step further by calling Asad "General Jeeju" as she prefixed, "yes sir! Jeeju sir!" to everything she said to him. Sometimes she'd also snap a salute, and click her heels smartly.

Everyone found this hilarious and Asad was reduced to clutching his forehead in mock-despair—a gesture Humaira's Aapi was all too familiar with; it was a gesture he'd perfected thanks to her after all. 

Dilshad would even tease Humaira, saying not to salute too hard, or she'd make herself unconscious like her Aapi. 

Raziya beamed with pride. Humaira's coming into her own person, becoming someone who was happy and sure of herself, was just priceless. 

She'd do anything to protect this.

     "Does your family nickname others also, or do they reserve this special honor only for me?" Asad huffed that evening.

     "Nope, we do it specially for you," Zoya teased, elbow in her lap, face in her hand. "Because Jahanpanahs are also Generals, right?"

     "Jahanpanahs also have harems," Asad snapped, an eyebrow arched.

Big mistake. 

Zoya chin lifted off her hand, a submarine periscope, surfacing to find its target.

     "Not when they are castrated," she smiled sweetly, rising to drop a warning peck on his cheek. 

Asad roared with surprised laughter.

     He held up his hands in surrender, "OK, message received."

He should have known better not to engage in a war of words with his wife. As she always liked to remind him, she was better armed! 

     "You're lucky you're cute," Asad pulled her into his lap and kissed her hard. "Chaliye, aaj aapko deewar mein nahin chunvayenge!"

     "Aur kal?" Zoya asked innocently, head cocked to the side coquettishly.

     "Kal ho na ho."

     "ASAD! Don't you ever say that!" she slapped his shoulders alternately with both hands. "I told you, I'll kill you!"

Fear speared her heart.

     "OK, OK," he held her hands captive. "Kal bhi nahin chunvaenge. But only if you're good." 

Zoya pouted. "Good is boring. Besides, I'm better than good, and," her voice dropped, "so much better when I'm bad!" 

     "You're gorgeous when bad!" Asad swatted her butt, and she squealed. 

On her way to the kitchen, Dilshad heard their laughter and her heart lifted. She knocked on their open door and walked in. 

     "It's so nice to hear you laugh," she stroked Asad's hair as he bent over his laptop.

Always be happy, she prayed and invoked a dua. 

He was too tense these days. 

Besides work deadlines and meetings, there was the relentless worry of a potential attack by Imran or Tanveer.

 

She lost the baby three nights ago. 

It was odd to feel distanced from oneself like this, from every medicalized thing that was happening to her body as they poked and prodded her to stem the bleeding and pre-empt infection. The lethargic jail healthcare workers puttered around Tanveer in the large common ward.

A ceiling fan moved the stale air around in fetid circles.

Already her mind was racing thinking of ways to use this situation to her advantage. She ached in a million places and the stitches were still raw. But Tanveer didn't trust the shoddy work of the doctors on the government's payroll. She'd be lucky if they hadn't left a pair of scissors or a sponge in there. She could be dying or hemorrahging even as she lay in a sweaty heap in one of creaky metal beds. 

Luckily no one else was in the ward, only a female guard posted by the door. The shifts changed every eight hours. And the one on night duty she'd already befriended with serialized sob stories of domestic violence and dowry demands. How her in-laws had framed her because she wouldn't consent to an amniocentesis to determine the fetus' gender.  

Her smirk was soon replaced by a grimace of pain. Tanveer was growing restless with her confinement. With the baby gone, it was as if a second chance was just an arm's length away. 

She could taste her freedom.

 

     "No Asad, please, don't!" Zoya burst into tears as she held him from the back. He had been gazing out impassively through the window, shoulders set stubbornly, and jaw stiff from gritting his teeth.

     He turned and drew her into his arms kissing the top of her head. "I hate it too," Asad soothed. "But it may be the only way to end this nightmare."

     She clung to him desperately. "But it's our home. It's ... everything to us. To you. It's your baby."

     Asad smiled grimly, "it was. Now, you and the baby are everything to me. Aap dono par aise lakhon ghar qurbaan." His palm curved over her stomach possessively.

Zoya rushed to cover his mouth.

This was all that monster's doing! 

It was because of that vile woman that Asad had even come up with such a drastic idea. Use their home as bait? As a possible staging ground to entrap Tanveer who may well destroy it? 

No!

That was her home, where she fell in love with Ammi, Najma, and most of all her Jahanpanah. 

But even more than her love for the house, was what it meant to Asad. 

He had never said it, but she knew it was a tiny piece of the earth that he could proudly claim as entirely his own, something he'd built with sheer grit and passion. He hadn't inherited it. Alone, he'd clawed his way up to provide a roof over his Ammi's and kid sister's heads. He'd made thousands of quiet sacrifices along the way, only some of which she knew. The time when his friends would be out, painting the town red, he doubled down to work at a relative's small construction company. When across the city his father's business was booming, his name splashed across billboards near upcoming residential and commercial projects, Asad had resolutely refused to use his father's name and influence to scale the ladder of success. 

Their home was a measure of those hard-won triumphs; it was his pride, his identity. It was where they had stowed some of his cherished childhood treasures to show their kids.

How could he even bear to use it as a mousetrap for that bit*ch to defile!

But this time Zoya's wiles and persuasions didn't work on him. She couldn't talk him out of this terrible decision. 

     "Please Asad," she continued to plead with him. "I was looking forward to going home now that everything's repaired and reinforced. Ammi and Najma too want to go back home to their rooms, rest their heads on their pillows." 

     "Zoya, we have to think rationally, not emotionally. First of all, this is not final as yet, so you may be worrying for nothing. It's still just an idea we're toying with. Second, if it comes to it, and this could take those two out permanently, I'd put up the house as bait in a heartbeat again and again. Our lives are more important than a house."

     Her hands fisted on his shirt. "But it's not just any house! It's you! I can't bear the thought of—" 

     "Shh, I know, baby, I know." He hugged her to him. "But I'm here. As long as we're all safe, I don't care where we live."

And even she had to agree with him on that. 

Because Tanveer had managed to slither her way out of the jail hospital. 

Their carefully-laid groundwork for the faux escape had been bypassed by the eely woman. 

The details of her escape were still fuzzy. 

But there was a shame-faced female guard who was now sporting a nasty bump on her concussed head, and regret on her bruised conscience for falling for the oldest con job. 

From what little they could piece together, she'd master-minded a simple switcheroo, and apparently Tanveer had strutted off the premises dressed as a jail employee. 

They were back in the crosshairs.

 

     "There's some bad news and good news," Feroze told Nikhat when they had briefly surfaced from the honeymoon fog.    

Nikhat paled. Horrific visions of accidents and illnesses raced and trampled over one another in her head.

     "Is everyone OK at home?" she whispered in a voice laced with rising panic. 

     "Yes, thank god!" Feroze assured her. "Everyone's OK, but ... Tanveer managed to slip away once again, and they still haven't found that dirtbag Imran."

     Nikhat's eyes widened with terror. "Are Asad Bhaijaan and Zoya Bhabhi OK? Oh my god, Feroze, we should go back right away!" 

He drew her into his arms for a comforting bear hug.

     "Asad and Zoya are fine! Full battle mode on. And about going back? That's where the little bit of good news comes in." 

Nikhat tilted her head back to look at him. He grinned down into her face.

     "Asad wants us to extend the honeymoon," Feroze said, matter-of-factly. 

She covered her flaming face with hands still richly filigreed with the nikaah mehendi.

     " 'Two less people to worry about,' is how he put it," Feroze tugged her hands away to kiss her cheek. "Now we wouldn't want to add to your Bhaijaan's worries, would we?" 

     "Oh god," Nikhat groaned. While Bhaijaan's concern was heartwarming, it was pretty embarrassing to have your older brother tell your husband to prolong the honeymoon. 

As it is, she had been dreading returning to face the family. How would she ever be able to look at Abbu after all the things she'd done these past few days? She squeezed her eyes shut and hid her face in her husband's shoulder as he lifted her up to carry her to the bed, intent on adding to the x-rated list of things she'd do on this trip. 

     "So, should we continue to stay here and give the housekeeping staff a break from room 1230 in this hotel?" He yanked off the towel she'd wrapped around herself as she'd stepped out of the tub.

     "Or," Feroze nuzzled her dewy skin, "be badmaash in another hotel and give their maids some chhutti too?" 

     "I don't care," Nikhat flipped her hair over her shoulder as she pulled him down to her by grabbing him by the neck. "As long as we don't turn up on youtube, and you take me dancing tonight, I'd be happy enough living in a tent." 

     "All that salsa and paso doble in bed, doesn't count?" He nudged her neck with his nose while his hands got busy. 

     She dug her nails into his shoulders and murmured through sighing gasps, "I meant dancing in public with clothes on! But," Nikhat kissed him full on the mouth. "I could go for some dirty dancing right about now!"

 

 

 

Song in title:

Race (2008): "Pehli Nazar"


	94. Lag Ja Gale Ki Phir, Ye Haseen Raat Ho Na Ho

 

 

 

The black and white cat seemed to appear from nowhere that morning.

And Zoya fell in love with it at first sight.

     "Oooh!" she squealed when she first saw it in the lawn.

Humaira and Najma had jumped in fright as the cat came to rub itself against their legs. 

Zoya scratched its head behind the ears and the cat arched in ecstasy, purring with delighted satisfaction.  

     "Aww," went Zoya. Her mind was already racing picking out a name for the tuxedo cat.

Oreo? Too obvious.

She didn't even know its gender. So something gender-neutral?

Riley?

Dobby!

The cat hopped and curled up in her lap proceeding to wash itself nonchalantly in telepathic approval of the christening.

     "ZOYA!" she looked up to see Asad charging toward her. He scooped up the cat and ran to toss it over the fence.

It yowled in anger.

     "Mr. Khan! How could you do that?"  

She ran over and made cooing noises at the cat which had gracefully leaped up on the fence; it butted its head against her hand, lapping up the adoration that was its due.

     "Zoya, keep away from it!" Asad grabbed her arm to drag her to the hose so she could wash her hands. "In fact, go inside and wash up with lots of antiseptic soap." 

     "Why're you being so mean?" she demanded. "It's Dobby, he's so cute!"

     "Dobby?" Asad frowned. But then he remembered his mission. "No cats! Pregnant women shouldn't go near cats. They can get toxoplas— something! It can cause birth defects."

     "Oh please, Mr. Khan!" Zoya rolled her eyes. Trust him to have read up on every pregnancy-related thing under the sun. "I've read the research too. You're being paranoid as usual. They're harmless as long as I'm careful and don't come in contact with their fecal matter. Besides, I'm immune." 

     "Oh really?" Asad asked, already scoffing at the notion. She really believed that she had super powers and was invincible.

     "No, I mean it," she told him smugly. "I already got toxoplasmosis," she looked at him archly. " ... as a kid, so now I'm immune. You can check with all your experts and sources!" 

     "Aaannnhhh!" Asad grunted through a forehead-clutch.

     "No beta, Asad is right," her Abbu intervened even though he did find the cat cute and loved the name Dobby. "These stray animals can carry many diseases. No cats." 

She pouted mutinously.

     "But Abb—"

     "No."

She glared at her husband for getting her father to gang up on her and muttered under her breath.

Asad shrugged, unfazed by her mutiny.

     "How did you already get it?" he asked. "Did you have cats as pets?"

     "No, but our neighbors did. I would take care of their cats when they were on vacation. And I volunteered at our local animal shelter." 

     "Of course! Why do I even bother to ask?" Asad muttered under his breath. She probably worked with Doctors without Borders too in some secret life. And one day he'd find out that she had already won the Nobel Peace Prize while he had been straightening sofa cushions and deciding which tie to wear.

Asad beamed down at her; he would have kissed her hands but they had just come in contact with that revolting cat. 

He sighed. One of these days, he would most likely keel over from a heart attack worrying about her. And once the kids came ... there was pretty much no hope left for him. They may as well sign his death certificate now.

Asad watched as Dobby glided back and re-hopped to circle and settle into her lap. This time he wasn't sure if it was the cat, or whether it was his wife making the purring sound. 

That sound, and sight, stirred his soul.

  

Tanveer smirked to herself. It had been so easy.

Fix a time and a place, phone in an anonymous tip to the police, and Bam! Imran was no longer a problem.

Bloody fool! Just because he'd helped her get out of jail, didn't mean she was going to be beholden to him.

She owed him nothing. And she didn't want him around gumming up the works when she made her next move. 

Tanveer needed time to fine tune her next plan of action. The investments and arrangements she'd made just before being nabbed by the police the last time, were now paying off.

But it still bothered her that she had got caught the last time.

How could it have happened? Just when she was all set to move into the new place, the police were beating down her door at that guesthouse.

How had they known?

Tanveer shrugged. It was probably that detective that Asad had hired. He had turned out to be smarter than she gave him credit for.

But all that was water under the bridge.

She had a brand new blitz to plan. 

She looked around her with pride. Tanveer had always been good with money. The luxury apartment that her fake Abbu had given her to wash off his sins, she'd managed to sell for all cash just in the nick of time. Some of that money she'd invested in a smaller flat in the same complex that Rashid Ahmed Khan and his family lived in.

Right under their noses.

There was a lot of security, yes, but pretty soon they would become careless. And Ayaan was a wild card in that household. His volatile personality may well play into her hands. And the youngest sister, whose name she couldn't remember, was going out more and more these days with friends.

But for now, she needed to set the stage. Tanveer had time on her side, and no pregnancy weighing her down any more. She'd been only mildly surprised to find out that the Khans had moved into the Siddiqui house during her time in jail.

Hmm, so Zoya had finally been reunited with her Abbu.

How charming!

Tanveer couldn't help laughing. It was nice to leave Ms. New York her leftovers for once: A chewed up and discarded Abbu whom she'd fleeced to the fullest.

If only Asad ...

She exhaled, wincing slightly at the pinch of the drying stitches.

But thanks to her dutiful daughter stunt, she knew the Siddiqui house like the back of her hand. And Raziya was the weak link there. Most likely the Khans didn't know about Raziya's past sins, or she too would have been rotting in prison. There was no way that Asad would let Raziya roam free if he had any idea about what she'd done to his father and Zoya's mother. In fact, he'd probably kill her with his bare hands if he knew.

Such sentimental and emotional fools, all of them. 

Tanveer had just the place in mind for her final reveal.

It would be the piece de resistance.

She had spent hours in prison perfecting her ambush and its climax; her hands itched to get started. But she needed to be patient. All ducks needed to be lined up in a neat row for her plan to go smoothly.

Her phone buzzed. Tanveer eagerly opened the new message.

She exulted.

The lookout had just told her what she wanted to hear: The Khans had come back home. 

Perfect!

 

Next day they were all woken up by a loud shriek from the front door.

Spilling into the living room they had all grinned with surprised pleasure and misting eyes to see a sobbing Najma being rocked in Omar's arms.

Asad chuckled as he saw Dobby slyly streak into the house. Thank god he had sent someone from office the other day to round up the cat, take it to the vet for shots, delousing and grooming. Turns out, Dobby was male who had now been effectively neutered. No more little Dobbies colonizing the place. Besides, being fixed made him less prone to illness and, prolonged his life.

Dobby should be thanking him.

     "Did you know Omar was coming?" Zoya asked him as they returned to their room to freshen up and get the day started.

She didn't see the Jahanpanah shut the door in Dobby's face. The cat hissed in offended anger and scratched at the door making pathetic sounds. 

     "No, but I told him about Tanveer escaping. That must have freaked him out enough to come charging on the first plane over." 

     "Aww, I'm so happy for Tamatar! She never said a thing. But we know how she missed him terribly." Zoya hugged Asad. "I'm so happy I don't have to spend time away from you ... that you come home to me every evening." 

Before he could echo her sentiment or drop a kiss on her head, she fled to the bathroom clutching a hand to her mouth. 

He was startled by a series of raps on the window. Asad turned his head to see Dobby glaring at him through the glass when he was done head-butting the window.

Too bad! 

 

Breakfast became an impromptu party with everyone dropping in to welcome Omar. He was here for just a week before he went on to Bangalore and then Abu Dhabi for work. Najma would be going with him too.

Asad had breathed a sigh of relief. It was just this week that he'd have to worry for Najma. After that, thanks to Omar she would be far away from the damage that Tanveer could visit upon them.

But by then, Nikhat and Feroze would return.

His danger-meter pinged alarmingly.

Asad's brow darkened.

He would just have to nudge the family to go to Ajmer Sharif sooner.

Because he could feel it in his gut: Tanveer was arming for battle and spoiling for a fight. She had trained her sights on him and Zoya. But, if it became impossible to penetrate the defenses around them, then she would turn her basilisk gaze on the rest of the family.

She had burnt all her bridges now; the woman had nothing more to lose. 

Asad looked at Najma's glowing face and felt a pang. She just couldn't stop smiling as she watched Omar and Ayaan back-slap and fist-bump over something. Ayaan wasn't even razzing Omar, having missed his co-conspirator so much. 

Omar's eyes too kept straying to hers and Tamatar didn't even blush.

Not once.

Omar walked over to slip his arm around her waist and Najma leaned her head on his shoulder. Dobby would have been jealous of her contented state of being. 

Dilshad smiled as she looked at the happy couple. She wouldn't bug them about minding the company and behaving themselves just yet.

They'd earned a spot of besharmi!

She rushed to the kitchen to bring out her supplies and cast a mystical net of blessings to shield them from evil eyes.

  

The next night Zoya saw Asad's face turn ashen as he spoke to Rakesh, and she knew something terrible had happened. She braced herself to fight with him, knowing that he'd try to keep the bad news from her.

She could already hear her heart pounding in her ears.

Mentally she did a head count. Thank god, everyone was home and accounted for!

When Asad hung up and turned around, he too knew what was coming. They had had these brittle discussions before. And eventually she would get him to confide in her.

His shoulders and neck hurt.

The constant grinding of his teeth these days ensured a mild headache by the evening. At Zoya's insistence he was working more from home. But the steady anxiety for everyone's safety was beginning to sap his will.

All these days they had waited for the other shoe to drop. The wait had been unbearable.

But no more. 

Tanveer had struck. 

Her heart went out to him. He looked so tired. Silently, Zoya hugged him trying to wick away his fatigue.

He exhaled.

     Zoya kissed his neck, whispering "I love you."

She wouldn't nag him about it. He would tell her when he was good and ready. But she could tell. It was bad.

Asad walked them over to the chair and sitting down, pulled her into his lap. He buried his face in her hair. 

     "They attacked the house this evening," he told her.

Zoya gasped. She squeezed her eyes shut as her hand clutched his shirt.

Thank god for Asad's instincts!

She didn't even want to know what had happened. He had been right. The house was just mortar, bricks and glass. What mattered was that everyone be safe. 

The Khan house had been staged as a decoy as soon as the news of Tanveer's jailbreak had reached them. Four of Rakesh's operatives of similar size and stature as them had been stationed in the house. A man posing as Asad was even riding his SUV to make the set-up seem as authentic as possible.

They had waited for an attack they were sure would come.

And Tanveer had fallen for it.

     "Is everyone OK?" 

Zoya rubbed a hand on his chest in soothing circles.

     "The guy posing as me wasn't there because I was supposed to be at work. Her people used tasers on the two guards and cut the power supply." Asad's voice sounded flat. "Then they entered the house from our room."

     "How many of them?" Zoya asked in a tight whisper. 

     "Six. It's a good thing that Rakesh's people are well-trained and were armed, or it could ... it could have ended very badly. She wasn't there. It seems these men were supposed to round up the women in the house and take them somewhere else."

     "Oh god, Asad!"

He took a shuddering breath and his arms tightened around her. "They deliberately chose our room to enter through. You know what that means, right? Zoya, it could have been you. And Ammi and Najma." 

She couldn't bear the torment in his voice.

     "But honey, it wasn't, and it's all thanks to you!" Zoya pressed her lips to his neck. "They got them, right? Now Rakesh and his guys can question them and try to find out her whereabouts?" 

     "We hope so. But three of them got away. And according to Rakesh, they all seem hardened and hardcore. It won't be that easy to break them." Asad pressed a hand to his face. He wanted to pace the floor but he also wanted to hold on to her as a life line. "She's obviously escalating. Hiring so many people suggests she has resources ... this time she means business and is looking for a showdown." 

     "Are you going to ask your Abbu to move in here for the time being?" He had discussed the idea with her. 

Asad sighed heavily. 

     "Yes, I think so. It's the only way."

He was hoping nothing would happen in the next three days. That it would take Tanveer at least that long to regroup and re-marshall her forces. The sooner most of the family left for Ajmer Sharif, the easier he'd breathe. He wouldn't tell anyone about this new attack or everybody would decide to cancel the program. Thank god Imran was in custody. Asad had a strong feeling that Tanveer had something to do with that.

  

Rashid had taken some convincing, but eventually he agreed. Better to be under siege at one location, instead of two. Nuzzhat would go with her sisters, Jeejus and their in-laws to Ajmer, while he, Shireen and Ayaan would move into the Siddiqui home. Badi Bi had already left to stay with a relative in Indore.

Everyone tried to convince Humaira to go to Ajmer too, but she put her foot down. She wouldn't go anywhere without her Aapi and Jeeju. If they wanted her to go, they would have to come too. Dilshad too refused to leave Zoya, and finally Asad had to hold up his hands in surrender. He didn't even bother trying to convince Ayaan.

It was a given.

Ayaan wasn't leaving his side. 

 

Omar and Feroze had demurred too, volunteering to stay back as back up. Strength in numbers was their argument. They knew a little bit more about the imminent danger than the rest of the family.

But Zoya, more than Asad had finally persuaded them to go. She had pleaded with them for his sake.

Asad was just too stressed these days.

And if his sisters were well out harm's way, he might sleep a little easier.

     "Zo, it's not right," Omar had objected again and again. "We're all family and need to stand together at this moment of crisis." 

     "Omar, please!" Zoya had whispered through tears. 

If anything happened to them, at least the girls would be fine. The rest of the family didn't even know the worst about Tanveer, then why stay back and come face to face with her malevolence?

And there was another fear that haunted Zoya and Asad.

This time they might not be able to keep a lid on the family secret from eighteen years ago.

Besides, they both also knew that Tanveer just wanted them. She didn't care about the others. As a result, they would have to serve themselves up on a platter as bait. And the more people they could keep from being collateral damage, the better. 

     "Omar's right," Feroze had interjected. "The more of us there are, the less she'll think of mounting an attack."

     "No! She's lost it completely by now. The attack is coming. It's just a matter of when, not if." 

     Omar shook his head violently. "Then that's why we have to stay. C'mon Zoya, we know where Asad is coming from. Typical desi ladkiwala vs. ladkewala nonsense, where the girl's brother will bend over backwards to please the in-laws and not let them know of their troubles! But that's not you, nor us. We married into the family, and that means that your problems are our problems too." 

Feroze nodded in agreement. He didn't get this in-law inequality either. Indian girls were supposed to dedicate the rest of their lives to the welfare and well-being of their in-laws, but the men had no such obligation to their wives' families?

That was just wrong.

Zoya gripped Omar's hands, grateful for his words and support, but just as adamant.

     "Please guys, if nothing else, do this for me. I know it seems unreasonable to us as Americans, but Mr. Khan is just about ready to implode from the stress. He's not eating well, nor sleeping. When he does manage to sleep, he wakes up sweating from nightmares. He paces up and down the hall half the night checking on everyone. This is killing him." 

And she burst into fightened tears. Omar rubbed her back, still ready to protest. 

     "Please Omar, it's our fight, our battle, and we don't want you guys caught up in the middle. I'd die first." 

     "Shut up, will you?" he'd tucked her into his side, frustrated and super reluctant to give in.

But Feroze made the decision final.

     "I agree with Omar a 100%. What you're asking of us, makes us feel like rats abandoning a sinking ship. But I can understand Asad's point of view too; I might've done the same thing." He turned to his cousin, "And Omar, we'll survive feeling like wusses. If our leaving gives Asad even a second of relief, we'll do it. But just for you Zoya, cos. I owe you one."

 

Earlier, each time she'd passed by the pool, she'd blushed guiltily remembering the last steamy time they had been in there.

And Asad would grin roguishly seeing her avert her eyes and turn red.

     That would make Zoya glare at him. He'd widen his eyes, feigning innocence, then undermine it with an imperceptible jerk of his chin, which shamelessly suggested, "tonight?" 

Another time he'd cocked his head just a bit, to whisper in her ear that they still had to take her red bikini for a spin.

She had nearly melted into a messy puddle right there. 

Mr. Khan! She would stomp her foot each time. You've turned me into one bad girl.

But that was then.

When they hadn't heard of Tanveer's brazen escape and the most recent attack on their home.

Now Asad seemed remote and preoccupied. 

On each call with Rakesh, his voice was clipped and lips would be set in a thin grim line. He'd get this flinty look in his eye as his mind raced imagining a thousand ways to secure levees and blockades. Sometimes she felt him shut her out, and it chilled her. 

She possibly hated Tanveer the most for doing this.

Zoya had seen and been increasingly alarmed by Asad's bleak restlessness. His wakefulness put her on edge.

His nightmares made her ache for him. Only one thing brought a smile to her lips these days, and that was Dobby.

Dobby marched behind Asad as the general paced, or kept a watchful eye from the windowsill when the general brooded. And watching him leap into Asad's lap, and arch his back as Asad absent-mindedly stroked his fur, brought out her dimples which had gone somewhere into hiding.

Sometimes, she'd have to compete with the little furball to climb into Asad's lap first. Then Dobby would playfully bat his paw at her till she scooped him up into her own lap. She called it a triple-decker, or a Zoya sandwich, and all three of them would sigh at the luxury before the cat settled himself in for a leisurely bath. 

Watching Dobby wash himself was a kind of meditative therapy in itself. 

Even for Asad. 

Initially he had groused at the cat hair and the cat smell, but Dobby had quickly batted away the Jahanpanah's defenses and firmly insinuated himself into his graces. Because Asad knew that with the lockdown and virtual house arrest, Zoya was this close to cracking; she was already bouncing off the walls with restless energy. Researching and compiling her report kept her occupied for some hours during the day.

But she was beginning to fray at the edges.

Keeping the severity of the danger a secret from her Jeeju and Aapi wasn't helping either. Zeenat sensed that something was not right and that Zoya was holding something back from them, but she couldn't get Zoya to spill the beans.

In the midst of this thick tension, Dobby had been key in replacing Zoya's frowns and pouts with giggles and laughs. And that was enough to make Asad fall in love with the little pest too. The cat provided endless entertainment chasing the red dot of the laser pointer that Zoya had swiped from Asad's computer bag. A few times this led to more drama: the cat would trip up a servant, or scare Raziya or Dilshad by dashing around them. That made the girls break out into fresh giggles and guffaws while the mothers scolded them for acting like kids.

Eyerolls and snorts would follow.

Nuzzhat and Humaira even had bets going for how many times a day a servant would drop something, or the moms would screech and scold, or Siddiqui Saheb would be caught in his study with the cat napping in his lap.

 

His heart raced.

Asad couldn't breathe.

A heavy weight crushed his larynx.

He flailed like a fish gasping for a snatched habitat. Rows of shrouded bodies flashed before his burning eyes. He tried reaching out to a disembodied hand but only grasped a fistful of smoke. He could have sworn he heard a scream, but it was his own, and it clogged his throat, shredding it raw. 

     "Asad!" Zoya shook him awake.

He felt her cool hand on his forehead and cheek, and his breath returned as he took deep gulps of air. Asad willed his eyes open to greedily look into her face.

Zoya was leaning over him lightly running her hands on his face. Despite the chill from the AC, he could feel sweat running down his back. She dropped tiny reassuring kisses on his face and he crushed her to him, drawing pure oxygen into his starved lungs.

     "Asad, please don't do this to yourself," she pressed her lips to his temple. "I can't bear to see you like this." Zoya stroked his hair away from his damp forehead. She made soft kissing sounds to comfort him.

     "I feel I can't do enough to keep you all safe. That everything will be over ... lost forever. Every waking moment when I'm not with you, I'm terrified that the police will call me to tell me that …" He swore under his breath; his voice cracked, "I don't want to lose you!" 

     "Shh," Zoya tried to smooth his anguish away. "You're doing everything you can ... the absolute best that you can. But you're not superhuman! Cut yourself some slack."

She continued to gently rub his temple with her knuckles, whispering words of love and strength. She reminded him of how his razor-sharp instincts had saved them.

Yet again.

She recited the list of precautions they'd already taken. Omar had brought a number of wearable GPS devices for everyone to keep on at all times. He had even suggested doing mock safety drills every other day so that they would be better prepared. CC Cameras had been installed, electronic alerts set up, and pepper sprays and panic buttons had been distributed like Halloween candy. Everyone was supposed to check in via phone with at least two people every hour.

What more could they have possibly done?

Zoya stroked his jaw with her knuckle as he turned her on her back and leaned over her. His arm tightened around her protectively and their legs entwined.  

She was still trying to reassure him that he had to stop feeling so responsible for everyone's safety.

     "I could tell you that everything will be all right. But honestly, I don't know if that's true. But if there's one thing I do know, it's that you won't let anything happen to us." Zoya took his hand and rested it on her tummy. "You would walk through fire to keep us safe, you'd break through stone walls and iron chains to get to us if we were in harm's way." 

An unexpected chuckle broke through his fears.

     "You watch too many films, Mrs. Khan! How can you be so sure about it? I'm no Singham or that Dabang Pandey who do all those things!"

She slapped his shoulder before looping her arms around his neck.

     "Mr. Khan, please! Do you think I'd have married just about anybody who wouldn't do these things for me? It's in the fine print in the nikaahnama!" She kissed him full on the lips. "And I know you're a man of your word. I trust you. Now make love to me, cos. I'm so turned on by how hot I made you sound right now!" Her hands buried themselves into his hair and she wiggled against him.

She'd missed him so much!

Asad laughed outright, but was soon silenced by a very demanding and frisky Shareek-e-hayat.

 

     "How do you do it?" Asad asked later as they continued to cuddle. 

Sleep still eluded them. 

     "How do you not just shrivel up in fear of what could happen? Of what she could do?"

     "I get scared too. But then I make myself think of what I have right now." Zoya kissed his shoulder, "I've got you. And you've always slayed my demons. Each time. I've told you before, you're my superhero! My dua." She took his hand to once again place it over her stomach. 

Every day their child continued to grow stronger.

His hand convulsed.

     "But what if I'm not there with you when—?" When she strikes, he meant. 

They both knew by now that it wasn't a matter of if, but when.

     "What if I can't get to you in time? What if I let you down?" Asad shuddered, his fears returning, magnified and multiplying by the minute.  

     "As much as I would love for you to be with me 24/7, you can't. But you're here with me right now. And I want to make every minute count. We'll live a lifetime in a moment!"

     "I can't think that way! How do you not worry about what could happen?"

     "I used to," Zoya owned up softly. "But, now I've given myself up to Allah's will. 'Que sera sera!' "

For a second she thought of her mother. If it was her destiny to follow her Ammi's tragic fate, then so be it. Meanwhile, she'd live every minute as if it were her last. But Zoya hid these thoughts and self-pledges from Asad. He would surely pop a vein if he even got a whiff of her cheerful fatalism. 

But thanks to some divine decree, she'd cheated death several times: the gudia factory, Mangalpur, the car accident ... Insha'allah, she'd do it again. She had her Jahanpanah looking out for her after all. She would survive, like she did, eighteen years ago.

     "What's 'Que sera, sera'?" he asked, nibbling her fingers.

     " 'What will be, will be. The future's not ours to see.' I promised myself that I'll live every moment in the here and now. Like right now!" 

She clapped her hands and rose to light some vanilla-scented candles. Asad watched her, puzzled and still unconvinced. She went to the dresser to get a bottle of olive oil. 

     "Zoya, just come back to bed."

     She hushed him with a finger to his lips. "Give me this, Asad. Just let me touch you, feel you. In this moment, just be completely mine." 

She pushed him down on the bed on his stomach. He sighed and settled down without protest. Climbing astride to sit on his waist, Zoya began to work the oil into his skin, slowly loosening the stubborn kinks from his neck. With strong strokes of her thumb and fingers she dug into the flesh of his shoulders to tease out the knots and stresspoints. Initially, Asad hissed when a knuckle or elbow dug in painfully. But eventually he gave himself up to the insistent rhythm of her deft and brisk kneading. The heels of her hand ground into him and sculpted his flesh, the sides of her hands pummeled his upper back. The steady friction warmed her hands to a blaze. And now she used the fire to mold and burnish him.

Asad groaned in relief.

She slowed down to a mild rubdown as she felt his breathing become even and get deeper. And still massaging his back in slow soothing circles, Zoya slid off quietly to cover him up.

He slept like a baby.

He slept through the night for the first time since Tanveer's attack on the Khan home.

He missed his 2AM patrol; Dobby shook his head in professorial disapproval.

 

The next day Asad had left for work promising to come back in two hours and checking in via text. She had let him go without too much of a protest. By now, they both knew that worry for each other and the others was part of the daily grind.

But he had insisted that the family do a drill before he left.

Just in case.

With help from Omar, Feroze and Faiz before they left for Ajmer, Zoya had perfected the basics of a safety drill drawn from years of practice from school lockdown drills in America. It was simple enough; the key was preparedness, muscle memory and speed. Initally it had been met with a lot of giggles and dismissals from the desi crowd. And the hapless Americans had looked at each other and grinned in remembered shame. The words they were hearing now, were the literal translations of words they had used themselves, years ago, when forced to do the drills despite the fun of classes being cancelled:

     "So lame, man!" 

     "This is just dumb!" 

     "Fuck this! Like this is ever goin' to work?"

     "AYAAN!"

     "Sorry Bhai, but c'mon!"

     "Do it, or go to Ajmer with everyone else," His brother commanded, and Ayaan shut up.

And sure enough, pretty soon the doubters had been whipped into shape by Asad's glares and scowls. Omar wrestled Ayaan, the biggest culprit, into submission, while Feroze timed them with a stopwatch. 

The first practice was a total bust.

No one took it seriously. Half the people forgot which room was the safe room. The parents strolled in late and half of them had forgotten their phones or GPS bands.

That earned everyone a grim lecture from Asad.

Then Zoya'd had a brilliant idea.

     "We'll show you how it's really done!"

Faiz and Omar groaned. But Feroze agreed. It would be a good model to showcase the plan's strength and pinpoint its weaknesses.

And they did the demo. In record time with Asad timing them this time. 

High fives and celebratory fist pumps and bumps followed. There was also some weird touchdown end zone dance by Faiz.

It burned Ayaan up.

He couldn't bear to be upstaged by the ABCDs' drill precision and moronic gloating. And as much as Najma and Nikhat loved their brand new pardesi husbands, they weren't going to just stand by idly and listen to stupid cheers of "USA! USA! We're number One!" 

This meant war! 

The next time around they were the ones herding the elders to make good time and beat the set record. It took at at least three practice runs to get close to the time set by the Americans. Dobby supervised, often being the first one in. This was fun. The humans were playing a new game, and he was winning each time.

Each person was supposed to activate their GPS bands as soon as they were in a safe location and call an emergency contact on their list. The instructions were simple: No looking for others and wasting time, grab your phones and run to the safe room. Siddiqui Saheb's study was the most sheltered room with sturdy shelves loaded with books on each wall. The door was solid wood too, which was to be barricaded from the inside by moving the desk and chairs in front. The study had already been stocked with supplies of pepper sprays and pocket-knives which could be sneaked into clothing if they were forced out from the room. There was a monitor in the room that connected to the cameras at the front door, living room and the entrance to the study. 

Much to Humaira's delight, her Jeeju had taken her christening of him as the general a bit too seriously. She was deputized to be in-charge of the checklists he'd created, and it was her solemn responsibility to double-check that all phones were being charged by 10PM every night. Because some people (like her sister and fiance) could not be trusted to charge their own phones. Really into her role as the chief lieutenant she had even acquired a pair of binoculars that she used to peer out of windows during the day when she patrolled, and keep an eye on the streets and alleys. 

As Zoya had reminded Asad earlier, there really was nothing that they hadn't thought of, or prepared for.  

 

Zoya felt anger and desperation flare through her. 

There were real world issues and problems much grimmer than theirs. They were lucky as a family of privilege and means who could afford to invest in protection and security.

But what about people who had no means?

Forced to be housebound, thanks to Tanveer's spiraling obsession, Zoya had started to deepen her research for her father's project.

And she felt helpless with each iota of new information.

Gang rapes and honor killings were escalating in India. Their own state, Madhya Pradesh, reported the highest number of rapes in the country.

Earlier, her father's vision of female safety and empowerment had charged her with a searing hope for women coming together in support of each other, standing up as one against injustice. When she had dreamily talked with Asad about her romantic notions of superhereos like the Justice League, she had imagined a network of informants, responsible vigilantes and quiet culture-jammers banding together to help women and the powerless.

In the US, she had heard about how, in the wake of the date rape crisis in the 90s, college girls began to write the names of their rapists on the walls of bathroom stalls: of classmates, boyfriends and even professors. The rapist list, it came to be called.

More recently, a Columbia University student was shaming her rapist and college by carrying the mattress that she was raped on, around campus, and to her classes. Over the days, other students on campus, men and women, had begun to help her carry the matress as a sign of solidarity.

She loved the stories from around India of older women in buses and trains surrounding and shielding eve-teasing victims and shaming their molesters. She had always believed that women and men were capable of coming together to help and protect each other.

So why couldn't that happen more often? And why wasn't it enough to keep women safe? How did women like Tanveer undo years of gains?

Zoya remembered the crowd's slogans from when she and Asad had been attacked in Agra on their honeymoon: "Aur nahin, ab bas!" Even then, it was two young girls who had come forward to energize the crowd. And soon men had joined in too. 

Yet, here they were, held virtual hostages by one woman's jealous rage. 

Tanveer's psychopathic venom was undermining Zoya's faith in a safer world for women. How could women go forward if some women insisted on holding them back? How could women trust each other and not see each other as the enemy with someone like Tanveer harassing them? How could they ever hope to build alliances?

Naz aunty's playful jabs at Indian soap operas reminded her of yet another minefield: the dreaded saas-bahu relationships on TV, that made women in the real world more suspicious of same-sex alliances across generations. 

Thank god, she had the best mother-in-law in the world! Nikhat and Najma were equally lucky. Why couldn't every girl count on that and be as blessed?

It really came down to this: why would women look out for one another, when 24/7 on Indian TV, they were being told that saases and bahus were bitches? That women were only good at kitchen politics and saazish? 

With an anguished cry, Zoya remembered the reason for her own mother's brutal death: another woman had felt threatened by her presence and existence. 

She didn't want to hate Raziya aunty, or even Tanveer for that matter. She didn't want to fall into that narrow crack of a space where women clawed at each other to compete for male favor and attention.

But how could she not hate Tanveer for all that she had done?

Tanveer's bogus claim that Asad had taken advantage of her at a weak moment, made every honest victim's claim of being raped, suspect. One reason why stricter sexual violence laws were not being passed in India despite the collective horror over the Nirbhaya case, was because men were claiming that false claims of rape would escalate. 

When women sabotaged each other, guilty men still came out winners.

And nothing ever changed.

The bile rose up again.

Zoya fled to the restroom.

She felt like crying. What kind of world was she bringing her baby into? Did this baby even stand a chance with Tanveer's petty mission that could take diabolical proportions and wipe out everything in its wake?

Last night she had managed to allay Asad's fears.

But her own surfaced right now.

She wept.

 

 

 

Song in title:

Woh Kaun Thi (1964): "Lag Ja Gale"


	95. Raaton Mein Jaaga Karoon, Din Bhar Bhatakta Rahoon, Main Toh Yahaan Se Bas Wahaan

 

 

You could seal most gaps, but not all. You could go mad anticipating the enemy's every move, but an unforeseen event or glitch could trip you up and scatter a tightly-held hand of cards. They had planned for Tanveer's faux escape from jail, but her self-preservation instincts and reflexes had proven to be stronger.

The ace up their sleeve had turned out to be a chimera. 

And that tiniest chance of malfunction, in his mind, became the slippery slope to the specter of complete failure; it plagued Asad night and day. 

He'd never felt this exposed or vulnerable in his life. 

And it ate him up inside.

However much he wanted to be seduced by it, he couldn't share Zoya's live-in-the-moment optimism and worry-free philosophy. For too long in his life, he had known only deprivation and the gut-wrenching fear of losing it all. There was no such thing as a worry-free philosopy. 

No Hakuna Matatas for him. 

 

One fateful night, eighteen years ago, had robbed him of Abbu's guiding hand from his head. 

Just one cruel snap of the fingers, and everything was smoke and soot. 

And Asad had come too far, worked too hard since then to let someone like Tanveer take it all away. 

She would do so only by prying it loose from his cold, dead fingers.

But that same night, eighteen years ago, had taken far more from Zoya. And that was his biggest fear; it choked him up and froze him in terror. She had lain there, shrieking, motherless, engulfed in crematorial flames. 

His throat burned.

He couldn't trust anything. Anyone. 

Asad drove himself into the ground plugging holes and covering all bases; he was spreading himself paper-thin. Because history was known to have a nasty sense of humor and a narcissistic streak; it had an uncanny way of seductively unfurling and repeating itself. If you didn't look over your shoulder every second, history stabbed you in the back.

Zoya had survived then.

But would she, this time around ... ?

Raziya had saved her then.

But Tanveer was no Raziya Siddiqui.

He knew that Tanveer would go to insane lengths to get her hands on Zoya. And once she did, he couldn't even let himself think of what she'd do.  

He cracked his knuckles; he'd begun to do that recently without realizing it.

 

Work was a blur. He was on auto-pilot these days. 

Robotic.

Possessed.

Grim ... gaunt.

He wasn't taking on new projects. And he was delegating all old ones. Asad hoped to god that he wasn't jeopardizing lives or livelihoods by the undeliberated decisions he was taking, or the papers he was signing away blindly. 

Thank god for Prasad and Ayaan! 

He wouldn't know what he'd have done without them. 

And once most of the family left for Ajmer, he was almost eager for Tanveer to strike. He wanted these days of sick limbo to end. 

He had worn himself out on the treadmill of ceaseless dread.

He wanted to confront her, come face to face. 

He wanted it to be over, once and for all.

Asad just hoped that he wouldn't live to regret his weary wish for a showdown with a madwoman. 

 

Zoya however, mostly fearless on most days, chafed at the relentless curfew-like restrictions imposed by General Jahanpanah. She was dying to visit the Dargah and her mother's gravesite, chill with the kids at the children's center, eat gol guppas and chaat, or watch a movie or two. 

Stupid Tanveer!

Her hand clenched on Dobby's fur and he stiffened, not pleased with an interruption in his naptime. She absently patted his head and his claws retracted. 

If the woman came before her, Zoya fumed, she would gladly slap her tight for sucking out all the joy from their lives. 

Damned nuisance!

She looked up to see her father watching her closely.

     "Kya hua Abbu? Why are you looking at me like that?"

     "You look mad enough to bite someone's head off. Tum batao, kya hua?"

     A wistful sigh petered out. "I hate this," she muttered. 

Siddiqui patted her shoulder. He understood. He hated to see the spark dim in her eyes. Through those eyes, he had seen a new world, an alternate universe. 

He had also seen the face of mercy. 

He didn't know where this faith and hope came from. Or, maybe he did. But he did know that finding Zoya after all these years had to have meaning in his life. Zoya conferred meaning to his life.

It couldn't be for nothing.

He knew he shouldn't be thinking it, but he was almost glad for Imran's fumbled attack on the Khan house. Because it gave him an unadulterated second chance. And he wouldn't let that tramp Tanveer, that pretend-daughter and impostor, ruin this moment. 

He'd do everything that Asad said, and more. 

It was that simple.  

 

Zoya hated this mandatory internment even more because Asad kept pushing her away from him. 

And all because of a woman who now stood invisibly, but tangibly between them! That woman who had now graduated to playing deadly cat and mouse games. A couple of days ago, a large bouquet of assorted flowers had been delivered to the house. Since all deliveries were to be intercepted by the guards they'd taken it apart but found nothing.

But Tanveer's plan had worked. 

There were no sighs of relief. Instead the stress and fear levels in the house had skyrocketed.

Then one afternoon, a man on a bike had flung a Molotov cocktail over the walls. It did no real damage; it wasn't meant to. 

Another day it was a box with a smashed porcelain doll in it.

Yesterday, a brick had been lobbed through the front window.

Today, a dead black cat lay at the gate.

A terrified Zoya had squeezed Dobby to her at this discovery, and he had squeaked and spluttered in dismay.

Some culprits had been nabbed and questioned. But they were common street desperadoes who'd been approached with promises of quick cash. 

And of course, these simple memos of terror were having the desired effect. Tanveer was waging psychological war on them. 

They were being cooked inside a pressure cooker. 

And worse, Asad was becoming kind of manic depressive in his excessive worry; it scared Zoya more than anything that Tanveer could ever do. The permanently clenched jaw and sternly etched frown plummeted her spirits. The rapid-fire instructions to servants and security guards, short bursts of temper with everyone around, and racing anxiety continued to alarm her. 

Just last night he had butted heads with Ayaan and chewed him out for coming home late. Raked him over hot coals, rather. 

     "Asad," she'd told him later that night in the privacy of their room, "calm down. You were really hard on him." 

She longed to stroke his forehead to wipe that frown off, or hold his head to her so that he'd remember to breathe once in a while. 

But he never sat still these days. When he did, he bristled in repose. 

It was like hugging a cactus.

     "Why can't he be more responsible?" Asad thundered as he smashed his palm on the dresser. It rattled. "He never takes anything seriously! Why don't any of them understand how crazy that woman is? This is just a trailer! She's only getting started!" he raged. 

Zoya made shushing sounds to soothe him. She hurried to hand him a glass of chilled water hoping it would act as an extinguisher to his erupting and escalating fury. She knew once his tirade started, it would take him several minutes to wind down. 

Still seething with pent up rage and barely restrained violence, Asad's hand shot out to slam the glass out of her hand with the force of a battering ram. 

She cried out.

The water flew in a graceful arc as the glass smashed to the floor and shattered.

Zoya stood frozen. Equally broken.

Hissing, Dobby ducked under the bed. 

     "Kya hua?" Rashid came running to the room to check on them.

Over his shoulder, he called out to the others to scramble to the safe room because they'd just been attacked.

An attack!

Panic and pandemonium collided and stampeded over one another.

The mothers squealed with fluttering hands to their hearts. Everyone tried to recall the correct instructions even as they debated with each other if they should check to see if all was OK with Zoya and Asad. 

     "ABBU!" Asad couldn't believe it!

Why couldn't these people remember anything? Would they ever get it right?

     "Nothing's happened! But you're all supposed to go straight to the safe room if something had happened! Why is that so hard to remember?" he hollered.

Asad turned to look at Zoya while Rashid went to tell everyone that it was just a false alarm. Nothing to worry about. Zoya and Asad were fine, and Asad was just being a grizzly bear. 

As usual. 

But, it would be nice if they all practiced the drill more tomorrow to get the details perfectly right. Just to be safe. 

And it would also make Asad less snappy. 

Asad could have laughed at the family's flustered attempts to follow the drill yet misremember the most important detail. 

If this had been a real emergency, they'd have been cooked.

But looking at Zoya's face made him want to weep. She bowed her head and still massaging her wrist, bent to pick up the pieces of raw glass.

     "No!" he barked. She flinched, and he felt even worse. "Let me," he added in a softer tone.

Asad made her sit down at the edge of the bed, and called the servant to clean up while he picked up the bigger pieces of jagged crystal. He continued to watch her with a heavy heart as he supervised the cleaning up.

     "I'm sorry," Asad knelt before her when the servant left. He took her limp hands in his and pressed his face into them. She winced when she tried to struggle out of his grasp. 

     "Zoya, please! Don't push me away. I'm sorry." 

     "Push you away! You're the one—!" she half-sobbed.

She took a deep steadying breath.

     "You're beginning to scare me Asad. You think of nothing else these days. Can't you see that she's already winning if you carry on like this?" 

     "I can't believe you're saying that!" Asad snarled as he rose to pace the floor, a sleek, stalking panther. "How can I think of anything else? You know what she's capable of, even if the others aren't!" 

     "Then why don't we tell them what she's capable of? They have a right to know too! Why are we brushing most of her sins under the carpet?" Zoya retorted, equally incensed. "I really don't care about her. But I do care about you! And you're not you these days!" 

     "How can you expect me to be myself? Nothing's normal right now! And you think I don't care about you! I've seen first-hand what she's done to you. She threw you down the stairs, and I couldn't stop her! She had Humaira and Ayaan shot at, to get at me! She ran your car over and I wasn't able to do a thing! We could've lost the baby!"

He wanted to shake her for not seeing things his way. No one seemed to understand his urgency, or alarm. 

Not even her!

     "When her people attacked the house they came through our room to get YOU first!"

Asad's voice rose with each tormented phrase. His eyes were fierce beads of burning coal; his mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. 

He couldn't control his volcanic temper any more.

Livid, Asad smashed his frustrated fist into the closet door. Enraged with the dull thumping sound it made, he pounded it repeatedly with both fists. 

The door, a poor substitute for his punching bag, began to splinter. 

     "ASAD!" Zoya yelled in alarm. Only now was she beginning to realize the true terror that haunted him night and day. It wasn't Tanveer's power to rain evil on them, it was his own absence and impotence he dreaded most.

She rushed to grip his hands before he hurt himself any more.

He fell upon her. 

Asad grabbed her by her neck and snagging his fingers in her hair, he yanked her head back to cruelly ravish her mouth. 

Zoya gasped; her hands came up to push him away, but she couldn't. 

She didn't have the strength, nor the will.

The kiss was all sharp teeth and abject grinding. It was too long before he sucked on her bruised lips in apology.

She reeled in shock still clinging to him.

But he was only getting started. Seizing the top of her shirt with both hands, Asad ripped the shirtfront open. The buttons popped and skittered like spent shell casings. Her bra was destroyed too as his hands tore through the hooks, mutilating them.

He flung it away, a grenade that parachuted softly to the floor. 

Neither noticed Dobby poke his head out and swat the strap. It was Christmas! Suddenly there were so many new playthings. A new toy! It was soft and even smelled of his favorite person.

Meanwhile, Asad and Zoya were caught up in a churning firestorm of their own, oblivious and uncaring. 

His fingers bit into her upper arms, his mouth harsh on her throat. 

     "Asad, don't—" 

He was unstoppable. 

In a frenzy. 

On a tear. 

The violence in him needed an exit.

Zoya felt desire and fear weld together and surge through her as he slammed her into the wall. 

Her breath was knocked out of her. 

She raked her nails at his nape in warning. 

     "Asad!" she tried to break through his blinding haze. Zoya bit his neck to bring him back from the swirling darkness that was consuming him.

But she arched helplessly next, crying out in steamy pain, as he sucked her taut nipple hard, drawing and tasting blood. Raw lust stabbed her gut, and she felt wet consent gush through her even as the sting of his bites seared her flesh. 

"Asad, please—"

She clenched her thighs squeezing his hand when it slid between her legs to claw at her mound through the jeans.

His ravenous mouth possessed hers once again. He sucked on her upper lip and she liquefied further.

Impatient and heedless, Asad hoisted her up and carried her to the bed to consume her. 

Wrestling her jeans off he speared his fingers to embed them in her hot, satiny center after pushing her panties to the side. 

     A satisfied cry erupted from her mouth even as she tried to hold his hand, "Asad, please, you're hurting me!" 

His hand stilled for a second. But he was pitiless the next instant. 

Her skin buzzed. 

She exploded into a million crashing sensations when he knelt down and his invading mouth and tongue accompanied the furious strumming. 

More teeth. A lot of tongue. 

Her body resisted yet welcomed the conquest. It thrashed. It levitated.

He ruthlessly pinned her bucking hips down. 

Asad wouldn't give her a chance to recover before beginning the assault all over again. 

He wolfed her down.

Her falsetto cries of completion crescendoed again and again. 

He was insatiable. 

He couldn't get enough of her. 

He would brand and re-brand her. All night if he had to.

Asad shredded her panties tossing them behind him. His thumb pressed and toggled, his tongue circled and swirled, his lips suctioned and teeth skated till she shuddered and shattered for him once more. 

She had lost count by now. Her head had thrashed and arms had flailed; with each lift off she'd gone dizzy and weaker.

Still he wanted more.

A fever was upon him.

Swiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Asad turned her around and brought her up on her knees. His hands cupped and kneaded her butt. As she bent on her elbows, her naked ass waved in sweet invitation. Groaning out loud, Asad dug his fingers into that heart-shaped confection. He could hold himself back no longer. Undressing, he homed into her as he rolled his hips to pleasure her and himself. 

She mewled in grateful delight, surprised that she had anything left in her any more.

The sight of her fists twisting the sheets, was what nearly undid his stupor. 

He froze. 

     "No, no, no!" she panted. "Please, don't stop," Zoya begged, her voice rough from all those orgastic cries. She was so close to the edge, just primed right to go off again. "Asaadd, don't you dare stop!"

     "Shh," he uttered through gritted teeth. Something in her tone, her achy, breathy voice, the way she called out his name, broke through his inscrutable numbness. 

Heartbreak splintered him. 

     "I hurt you ... I'm sorry," an agonized Asad whispered from behind her. 

     "Oh god Asad, later! Just give it to me right now, baby," she pleaded desperately, tossing the words over her shoulder and writhing against him mercilessly. 

And suddenly he wanted nothing else but to relish the erotic sight of himself disappearing into her again ...

... and again

... and again. 

He reclaimed her. 

Hard and fast. 

     "Am I hurting you?" he grunted.

Her rhythmic keening flung him over the edge along with her.

     "No ... no. Oh my god, oh my god ... yes ... YES ... YE ... ESSS!"

His self-control ripped. His mind went blank.

     "ZoyaAA! Oh god, I love you so much!"

 

     "I'm so sorry," Asad repeated later.

His atoning eyes roved over her. Her lips were swollen and tender. The sight of the darkening bruises he'd left on the rest of her body scalded and mortified him. 

He had drawn blood! 

There'd be tiny scabs on her broken skin tomorrow, thanks to him.

How could he have been such a beast? 

She lay in his arms, naked, for the grim inspection of the aftermath of his brutal lovemaking. 

Zoya wrapped her arms around his neck.

     "Remember that night on the train when I needed you to mark me because I couldn't bear the pain that was hollowing me inside out?"

He nodded, taking her hand to place a fervent kiss in her palm. 

     "You're carrying around something that's eating you up inside too. You won't share it with me. That hurts me more." Zoya whispered through tears.

Asad buried his face in the crook of her neck. His body was wracked with dry sobs. He couldn't bear the thought that he'd hurt her. 

He should be flogged! 

He'd hurt her most when every waking moment, anxiety for her ate away at him and eroded his soul.

How could he tell her that he was haunted by the visions of her limp and lifeless body in his arms? Graphic memories of Mangalpur floated up to suffocate any ray of light or sliver of hope in him.

His mind taunted him. 

It insisted on running the scenes of their capture and separation in Mangalpur on a sick loop as if it were just a preview of things to come. 

His mind mocked him with a blow by blow action replay.

He couldn't even remember how many armed men had pinned him down that day as others dug up a fresh grave to bury Zoya alive. 

It still shamed him to this day, that he'd let himself be driven away while she lay in the dirt, motionless and defenseless, at the whim and mercy of vicious men about to entomb her. 

Haltingly, Asad told her all this tonight, baring his soul, emptying his angst.

He told her of the horror of the moment when he'd run all the way back to the forest, but didn't know where to start looking for her. His mind had shut down, and guilt had paralyzed him.

Each fading second slashed him and tore him up inside.

Then, and even now, in its retelling.

Frantically, he'd scratched at the empty earth in haphazard patches, stubbing his fingers, but finding only clumps of mocking dust. 

He'd tasted ashes and tears as he shouted out her name through a raw throat. 

He wasn't even sure if he was in the right place.

He had felt disoriented and defeated. 

It could only have been some miracle that had sent Yash and Aarti to help him. It was Yash who, with a clearer mind and sharper eye had found freshly packed earth under a pile of dry leaves. Together they had clawed at the makeshift grave to resurrect her. 

     But when they'd unearthed her, Zoya had been unresponsive to the CPR he'd performed on her. No breath had sighed from her lips; no sass reproached him with "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan?" 

     His angry words had ricochetted in his head. "Mujhe uss din ka intezaar hai jab aap meri zindagi se hamesha ke liye rukhsat hongi!" He'd said to her, just a few hours ago. 

Pungent regret and searing loss had bloomed in his heart as he'd staggered and sunk to his knees, bereft and soulless. So many unsaid words, a promise of a lifetime had slipped from his hands like dead, decomposing dirt. Again it was his fault: his stubborn refusal to believe in her instincts. And she had paid the price for his unrelenting arrogance. 

Unknowingly, he had impaled himself on a thorn and her initial had bled from his thoughtless hand.

Invisible threads and chains had bound them to each other, they'd realized much later.

His dripping blood ... her branded initial ... had mated them for life that day.

It had breathed new life into her.

     Zoya reminded him of this now as she kissed the initial on his palm. "I came back, because you came back for me! I'm here because you were there."

     "But what if I don't ... if I can't, this time?"

     She burst into tears. "You will," she pronounced softly. She knew it in her heart, and it was enough for her. Why wasn't it enough for him?

     "I know I will till my dying breath!" He removed her hand as it tried to clamp his mouth shut. "But what if it's not enough?"

Eyes brimming, she shushed him.

They held each other for a long time.

 

     "Don't move," he ordered a little later as he rose to put on his pants.

Wiping her tears, she nodded, wondering where he was going at this time.

Asad returned with a bowl of ice. Gently, he placed a cube on her lips to ice the swelling down. 

She hissed. It burned!

His pulse leaped and their eyes snagged. It felt as if he'd smiled after a lifetime. Her tongue peeked out to lick away the melting ice and grazed his fingertip.

     Asad groaned. "How do you have this effect on me?" He asked, bewildered and bewitched. 

She wiggled and beamed up at him.

Asad trailed the disintegrating ice cube down her chin and throat to her cleavage. His mouth followed the chilled route setting her on fire. His tongue curled to sip and taste her. He transferred the cube to his mouth and played with her thrumming and singing nerves before crunching down on it. Still gazing into her heated eyes, he retrieved another cube to press it on one tender peak. He rubbed it on her sore nipple and circled around it to soothe the love bites and whisker burn. And as he moved his hand to relieve the other neglected bud, his mouth sought out the first one to re-taste it and draw the chill away. Zoya gripped the hair at the back of his head and arched into him.

     "Asad, that feels so good!" she moaned in need.

They felt rather than heard the thump on the side of the bed. Dobby brushed and rubbed against Asad's legs.

     "Oh god, has he been here all this time?" Asad wondered.

     Zoya giggled and swatted the cat off the bed, "bad boy, Dobby! Get lost!"

Dobby yawned in dissatisfaction and hopped down to resettle under the bed with the tattered leopard print bra. His ears cocked briefly at the happy sighs and soft cries that came from above. His favorite humans were playing the baby-making game again, making tiny noises and causing a gently rolling earthquake. Thank god it wasn't as extreme as the earlier hurricane that'd made his fur stand on end. 

 

Taekwondo classes had been indefinitely suspended.

Half the girls weren't here. Besides, Asad had decided that he couldn't put the instructor in harm's way. Tanveer could well threaten or torture Ms. Sheena in order to extract some nugget of information from her. 

Or do it simply to tighten the screws.

Humaira, however, was still trying to get Ms. Sheena to continue teaching her over Skype. Zoya had loved the idea of a virtual class and was already researching the possibilities for their Abbu's college class proposal. Meanwhile Humaira's General Jeeju had also put her and her Aapi in charge of teaching some basic self-defense moves to the parents. 

And this was turning into its own comedy of errors.

Shireen just couldn't get the hang of it. For someone whose fears for her children's safety were unbreachable, she couldn't fathom anyone being as vicious as Tanveer. Why were they all going crazy anticipating a filmy attack that might never come?

The moms had been shielded from knowing about the recent gifts from hell. The brick-through-the-window had been covered up as a careless accident. And the Molotov cocktail was explained away as the start to a mock drill to practice their safety readiness. 

Was Asad always like this, Shireen wondered, not for the first time. Is this how it was to live with him? She didn't like the way he had shouted at Ayaan that night. How did Dilshad and Najma put up with him all these years?

But then she felt guilty.

It was because of her and her kids that Asad had grown up fatherless. And may be growing up without a father who lived in the same city did this to you. It made you paranoid ... and angry.

She had seen him lose his temper before. But Ayaan had always thought the world of him. Ayaan could go against his Abbu but never his Bhaijaan. More recently Shireen had seen a softer and more protective side of Asad and it was hard for her to reconcile these two contrary sides of the man. From what Rashid had told her, Asad had been instrumental in getting rid of Imran and saving Nikhat from that dreadful family. She was happy that the brothers were working together even though Ayaan was working too hard. And then at Nikhat and Feroze's nikaah, Asad was the only one who tried to get the rest of the kids to behave for her sake.

Her brow relaxed.

She could see why her children worshipped Asad. His love for them was genuine. And he was generous to a fault. She even knew and was grateful for his insistence that the girls leave for Ajmer immediately. And Zoya had come and apologized on his behalf yesterday. Even Dilshad had pressed Shireen's hand and looked guilty when Asad was reading Ayaan the riot act. 

Did he have to shout at Ayaan so badly that night?

 

Raziya walked on pins and needles these days. Not because she knew the monster she had unleashed. Not also because of the carnage that Tanveer could visit upon them. She fretted because most of the people who would become Tanveer's victims didn't even know that Raziya was the bigger culprit. To see Humaira's pinched face as she earnestly patrolled the house, marching up and down, putting her heart and soul into protecting her Aapi, slayed her.

A few nights ago she had even mustered up enough courage to tell Siddiqui Saheb about the guilt churning through her.

     "I want to talk to Asad about telling everyone ..." she had choked out. 

He hesitated. He had been thinking the same thing. Siddiqui didn't know how much Dilshad knew. But he knew that she knew a lot more than Rashid or Shireen. All these days he had observed how close Asad was to his mother and how he valued her opinion and trust. However, Rashid and Shireen were mostly in the dark about why a madwoman was targeting their family.

Should they be told? But Tanveer's story was also knotted with their own murky story from eighteen years ago. So far Asad and Zoya had managed to firmly lock away that family skeleton in the back of a closet. This revelation may well rip the doors apart. 

     "Will you be able to face ...? Siddiqui hesitated. "What about Humaira?" he asked anxiously.

     Raziya sank down on the bed twisting her desperate hands. "She'll hate me!" she whispered. She squared her shoulders. "But the others should know. They need to understand how unhinged Tanveer is and what lengths she could go to to get what she wants."

     "And Humaira?" 

     Raziya bowed her head. "I've been more than lucky to have even this much time with her. She needs to know at least a part of the truth if not the whole truth. I need to tell them all that I got her here."

     "But won't that ... lead to questions about why?"

And that was her real fear wasn't it? 

Like Asad, Raziya too knew that the attack was not a matter of if, it was a matter of when. And when Tanveer rounded them up for her diabolical circus of death, she would surely gloat about Raziya's past sins as she gleefully cackled and peeled back the curtain from the terrible horrors of the doll factory.  

 

That evening Zoya saw Ayaan gazing moodily out at the night in the backyard, and she felt compelled to go up to him. 

     "Ayaan? I'm sorry," she said softly so as not to startle him. 

     "Hmm? What? Why?" he looked genuinely puzzled.

     "I didn't like it when Mr. Khan yelled at you like that. And I know Humaira and Chhoti Ammi were hurt by it too."

     "Oh, that!" Ayaan waved his arm in dismissal. "It's OK, I know Bhai is under a lot of stress."

A sigh of relief whooshed out of her and she relaxed.

     "But still. He shouldn't have. I tried telling him that."

Ayaan chuckled as he swung up to sit on the railing.

     "And how did that work out for you? Did he bite your head off too?"

Zoya blushed a bright crimson. Thank god, it was relatively dark out here. She nearly covered her face as a thought popped in her head: your Bhaijaan bit more than just my head off! A giggle escaped and Ayaan look at her quizzically. Zoya blushed deeper. 

     "Umm, I'm a veteran by now," she said to cover up. "After all, your Bhaijaan's gotten better by practicing his public yelling skills just on me!"

     "Ahh yes! From when you were the musibat mohtarma! I remember. Really? He was that bad hunh?"

     "He was. Ask Ammi or Tamatar. But I always yelled back at him ..." She grinned shamelessly.

     "Oh, so that's the trick!" Ayaan joked.

     "I don't know about tricks," Zoya mused dreamily. Instinctively her hand palmed over her stomach. "But we came pretty close to decking each other. Our first few meetings were a scream-fest, in public, with an audience. I think we even hated each other back then. He tried to bully and scare me. Too bad for him, I wouldn't back down!" Zoya sighed, "more than a couple of times, he demanded that I leave the house. A couple of times, I did." 

She smiled. 

Leaving.

It was a favorite game of theirs, wasn't it? She was always leaving and Mr. Khan was always turning the tables on her. 

     "No!" Ayaan still couldn't believe it. "That's funny. I never knew this side of Bhaijaan. I mean I've seen him angry with Abbu when— well, from before. But he's always been a gent with women. And whenever I saw him with you, he always seemed concerned about you. Even on that trip. Of course now he's a basket case thanks to whatever jadu-tona you've done on him. He's all moony-faced and googly eyes."

She was still laughing when Asad joined them.

      "Who's all moony-faced and googly eyes? What does that even mean?" he asked, taking a sip from Zoya's coffee cup and making a face. 

     "See?" Ayaan turned to Zoya. "He would've never done that before you!"

     "He better not!" Zoya threatened smiling up at Asad. Her hand itched to stroke his cheek but she restrained herself. 

     "Do what? What new Mona Darling and Raabert banter is this? Do I even want to know?" Asad asked in good humor. 

Ayaan was surprised by his mellowness.

     "Take a sip from any woman's cup. Admit it Bhai, you do some things only since you've been married."

Asad grinned cheekily. Ayaan didn't realize that he'd taken a sip from Zoya's cup already knowing that her coffee would be sweet and milky and not to his liking at all. It was just something he wanted to do short of pulling her into his arms.

     "Ayaan," he drawled as he winked at his wife.  "Trust me, there are many new and different things a man does when he gets married."

Zoya spluttered on her weak coffee.

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan!" A shocked Zoya fled the scene in total embarrassment. She'd never seen him be so besharam before. The man was losing it! 

Asad laughed like he'd never laughed in the past few weeks and a blushing Ayaan looked at him in amazement. When had Bhai become this relaxed and bindaas? 

     "What's up, Bhaijaan? Aaj aap talwar le kar sabka sar kalam nahin kar rahe?"

Asad's laugh tapered into silence. He looked at Ayaan's face. It looked puzzled and hurt. He grabbed Ayaan by the scruff of his neck to enfold him in a bear hug. 

     "I'm sorry," he said after a long time as he held Ayaan apart by his shoulders to look him straight in the eye.

Ayaan grinned, all hurt and rancor forgotten. The Bhai who spoiled him rotten was back, and all was well. 

     "For what?" Ayaan ruffled his hair. "For nearly suffocating me right now?"

     "No, I won't apologize for nearly suffocating you." Asad retorted. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat. No, I'm sorry for losing my temper and yelling at you."

Even he knew that this was the first time he'd lost his temper with Ayaan so badly. 

     "It's OK Bhaijaan. Jayiye maaf kiya. In fact Mona Darling was just telling me that in the good old days she saw this side of you everyday! Aap itna chillate thay unn par? Roz? No wonder she named you Akdu Ahmed Khan! And Jahanpanah!" He guffawed. "No wait, Jahanpanah six packs!"

Asad ducked his head. Yes, he had been particularly Akdu these last few days too. Zoya was right to call him on it. But neither Ayaan, nor anyone else knew how he'd earned the nickname of Jahanpanah six packs in the good old days, as he called it! 

He blushed. 

The woman had completely bewitched him. Body and soul. And ruined him ... making him useless ...

     His teeth gleamed in the dark. "Ayaan, I wasn't yelling at her."

It was foreplay, Asad snickered to himself.

     "I was protesting. Those were the last throes of a man's revolt before he laid down his arms and surrendered permanently."

     Ayaan laughed too. "Bechare Bhaijaan, Mona Darling ke ishq mein ghayal! But Bhai, do you have to practice your Akduness on us, just because you married her and are too scared to yell at her these days!"

He ran squawking with glee as Asad tried to smack him upside his head.

Shireen watched them from her balcony.

She smiled, finally at ease.

 

 

Song in Title:

Blood Money (2012) "Chaahat"


	96. O Saathi Re, Din Doobe Na; Aa Chal Din Ko Rokein, Dhup Ke Pichhe Daudein

 

 

     "I love you," Asad slipped his hands to hold her from behind as she ran a brush through her hair that night. 

     "Of course you do," Zoya piped up as she examined her hair for split ends. She leaned back into him savoring his scent and loose-limbed strength. After so many days she was getting to see this mellow side of him again.

And she was loving it. 

     "I need to get my hair cut." Zoya murmured, as if talking to herself. "Will you take me after the doctor's appointment tomorrow?"

     "Sure, because I have nothing better to do." 

     "Jahanpanah, stop being so Akdu!" 

     "Fine. But don't get it cut too short. I like it long." He ran his fingers through her hair and tugged. 

She hissed. 

Asad pushed her hair over the shoulder to drop a kiss on the back of her neck. 

     "Just a trim. Would that be OK with Your Highness?" 

     "Yes it would be OK with my highness ... but even better with my hardness," he drawled, grinding into her.

Zoya's laughter tinkled in his glad ears as she purred with pleasure.

     Turning in the circle of his arms she nipped his neck to whisper, "I love you too, you know. And I just love it when you're playful and sexy like this."

     "Hmm," he grunted as he got his phone out to check his calendar for tomorrow and text Prasad to move around a meeting and site visit.

They looked up at the knock at their door. 

Both sighed. 

Asad planted a swift kiss on her lips before opening the door to let Siddiqui Saheb and Raziya in.

They looked nervous; Asad frowned.

     "Kya hua, Abbu? Is everything OK?" Zoya spoke before he could utter the same worried questions. 

     "Haan beta, everything's OK. But we wanted to talk to you about something. It's important." 

     Zoya's hands gripped Raziya's as they furiously twisted and shredded her dupatta end. "Is Humaira OK?" Zoya gasped, nearly hyperventilating. 

Tears flooded Raziya's eyes. She still marvelled at this child's mercy. That she could even bear to touch and comfort the woman who had killed her mother and scarred her, was grace beyond Raziya's mortal scope. 

It must be beyond the frontiers of the human spirit. 

A sob escaped her. Shame overcame her. 

Zoya hurried to seat her in the chair and brought over a glass of water. Asad however, had begun to stiffen the minute they had walked into the room. His body squinched into the remembered rigid tension too familiar from the past few days.

What was it? 

Had something happened? 

The Siddiquis faces mirrored bad news. Asad's impulsive fist clenched.

All his worries and anxieties came crashing through the dyke that Zoya had painstakingly erected overnight. 

He hesitated. 

He almost didn't want to hear what they had to say. 

But Zoya had no qualms about voicing both their fears. Thank god for her directness and candor! 

     "Aunty you're scaring me. What's happened?" 

     "Nahin, aisi koi baat nahin hai. We didn't mean to scare you," her Abbu interjected. "But ..." he continued. "We are here because we've decided that we want to tell everybody about how Tanveer came here and why they need to take the threat from her more seriously." 

After the initial hesitation, Siddiqui's words tumbled and tripped over one another. 

Zoya sat back with a hand to her heart. She sighed in relief. Thank god nothing bad had happened! Asad too seemed more relaxed, and she took a deep grateful breath for that. Before she could say anything however, he spoke up. 

     "It's ironic. Zoya was suggesting the same thing some time ago." 

     "But," Zoya rushed in. "We really don't have to tell them why or how she came here, do we?" She looked at Asad, pleading for confirmation. 

     He gave a nonchalant shrug. "Yes, I don't think that matters any more. What's more important is that she do us no harm."

     "No, it matters!" Raziya jumped up. "They need to know that I brought her here! This cycle of bitterness and violence that I started needs to end now. You both have been too kind. But I must take responsibility." 

She burst into tears. Siddiqui bowed his head in disgraced complicity.

     "Aunty!" 

     Asad's voice broke in over Zoya's anguished cry. "But why rake the embers of the past? What'll it achieve except for fresh misery and heartache?" 

     "It'll make Shireen and Rashid more cautious," Raziya answered looking at Siddiqui Saheb. "And it'll—Siddiqui Saheb, kucch kahiye, aap!" 

     He cleared his throat. "Yes. I love Shireen, but she can be too trusting or blind sometimes. She may be the weakest link in our house and if Tanveer gets through to her by some ruse or deliberate misunderstanding ..." 

Asad's ears pricked. He knew what they were really saying. He swiped a weary hand over his face. Zoya had been right to read him the riot act yesterday. He hadn't taken her words seriously then. 

But now ...

He knew his unjustified anger at Ayaan must have hurt Chhoti Ammi the most. Everyone else seemed to have seen it too. Siddiqui Saheb and Mrs. Siddiqui were here to caution him. Be careful, they were trying to say. Don't alienate anyone in the family or you could be playing right into Tanveer's hands*. 

Asad sat down too and looked his father-in-law. Elbows on his knees he rested his chin on his fist.

     "You're right. We'll talk to everyone tomorrow to explain why these precautions are necessary." 

Raziya heaved a doomed sigh. It was done now. Tomorrow everyone would know. And hate her. 

Especially Humaira. 

     "But," Asad continued, looking at Zoya's stricken face. "We'll stick to the original plan. No one needs to know why and how Tanveer got here. We'll only focus on her crimes from the past 8-9 months since she tricked her way into this house." 

     "But Asad ..." Raziya couldn't stop herself. She was thankful for their continued kindness but it could jeopardize everyone's safety if they didn't factor in the grim reality of her crimes. "I ..." she sniffed. "... what if Tanveer tells everyone about my role in all of this? Wouldn't it be better if we told them now? Coming from her, it may do a lot more damage." Her voice had changed. It was the beaten voice of a freshly-freed convict who craved the dark misery of his former cell. Her jagged voice rasped like tired, cracked feet on broken glass. 

Asad and Zoya looked at each other. They knew she was right. But they also hoped against hope that such a defense would be unnecessary. Zoya implicitly trusted Asad's ability to ward off such a revelation that could rip the family to bloody shreds.

     "We'll see ..." Asad's words seemed to come from a great distance. "Let me think more about this."

Nodding, Siddiqui wished them goodnight and walked out. Raziya stayed back to place a tentative hand on Zoya's head. As she turned to go, a blur scurried out from under their bed to land at her feet. 

Raziya couldn't control an inelegant guffaw. 

First Zoya, and then Asad, turned beet-root red. Asad fled to the bathroom while Zoya scooped up her mangled bra after wrestling it away from Dobby's greedy clutches; she hid it behind her her back. 

     "Stupid Dobby!" Zoya hissed and Raziya laughed harder. 

     "Kya hua?" Siddiqui Saheb called out from outside almost turning around to return. 

     "Kucch nahin," Raziya giggled hiding her face in her dupatta. "Humare aapas ki baat hai," she stage-whispered as she stepped out, herding him away. 

     "But why were you laughing so hard?" 

     "Nothing," Raziya tried to shush him. "Just something between us ladies."

     "Ladies? Par Asad bhi toh tha wahan!" 

     "Siddiqui Saheb!" 

 

Zoya closed the door after them and leaned against it weakly. Dobby rose on his hind legs to retrieve his favorite toy. 

     "Shoo!" She hollered, waving the bra at him. "You're so bad! And spoiled rotten to the core!" 

He wound himself around her legs thrilled that she was playing with him. 

Asad leaned against the doorframe and watched them.

     "You would know about being bad," he teased. 

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan! Did you see how embarrassing he was? What if Abbu had seen him? How will I face Aunty tomorrow?" 

     "You'll survive. Like Dobby you always land on your feet, Ms. Farooqui!" Asad drawled. 

     "Oh really?" Zoya taunted with a raised eyebrow. "At least I wasn't the one who bolted to hide in the bathroom. Could you have been more obvious?" 

     "Why don't you throw that thing away?" He changed the subject. 

     "I did!" Zoya whined. "I don't know how he fished it out."

     "He's obviously in love with that thing," Asad grumbled in good humor. 

     "Well, you were too before you destroyed it!" 

     He grinned at her devilishly. "True. May be it's time to go shopping again Mrs. Khan. You'll soon be popping out of the clothes you currently own. And that bra wasn't covering the goodies as well as it should have!"

     "Asad!" She threw the offending undergarment at his face.  

He laughed and dodged. 

Dobby pounced on the bra. His tail twitched in delight. 

     "NO!" Zoya and Asad yelled in unison.

Dobby peed a little on the floor in abject fright. 

     "Aw, it's OK baby, don't be scared," Zoya stroked his head while cooing softly; she dropped to the floor next to him.

Asad rolled his eyes. That's how the little bra-swiping monster got away with murder every day. 

  


Zoya leaned against Asad at the hilltop—their favorite getaway spot.

The carpet of citylights twinkled and shimmered below.

And that's where Tanveer was ... somewhere down below, crouching ... controlling the strings of their destiny. 

     "We're tempting fate, aren't we?" Zoya finally broke the languid silence. 

     Asad sighed. "And her." 

A reckless idea had grown like a stubborn weed in his psyche: if Tanveer wanted them then they would make themselves accessible to her. At least the rest of the family would be spared her megalomania. 

Zoya put up no protest even though he hadn't voiced this subconscious decision. She probably already knew even before he thought it. And some inner strength impelled her absolute faith in him.

That's why today they had lived as if they had a million tomorrows. ... or none at all. Because tomorrow they had to talk to the family ...   

After half a day's work, Asad had picked up Zoya from home to keep their appointed date: a promised rendezvous with multiple stops and way stations in between. 

They had listened, rapt, to the baby's strong heartbeat at the doctor's office. It had thundered like galloping horses rushing headlong through the unbridled wind.

Their charmed wonder at that sound was ceaseless. 

Zoya had asked Asad to record it and they kept playing it back over and over again in the car. The fifth time around, the booming heartbeats sounded like a tenacious train hurtling through a tunnel. 

At the salon they had dimpled at each other in the mirror as Zoya got her hair shampooed and trimmed. But soon he'd grown alarmed to see a frown mar her smooth brow. 

Her lips pursed and pouted dangerously. 

     A minute later Asad grinned reading a text from her: "Go sit in the car." 

     "Why?" his text asked. 

     "Because I don't like how these women are looking at you!" The angry emoticons that followed made him chuckle. 

     "Jealous, Mrs. Khan?" 

     "You bet your sweet ass!" 

     "I think your ass is sweeter," Asad responded as he winked at her in the mirror. 

     "Really, Mr. Khan? Tell me more about my sweet ass." In the mirror she batted her lashes at him.

     "It makes me want to do things to you." 

     "What things?" He could have sworn he heard a soft purr.

     "Things that make you go wild enough to scratch me, and yell, YES! YES! YES!" 

He watched her blush and lower her gaze. 

     "I don't yell!" she still sassed. 

     "You moan ... loudly!" 

     "Oh really? I'll keep it down then." A sad face emoticon followed. 

     "Don't even think about it! I love the sounds you make."

Her full lips curved deliciously and her dimple winked at him. He wanted to drag a drugged thumb over those plump lips. 

Slowly. 

And then dip his head to suck on them. 

When she raised her eyes to his again, Zoya blinked after a long stare, reading his mind in matched assent. 

 

Dinner had been street food garnished with spicy miyan-biwi nok-jhonk because Asad felt the need to grumble against the food's lack of hygiene, and his wife felt equally complelled to publicly announce that her husband was hardwired to be Akdu because he lacked a single fun bone or masti cell in his body. 

     "Stop exaggerating, Mrs. Khan!" He'd whispered in her ear. "There's one masti muscle in my body that's a lot of fun. For both of us! And, it's hardwired all right!"

She had snorted the gol guppa pani through her nose. The spicy and tart water stung her sinuses. 

     "It's a muscle?" Zoya'd asked innocently after she could breathe normally again. "I thought it was all bone! 

     "It's versatile and has a mind of its own," he gloated. 

     "So it's schizophrenic?" Zoya asked through more giggles. 

     "Nope, it's ambidexterous!" 

The other patrons and vendors had watched them, charmed and intrigued. What was so funny that she had to bend over while squealing and clutching her stomach so hard? They watched him help her up and his hand linger on hers.

     "Wow, Mr. Khan," Zoya whispered as she wiped her streaming eyes. "Nice comeback!"

     Asad cleared his throat, "speaking of come—"

     "Mr. Khan!" she sassed. "Not in public!" 

     Asad tilted his head in mischief. "In private then?" 

     "Only if you're good!" 

His response had made her dimple flash and cheeks blush furiously all over again. 

 

Wrapped in each other now, they silently gazed at the glowing city below. Asad lifted her wrist to his lips where a brand new charm dangled from her bracelet: the cricket ball charm he'd special-ordered for her had finally arrived. It commemorated not just their love for the game but that moment of badassery when she'd socked an intruder full in the face with his cricket ball.

Zoya's charm bracelet was becoming a unique gallery of personal momentos. Her Abbu had given her a filigree replica of her cherished music box. And next to her own initial, she'd added Asad's.

     "A to Z, and everything in between," she'd told him. Asad watched her jiggle the charms to hear them clink as they swung from side to side. 

They weren't aware of a shadowy figure watching them.

Asad tapped the screen on his phone: galloping horses thundered headlong through the unbridled wind.

Hands interlaced on her stomach, they beamed. 

 

Tanveer crept around a gnarled tree trunk to keep an eye on her quarry.

Annoyance rippled through to choke her. 

They were playing games with her, were they? They strutted in the open when she had declared open season on them? 

When her people gave her an update on Asad picking up Zoya from the Siddiqui house in the middle of the day, her nerves had tingled in anticipation. 

She'd rushed to the clinic to stake the place out in triumph. May be she'd mess with them or just keep an eye on their movements.

But a glimpse of their heads bent together and their radiant faces had popped her bubble of confident victory. 

They were dressed up? 

For a doctor's appointment? 

Their unhurried carelessness after the stop at the doctor's office infuriated her further. Stopping at a luxury beauty parlor for a hair cut when they were supposed to be cowering under siege at home? 

Were they brave or just brainless? 

Unable to sit in her own car another second longer, Tanveer had donned her burqa and slipped into the salon to watch them more closely. When the pesky attendant had come asking what she wanted done, Tanveer had offered herself up for a reluctant manicure. As she sat with her hands splayed like a scarecrow, her skin itched to claw their mooning eyes out. She watched them make eyes at each other in the wide mirror. She watched helpless with rage as they texted back and forth. 

Zoya's blush and lowering gaze made her blood rush. 

Jealousy flared through her already scorched nerves. Her hand jerked uncontrollably; Tanveer cried out as the manicurist's scissors cut deep into her cuticle.

     "I'm so sorry," the terrified employee bleated incessantly. Tanveer could have strangled her for drawing everyone's attention to them. 

When the Khans left, Tanveer walked off too, her manicure bloody, and incomplete. 

They gorged on the spicy food, but it gave her heartburn instead. Their whispered banter and more laughs and blushes had made her want to hurl. And throw a tire jack through a shop window. 

And they still didn't rush home to huddle in their mansion that she had morphed into a gilded prison. 

No, they drove leisurely through the city, laughing, strolling by the lake, snarfing up kulfis, stopping to pick up flowers for Zoya, and ending up at this hilltop for some stargazing and infernal moonsighting.

Asad Ahmed Khan must surely have lost his mind in his Ms. Farooqui-driven love fog. They weren't taking her seriously? Did they not receive all the gifts she had left them: signed, sealed and hand-delivered? 

Why? Why weren't they back at that fortress guarded by the city's best surveillance teams and security detail?

It was getting late and they still loitered. 

Why were they here in the dark, lingering, arm in arm, hugging and shamelessly—  

They acted as if they had an eternity.

Eyes squinting murderously, Tanveer watched as Asad bent his head to kiss Zoya full on the mouth. She saw Zoya melt into his frame as she sinuously wound herself around him to go up on her toes and curl her fingers through his hair. He pressed her into the side of the car and his hand roved from her bare waist down to— 

As Tanveer edged closer she heard Zoya's soft moans. His dark head bent to whisper something in her ear and Zoya sighed and shuddered. 

     "... remembered, Mr. Khan?" She heard snatches of Zoya's husky words. "... love here?" 

     Tanveer sidled even closer to hear Asad recite a scrap of poetry: "When lovers moan, they're telling our story.

     Like this." 

He bent his head to reclaim Zoya's parted mouth. Their hips ground into one another. 

Poison coursed through her. Wasn't that Rumi, Tanveer wondered distractedly. Sharp nails gouged her empty palm. 

Transfixed, Tanveer watched Asad open a door and lift Zoya in his arms to place her in the backseat. As he rounded the car to enter from the other side, Tanveer saw him already unbuttoning his shirt. 

The car door slammed. 

She nearly screamed. 

But she couldn't stop herself from creeping forward even more. A couple of feet away from the car, Tanveer slid to her knees not realizing that vengeful tears washed her face. Her twisting hands had already clawed at the fresh wound on her finger. 

It oozed. 

Why did they get to have this?

The uptight and conservative man she knew as Asad Ahmed Khan wouldn't have been capable of such—such brazen acts. When she had come to Bhopal at Raziya's behest, a big part of her had jumped at the chance to worm her way into the Khan house. Becoming Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan would have been a piece of cake—the Khans were too trusting, too simple to see through her decorous veils of deception. 

The failures of the last few months flashed before her. 

She would have been successful too. Even if Asad suspected Tanveer's motives he was too much of a gentleman to back out of a commitment. 

But Zoya Farooqui, that intruder from New York, had ruined everything.

In her mind's eye Tanveer saw them writhing, half-naked, making love in the cramped confines of the backseat. 

They were doing this on purpose to taunt her ... torment her. 

Her fingers scrabbled in the dirt and detritus. 

When she saw the vehicle sway and gently rock, she crushed dry litter and soiled clumps into her bloodied hangnail. 

She should go back to her car and order the driver to ram it into theirs. A little nudge with the front bumper and their car would topple over to plunge into the blind ravine below. The lovemaking fools would be crushed to death in the act itself.

She'd give _coitus interruptus_ a new face!

But no, that would be too easy and not satisfying enough. 

As much as it killed her, she'd stick to her original plan. With one last look at the car windows which were now fogging up, she stalked away.

     But she couldn't block out the muffled sounds ... Zoya's ecstatic cries of  "oh god ... Asaaddd! I'm coming!" stabbed her ears. 

Did she imagine this? Was her crazed mind making her hallucinate?

     ... But his grateful growl of completion ... "Zoyaaa!" finished her off. 

Demented with thwarted desire, Tanveer stumbled. 

Her wasted soul recoiled.

 

The nail-biting, hyperventilating family rounded on them in blind panic as soon as they entered the house: 

     "Are you crazy?" 

     "Where've you been?"

     "What took so long?"

     "We were so worried!" 

     Asad raised his hands in surrender to pacify them. "We told Humaira and Ayaan that we'd be late. I texted. Zoya called."

They were bombarded with more outrage. 

     "But still! It's close to midnight!"

     "How can you be so careless?"

     "You tell us to be careful but expose yourself to danger?"

     "Being out for so long, and with no bodyguards! What were you thinking?"

     "Abbu! We're fine. Really." Zoya took Siddiqui's arm and led him away to the sofa to settle him in.

     "I really needed to get out, Abbu. I was going stir-crazy. So Mr. Khan decided to surprise me. But I promise, we kept sending updates to Humaira and Ayaan. I even texted Ammi." She smacked Ayaan's knee who was now perched on the sofa arm. "Why didn't you tell everybody?"

     "I did!" He hopped up to throw his arms melodramatically into the air. "But do they listen to me? No! Everyone was too busy worrying about their precious Mona Darling and their khandaan ka chiraag!" 

     But Zoya was already diverted. "Mr. Khan!" She leaped up to clap her hands, "Let's show them, um ... listen to the audio of the baby's heartbeat!" 

     Humaira squealed the loudest. "What? I want to hear!" 

She jumped up and down, flustered, yet over the moon. She wanted to record everyone's expressions and fumbled with her own phone, but she also wanted to hold Aapi's hand as they all listened to the first sounds of her niece or nephew.

     She gratefully surrendered her phone to Ayaan who volunteered to take the video for her. "Get everyone's faces!" Humaira ordered.

He rolled his eyes. Of course he would! Did she think he'd take pictures of their feet?

They all crowded around Asad. He broke away and came to sit on the sofa and played the audio. 

The sound of rushing hooves racing against hurtling trains filled the room. 

Everyone gasped at the miracle. Rashid urged Asad to play it again as the parents wiped suddenly wet eyes. Dilshad sobbed openly and Zoya wrapped her arms around her. 

     "He's running a marathon in there! Champ banega mera sher!" Ayaan announced with avuncular pride, all video-making instructions forgotten. Rashid sat back, nodding his head vigorously, speechless with awed gratitude.

     "Excuse me! How do you know it's a boy? It could be a girl!" Humaira couldn't believe the arrogance. 

     With a flourish Ayaan pointed to himself and Asad, "because, the Khans' firstborn is always a male!"

     "Oh hello? Are you blind?" She pointed to Zoya and herself, "the Siddiquis' firstborn is always a girl!" 

     "Well Mona Darling is a Khan now, so it follows that—" 

     "Oh please! Look at my Aapi. Whose genes do you think will be dominant and kick some Khan butt from here to eternity?" 

     Ayaan roared with incredulous laughter. "Are you freaking nuts?" he scorned. "Have you seen my Bhaijaan? He's top gun, General Akdu Ahmed—" He looked at his blissfully besotted Bhaijaan making eyes at his wife, and sighed. "You're right," Ayaan conceded defeat. "The Khans don't stand a chance!"

Humaira and Zoya cackled with glee and high-fived. Even Raziya laughed at that along with the others. Though secretly she was convinced the next generation's firstborn would be a boy. 

She could just feel it in her bones. 

     "She'll be a gold medalist sprinter for India!" Humaira continued to boast about her niece. Siddiqui nodded in proud agreement. 

     "Kyun nahin, kyun nahin! Uski Ammi bhaagne mein ustaad jo hai!" Ayaan fled himself as Humaira shot up to box his ears.

     "Asad! Zoya!" Dilshad called out to them before Humaira and Ayaan could come to more blows. Wiping her eyes with her dupatta, she ushered them into the kitchen. She was relieved to see them both look serene and happy. Ayaan and Humaira's cheekiness had further feathered away all gathering clouds. 

But her heart had quailed in fear nevertheless. She needed to remove any evil spell that may have been cast on them when they were out for all these long hours. Pressing a taawiz to her eyes she tied it on Zoya's arm. 

Firmly. 

Dilshad blew the air around their bowed heads, fondly placing her palm on Zoya's tummy in blessing and prayer. In her fervently whispered duas she asked for her grandchild's safety and joy. May its heartbeat drum in happy health for a long, long time to come.

She held Zoya to her heart.

 

At work the next day, Asad brooded over the family meeting from this morning. Mrs. Siddiqui's words about telling them all now, instead of letting Tanveer misuse and brandish that information against them later still made a lot of sense. But they had chickened out at the last minute and done the safe thing with a little bit of creative editing. 

Shireen had been livid on finding out about the shooting that could have hurt Ayaan. Till now most of them had thought that Zoya's accident was just that, an accident; only now they knew that Tanveer had been behind that too. Asad also told them all about the latest attack on the Khan house and the decoys he'd posted there. The truth about the recently-sent gifts to the house made everyone gasp. Scared straight, the family pledged daily runs of the safety drills. 

     "How does she have the resources to hire so many people and do so much damage? It takes a lot of money to pull something like this off." Rashid had wondered aloud. Ayaan nodded absently too.

The Siddiquis had bowed their guilty heads in shame. They had been Tanveer's inadvertent bank-rollers after all. 

Taking a sip of his mid-afternoon coffee between meetings, Asad grinned suddenly.

     Hearing of Tanveer's multiple trespasses, Humaira had jumped up to assume her warrior pose and threaten: "I'll kill her!" 

She'd even yelled her Taekwondo Kiai.

Everyone's faces had brightened with indulgent smiles at her passionate war cry. 

     "Humaira, don't say that!" her mother, however, had scolded in furious panic. 

Raziya's face had gone ashen as if she had seen a ghost of her past. Her hands had trembled in awful premonition. 

When she had dashed to her bedroom, Asad had thought that Humaira's words had reminded her too much of her own actions from eighteen years ago. But she soon returned to press something into Zoya's hands. 

     "It's a special protective taawiz that'll keep you and the baby safe from all harm. Always wear it close to you." 

No one knew it, but it was a taawiz that she'd had made for Humaira when she had first heard of Zoya's quest for her father, almost a year ago. Then, she'd have done anything to keep Zoya from knowing the truth and ever reuniting with her father; now, she knew better. 

Now, she knew that Zoya was her redemption. And Humaira's. 

Everyone had peered at the tiny, filigreed cylinder on a thin gold chain. Inside the delicate gold jali work was a glass insert within which nestled a miniature scroll inscribed with passages from the Quran. 

Humaira tied the clasp behind her as Zoya fingered the pendant at her throat.

Delighted, and dimpling she'd looked up at him to— 

Asad frowned at the commotion outside his office. He had barely put his mug down to check on the ruckus when his door burst open to reveal an injured and bleeding Prasad. Several workers stood behind him murmuring uneasily. 

     "Prasad! What happe—?" 

     "Sir! I was attacked," he panted as he sagged against the doorframe still clutching his stomach.

     "Who? How?" Asad rushed to his side while yelling at the others to call an ambulance or a doctor. He led him to the sofa and plied him with water. 

     "They took my phone ..." Prasad's voice was fading fast. He coughed and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. 

     "It'll be OK, Prasad," Asad soothed pulling out his handkerchief. "It's just a phone. Forget about it. We need to get you to a hospital first." 

     "But ... sir, it had all the information about your schedule ... meetings ... addresses and numbers ..." 

A red flag flared before Asad's eyes. 

His hand arrested in mid-air; his heart thundered so loudly and so surreally in his ears that he wondered if it was the baby's. It had been nearly impossible to think straight. But Prasad getting the much-needed medical attention was a bigger priority right now. His breathing was becoming more and more labored. 

Just before he could call home to ensure everyone's safety, however, Prasad's shoulders slumped and he lost all consciousness.

Only when a doctor with a clinic in the same building had rushed in to attend to Prasad did Asad get the chance to text Zoya and issue an all points high alert. When he called to check on the family, he breathed a sigh of relief. 

Everything was fine.

For now.

 

But not so the next day. 

  


Hearts in their mouths, palms clammy and rigid with tension, Asad and Ayaan raced to get home that afternoon. An anonymous call had come through the office switchboard asking a single terrifying question: have you checked on your family? 

Dashing to the car, Asad had directed his staff to call the police to get to the house. But the police were busy: a car explosion had rocked a mall parking garage, injuring hundreds. The city was on full alert for a possible serial bombing threat. All hands were on deck; no one could be spared. 

Frantic, Asad veered away to overtake a lumbering truck that was slowing them down and stepped on the gas to make up for lost time. 

He sped and fishtailed through the erratic traffic. 

The house was a mere 15 minutes away but it may as well have been on another planet; each meter was a lightyear. It was taking an eternity and each second's loss hollowed him inside out. It was like they were wading through wet concrete mixed in with tarry quicksand. 

Soon, soon he would be at the familiar cross street. He ran through another red light; car horns blared in protest. 

Nearly there. 

But just a mile ahead, the SUV was soon intercepted and expertly run off the road by two trucks working in fiendish sync.

Five masked assailants, some brandishing assault rifles, jumped out of an accompanying van to surround and effectively disable their car.

It was all too swift, and even anticipating the blitz hadn't prepared them for the jolt of being completely cornered and outnumbered. 

 

The lack of an armed bodyguard by their side, or a gun in his firm grip, had made Asad slam his impotent fist on the steering wheel. Zoya's worried words of caution from a few days ago echoed in his frustrated ears. 

Damn you Zoya, I don't need you to be right yet again, he screamed in his head. 

He and Ayaan were forced out of the car at gunpoint and kicked down to the ground and told to raise their hands over their heads. Ayaan was struck with the butt of a rifle for cussing a blue streak and resisting. They slammed him into the car's side to punch him in the gut for disobeying instructions. 

     "Ayaan!" Asad yelled, trying to warn and pacify his hot-headed brother. They needed to conserve their strengths for whatever lay ahead. It would be much worse, of that he was sure.

Rough, scratchy cloth hoods slipped over their heads to block out the sunlight. 

Just be safe, Asad prayed silently on his knees as he felt his hands being ziptied behind him.

Tightly secured, they were both hauled up and tossed into the back of the van.

Just please be safe, he continued to plead, desperately telegraphing his hope. Because this carjacking meant only one thing: if the house hadn't already been attacked, it would be. Soon. It could even be happening right this minute. And they were all being rounded up for the final pageant: Tanveer's show was on the road.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Omkara (2006): "O Saathi Re"


	97. Jazbaat Kya Hain Maula, Haalat Kya Hain Maula, Ke Shaatir Iske Saare Vaar Hain

 

  


This time the attack was real.

The ominous sounds of cracks and booms and smashing glass had reverberated through the besieged Siddiqui house. And this time they had done everything exactly right. All those daily drills to timed precision had finally paid off. Like obedient troops to an invisible General's orders, they had marched in synchrony and manned their posts and delegated duties. 

The SOS messages had been sent and GPS devices just as swiftly activated.

It was only when they turned around to face each other in the safe room that they realized that one person was missing.

Humaira gasped and covered her mouth to prevent an agonized moan from leaking out. The mothers turned to look at her. Their widening eyes betrayed the same horror: Zoya! Where was Zoya? 

     "Badi Phuphi, no!" Humaira yelled, even as it killed her to say those words. 

Dilshad had run to remove the barricades they'd pushed in front of the door to secure themselves while Humaira was switching on the camera monitors which were installed on a backup charge. They couldn't see Zoya within any camera range. 

     "Par beta, Zoya is out there. She needs us!" Dilshad's tears fell and her hands shook. Asad! What would she tell Asad?

The men weren't at home at this time of the day. The instructions were strict: after a specific time lapse they had to lock themselves in, no matter who was missing. And they had to stay under lockdown till they got the all-clear signal. Did they do the wrong thing by following the instructions too carefully? Shireen quietly sobbed into her dupatta and Raziya stood frozen in a corner: At least Shireen and Dilshad's girls were safely away. 

But her daughters were in the direct line of fire.

Raziya stuffed her dupatta in her mouth to stop herself from screaming. The drums of doom beat in her ears, deafening her. 

They heard a loud crash just outside the room and the sounds of a scuffle. On the screen they saw a man drag Zoya to the middle of the hall. They saw Zoya pick a vase from a console table and try to smash it on her captor's head. But he was swifter and dodged the blow. In retribution he landed a resounding backhanded slap across her face. Humaira's arm tightened involuntarily—she saw Zoya bite her lips to stop herself from screaming. 

When Dobby attached himself to the villain's face with his claws, the man growled and flung the cat away nearly trampling upon it. 

     "No!" Zoya mouthed. She straightened up and allowed herself to be dragged away, defiantly obedient and fiercely compliant. 

Angry tears fell down Humaira's face.

     Dilshad sank to her knees, "Zoya, meri bacchi," she whimpered in helpless terror as they heard more yells.

They watched Tanveer glide on to the screen to face Zoya. 

The entrapped refugees in the safe room stilled at the crack of a gunshot. The camera outside the study had been blown out. 

Some alien power took over Humaira's instincts in this moment of crisis: her numb fingers flew across her phone screen: Plan B, the plan that only she knew about in the whole house, needed to be set into motion. ASAP.

     "It's on," she group-texted. 

And not a minute too soon. 

     Because from outside the door they heard Tanveer's voice ring out loud and clear: "It's no use, ladies. Come on out." 

How did she know that only the women were home, a fraction of Humaira's brain wondered. They looked blankly at each other not knowing what to do. The indecision weighed heavy on them. 

     "No? How about if I tell you we have your precious Zoya right here with us?" 

They heard slapping sounds and muted cries from outside. Humaira's fists balled by her side. She knew what Tanveer was doing to Zoya without the need to look at any screen; and she also knew that her Aapi was holding back her screams for their sakes—so they wouldn't be blackmailed into stepping out into danger. 

Raziya squeaked in alarm. That tramp! Always a step ahead of them! 

     "You still won't come out? Not even when I do this?" 

This time Zoya couldn't hold back. She screamed in abject pain. 

Humaira couldn't bear another second of this. She dashed to the door to slide away the heavy desk with Dilshad and Raziya's help. Shireen meanwhile had wiped her tears and been busy tying pepper spray cannisters and pocketknives into everyone's dupatta corners. 

They all tumbled out of the door to see Zoya on her knees. 

The women winced to see the welts across her face where the last stinging slap was still imprinted on her right cheek. Zoya held her arm at an awkward angle and refused to look at them. Oh my god, had that witch broken her arm? 

Dilshad ran to help her up but Tanveer stepped in the way. 

Armed men surrounded them.

     "Not so fast, Khala! Koi dua ya salaam nahin? Kahaan gayee aapki tehzeeb?" she smirked.

     "Tanveer!" Dilshad slapped her with all her might. "How dare you? Asad will kill you if any harm comes to Zoya!" 

     "Really?" Tanveer's eyes glittered dangerously. "But Zoya is Supergirl, isn't she? How could I possibly do anything to harm her? Meri aisi jurrat kahaan?" 

     "Shut up! Asad and everyone else are already on their way over. You don't stand a—" 

Tanveer threw her head back and laughed. 

     "Correction. They were on their way over. They aren't any more." 

The women gasped. What did she mean? 

Tanveer laughed again. 

     "Don't worry. I haven't killed them ... not yet anyways! Now, let's go and get this party started. I can't wait for the fun to begin!" 

She nodded to her men and they began to herd the women toward the main door. Humaira struggled and fought back but one of the armed men grabbed her throat and squeezed hard. Raziya roared and rushed to claw at his fingers, but he pointed the gun to Humaira's head with his other hand.

     Raziya backed off. "Please, don't hurt her," she whimpered in fear. 

     Tanveer laughed behind them. "Raziya Bi, so desperate for your daughter's safety?" she purred. "That same daughter for whose sake you've taken so much from others? Where were your protective instincts when it came to hurting someone else's daughter."

Raziya inhaled sharply and shut her eyes tight. 

Here it comes, she thought. 

Everyone will know. 

Humaira might just kill her instead of Tanveer. 

     Tanveer cackled yet again, "aw, Raziya Bi, I've missed you so much. I haven't had so much fun in such a long time!" She clapped her hands in delight. "But I'll save the best for later. Why waste all my wit on such a small audience?" Her face hardened, "chalo!" she called out to her henchmen.

They dragged the women away.

 

She'd had this sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

For more than a few weeks now, Zeenat had been after him about trying to find out what was bothering Zoya and Asad. On Facetime and over the phone, she could tell that something was afoot and that they were both worried and hiding something serious or terrible from them. Their caginess was beginning to grate on her. 

His wife's endless jumpiness had finally convinced him to go check things out for himself. Only then did Zeenat calm down enough to leave him in peace. Since by now he'd given up on getting any straight answers from Asad, Anwar had been in constant touch with Omar. His own antenna had tingled when he's heard of Omar's unplanned trip to India. 

Something really was going on. 

And it must be pretty bad. 

Omar too had initially hemmed and hawed; but he didn't completely agree with Zoya and Asad about keeping all this a big family secret. He didn't get why Indians believed that keeping bad news from family was a noble enterprise. "Bechare chinta karenge," was a favorite desi-ism to prevent sharing news about health scares or money troubles. His grandparents, bless their hearts, played that card on his parents every few years. Why didn't they realize that it led to even more worry because then you imagined the worst and let the stress eat away at your insides? 

But eventually he'd caved in after getting Anwar to agree that he wouldn't tell Zeenat (or Zoya would kill him, even if he was married to her favorite nanad). The irony of that blackmail didn't escape him. 

Well ... he was American, but Indian too! 

Anwar hopped the first flight over. 

But his flight from Mumbai to Bhopal had been indefinitely, infernally delayed. And then once he'd hounded the taxi driver to race through Bhopal's blockaded streets, he'd realized that the Khans weren't at their own home any more; they were temporarily holed up at the Siddiqui house. 

He knew the area around the Khan house quite well but had no clue about this part of town. 

The stop and go traffic combined with asking around for directions had set his teeth on edge. Fleeing minutes had felt like creeping hours. He couldn't wait to see and hold Zoya and determine for himself that she was absolutely fine.

When he finally reached the gates and pulled out his wallet to pay up, skidding wheels and impatient horns had startled him. He saw SUVs and vans peeling out of the mansion's driveway. 

The hair on the back of his neck rose. 

Something felt wrong. He couldn't see anyone's faces in the cars, but too many people were crammed into each vehicle.

Blind instinct took over.

     Anwar leaped back into the taxi to order the surprised driver, "jaldi karo, follow those cars!" 

     The driver demurred. "Udhar raasta bund hai!" 

     "I'll pay you double!" 

The car flew.

He punched in Omar's number on his cell.

     "Jeeju! We're on our way too. Humaira just texted us. They're in trouble." 

     "What?!" Anwar asked, confused and dazed. "I'm following a bunch of cars that just left their house. Should I go back to see—"

     "No! That's great! We have their GPS co-ordinates and yes they are on the move. Just keep an eye on them and let us know their location. We may lose their GPS signal if they take an unmapped route. We should be there in less than an hour—this damn traffic and stupid roadblocks ..."

A part of the city was at a standstill. On the radio hyper-excited journalists speculated and blabbed about the possibility of a serialized terror attack. Hapless witnesses at the mall were being asked the same freaking question in different ways: "Mall parking garage mein afra-tafri dekh kar aapko kaisa lag raha hai? Kaisa mehsoos ho raha hai? Please humein vistaar mein bataiye!" 

You could see a lot of police but you couldn't get them to help you.

     "Duty par hain! Not our jurisdiction!" were the heartless refrains with which they were shooed away.

Gritting his teeth, Omar had slammed his palm on the dashboard a few minutes ago.

     "Don't try to approach them, Jeeju," Omar cautioned Anwar after a deep steadying breath. "Keep a safe distance. We don't want to spook them into doing something stupid or dangerous." 

None of them mentioned that neither Asad nor Ayaan were answering their phones. Whatever this was, it was something too well-planned and highly choreographed. And it would get a lot worse before it got better.

Omar scrubbed his forehead in agitation. He looked at Najma's tense face and smiled at her in reassurance.

 

When Zoya had stepped out of the closet and seen Tanveer lounging on the bed, her first thought was that she was hallucinating.

How had the alarms not triggered, how did this woman get into their house? Only later would they find out that Tanveer's band of criminals had tazed, shot and bulldozed their way in after disabling the electric and phone lines. The guards had been held and cuffed at gunpoint after one of them was critically injured due to a gunshot wound and another shot in the leg.

Tanveer had risen and sauntered over to the dresser. She'd taken out a measuring tape and and proceeded to measure its length. She dictated notes to herself on her cellphone.

     "Tanveer! What the hell are you doing?"

     "I don't like this," the witch had drawled. "I'm going to replace this. And those too," she said, pointing to the drapes.

Zoya had been blown away by the woman's audacity and hostility. Before she could react or respond, one of Tanveer's gundas seized her by her neck to drag Zoya away. No amount of kicking and scratching had worked on the over-muscled brute. And she didn't want to scream. But the magnitude of the home invasion and the sight of Tanveer's armed stormtroopers swarming the house had sickened her. 

In the car, Zoya dared not look up into Ammi's or Humaira's eyes. She was too terrified that she'd burst into frightened tears. 

She felt guilty. 

And ashamed. 

First, it was because of her that the rest of the family was being targeted and tormented. Besides that, she of all people, at this moment when it mattered most, had been caught unawares and without her beloved pepper spray or cell phone. Asad's words, spoken not too long ago in jest, haunted her: if you ever decide to stand for election, the pepper spray would be your chunav chinh ...

If she did survive this ordeal, Asad would kill her. 

     "Tanveer, I know you want me. But let the others go, please!" Zoya pleaded with the woman in the passenger seat up front.

     Tanveer rapped her across her knees with the butt of a gun she'd been twirling around playfully. "Shut up Zoya! I'm in no mood for your self-sacrificing goody-two-shoes act! It makes me sick! You make me sick!" 

Huddled in the backseat, Zoya tried not to hug her stomach—it may set Tanveer off even more. The gun swinging loosely from her fingers terrified her. She was scared for the baby.

     Hands clasped desperately, she prayed and talked to the baby in her head: "You'll be fine, we'll be fine. Abbu won't let anything happen to you. I promise!" Zoya kept repeating this vow as she closed her eyes to cast her strength into that tiny being whose heart had beaten so strongly. Just this morning, before Asad left for work, they'd listened to the heartbeat again. It had tom-tommed in triumphant glee. 

At dawn the baby's Abbu had placed his warm palm on her stomach and even recited Allah's name ninety-nine times ... 

Her hand moved to her throat. Zoya felt the warmth from the taawiz zinging through her till her fingertips tingled. She willed its words of protection to weave a shield around her womb.

The sound of rushing hooves and hurtling trains charged her reinforced soul. 

     Suddenly Aapi's voice filled her head warming her even more. "Chanda hai tu, mera suraj hai tu," Aapi would sing to her when she was a kid. 

     "I'm not Chanda, I am ZoyAA and I'm American!" she used to yell before running away to hide from Aapi and her weird names for her. She used to think then that Chanda was another name for Canada. 

She sniffed and wiped an errant tear. 

     And then Zoya sang that once-forgotten and so-familiar song in her head: "O meri aankhon ka tara hai tu." 

Steely calm flooded through her, banishing any residual shadows and fears. Her veins thawed as spunk radiated from her lionheart. If anything bad happened to her then it was meant to be, but by god, she'd go down kicking and fighting. Please Allah Miyan, let me be able to land one good kick on Tanveer's rancid ass! 

Taking a deep cleansing breath she took stock of her surroundings. She was squished between Ammi and Chhoti Ammi. Her hand crept to clasp Dilshad's. The charms on her bracelet rustled softly.

At the next signal their car swerved and braked suddenly. 

Tanveer swore as her gun fell from her hand.  

She screeched at her driver to be more careful but bit her tongue when someone knocked on her window. Unwillingly she rolled it down. 

     "Sorry ma'am, the road ahead is blocked. There's been an accident up ahead and an angry mob is gathering. You may want to take an alternate route." 

That reminded Zoya. Placing a cool hand over her wrist she switched on her GPS that she'd forgotten earlier. She needed to pull it together: she couldn't afford to lose her Jhansi ki Rani-ness.

With the heels of her hands she scrubbed away all traces of weak tears. 

 

     "OK, Zoya's turned hers on and she's with the rest of them too," Faiz called out from the backseat. 

     "Thank god!" Najma sobbed. 

It had taken days to convince Omar and Feroze to bring them along. Before leaving for Ajmer Sharif, and behind Zoya, Asad and Ayaan's backs, they had all cornered Humaira and bullied her into agreeing to their plan.

     Nikhat and Najma had threatened her with filmy kasams—"for the baby's sake! Tumhe humari kasam, hamare hone wale bachchon ki kasam!" 

And a distraught Humaira had signed the invisible pact: when trouble struck she would let them know immediately. 

They would take care of the rest. 

And they did. 

The moment they got her text, they set out in two cars with bodyguards of their own. Najma was in touch with Rakesh who was doing his own frantic damage control by getting his injured employees to the hospital and manning their own monitors and transmitters.

 

     "Bhai," Asad heard Ayaan's muffled whisper next to his ear. 

     He rounded on him in his best Akdu mode—as best as he could with his hands tied behind his back and head shrouded in a smelly hood. "Ayaan, are you mad? Why did you have to fight with those men? Didn't you see their weapons? Tumhein kuchch ho jata, toh?" 

     "Chup karo, you two," someone hollered from the front and smacked their heads.

     "PI'm fpine! Dpon't wporry pabpout mpe." 

     "What the hell?" Asad whispered. "What the hell nonsense are you muttering? Is this the time to be funny?"

May be the gunman had hit his kid brother too hard that's why he was speaking gibberish. What if he had a concussion? 

     Ayaan elbowed him. "Bhai, P-language," he hissed. "Remember?" 

     "Wha—?" 

     Oh.

     My.

     God. 

Asad groaned. If his hands were free, he would have gladly smacked his forehead. As an annoying and self-important teenager, one day Ayaan had decided that they would only communicate in P-language so that no one would know what they were saying. Especially his bratty sisters. 

Ayaan had been a natural at it. 

But Asad could never get the hang of the P-language: placing a P before every vowel. He had tried. For four full days. On the fifth day Ayaan had to concede defeat in the face of the Mukka language; and mercifully, the P-language had died a quick and painless death.

But who knew that it would rear its nonsense head and actually be useful!

Asad struggled to articulate himself in this alien language now. It was pretty smart of Ayaan to think this up. If he got out of this alive and with everyone safe, then by god, he would learn and master the P-language—even get a Ph.D. in it. 

     "Po kpay," he said, hoping that he'd used the damn P in the right place.

A delighted Ayaan next P-languaged him to fish his penknife out of the pocket sewn into his jacket sleeve. 

One of the gunmen rapped him on the head for muttering.

     "Hey," Ayaan yelled back. "I'm praying, OK!" 

Asad nearly laughed out loud. He snorted to hear Ayaan's next few words. 

Ayaan pretend-fought with Asad.

     "Bhaijaan, it's all your fault that we're in this mess. Why didn't you listen to me? You never listen, you think you're know-it-all and some goddamn Akdu Ahmed Khan!" 

He tried to ram his shoulder into Asad's and slid closer.

     "Shut up, Ayaan! You never listen or follow instructions!" Asad played along.

Their captors let them be, no longer interested in this petty sibling rivalry. 

Ayaan twisted to allow his brother better access. He even coughed to cover up the sound of the zip sliding open. It was hard: the van bumped, the goons kept hitting them to shut them up, and reaching around with both hands tied behind one's back was nearly impossible.

It was slow and painstaking work. 

Sweat rolled down Asad's face.

He concentrated on getting a grip on the tiny zipper. Damn his brother's fashion sense! There were at least three zippers that ran diagonally across the leather sleeve. How was he going to figure out which pocket the damn knife was in? His hands slipped; his wrists hurt as the ties cut into his flesh. 

But Asad tried and concentrated harder. 

Because if he didn't, Zoya's face swam before his stinging eyes and paralyzed him. 

Finally! He could feel the stubby end of the knife. But there was other junk crammed in there too; Asad cringed. Oh god, don't let that be dried up gum. Carefully he tried to slip the knife out. In trying to flick it open he nicked himself and Ayaan several times. 

     This time Ayaan cussed in earnest. "Damn! Shit! Piss! Fuck! Shiii-itt!"

When he launched into Hindi gaalis, Asad elbowed him. 

Hard. 

     "Shut your mouth Ayaan, and mind your language!" he ranted, just as earnestly.

Asad tried to file away at the hard plastic ties. He didn't know if Ayaan had done the same as him when they'd been caught: tighten his fists keeping them side to side to make them thicker. Once they had shoved him into the van he had turned his hands making the palms face each other; this had loosened the cuffs allowing him more wiggle room. In broken P-language he explained to Ayaan that he wasn't cutting the tie all the way through. He still wanted to maintain the illusion of them being handcuffed once they'd reached wherever they were headed. 

Asad slit his own just enough that once he flexed his arms and pulled hard, the tie would pop open. He tried his best to slide the knife into Ayaan's jeans pocket to be more accessible for later. 

The van halted and the doors jerked open.

They were hauled out just as unceremoniously as they'd been thrown in.

Asad tried to figure out the site's location through sound and smell clues. In the distance he could hear a slow-moving train. The metallic smells and the stench of disuse around him didn't help much in orienting him. 

It was an abandoned place for sure. A warehouse, maybe? 

They heard a heavy door on rollers slide open. Inside there were muted echoes of ... sobs, cries, a woman's pleading voice ... 

As they were marched closer, the voices grew louder. 

He heard Tanveer's cackle and his blood boiled.

     "Ah, look who's here to join the party," she called out. "Welcome Jammy! The guest of honor and so fashionably late!" 

Asad coocked his head to the side and took an involuntary step toward her to sock her in the face. But then he remembered that his hands were tied ... Two men held him on each side or using echo-location he'd have rammed his head into her smug face. 

But he needed to bite his tongue and hold it together. 

He knew she expected him to rage and sputter in impotent anger.

And Asad needed to hear familiar voices to make sure that everyone was OK.

 

     "There are some vans here. It's an abandoned warehouse," Anwar told Feroze who'd put him on speakerphone. "Wait, there's another van pulling in." After a brief pause he spoke again, "I think this might be Asad and Ayaan. I see one person in jeans. Their heads are covered and their hands are tied behind their backs." 

Nikhat and Najma couldn't bear to hear this. They sobbed in fright for their family. Nuzzhat gritted her teeth. She wanted to march over and kick someone. She pushed her glasses higher on her nose and sniffled. 

     "Baaji, they'll be fine. It's Asad and Ayaan Bhaijaan after all. They won't let anything bad happen," she consoled them and herself. 

They were still too far from the place. It would take them another 25-30 minutes to reach there. And anything could happen in 25-30 minutes.

Nuzzhat wanted to scream in angry frustration. She bit her knuckle. It was hard to sit still and not do anything to help her family that had been taken hostage by a madwoman. 

Thank god her Jeejus had caved in and let them all come!

Omar and Feroze had told their parents that after visiting Ajmer Sharif, they were going to visit other tourist spots in Rajasthan. But instead they had returned to Bhopal and parked themselves in a hotel. Initially Feroze had wanted the rescue mission to be just himself and Omar.

     But Nikhat and Najma wouldn't take no for an answer. "We know the city much better than you," they'd insisted. 

Their husbands had to relent. Faiz too couldn't bear to be left behind with the oldies. And there was just no way in hell that Nuzzhat would stay back without her sisters. They were all a team and anyone who even suggested otherwise, she'd bash their skulls in. 

Humaira had kept them updated about the gifts of terror and the rash of crank calls. The day before she had texted them that the Khan house had been attacked a few days ago. At the girls' insistence, they had all driven past the Khan home. 

Seeing it unlit and abandoned had made Najma weep. 

Pulling out his phone, Omar had played back the recording from Humaira to console her. She had sent the video that Ayaan had managed to take that night. Hearing the baby's strong rhythmic heartbeat had brought a smile to Najma's face through her tears. She watched Ayaan Bhaijaan banter with Humaira and Ammi tow Zoya and Asad Bhaijaan off to the kitchen to cast away all evil spells.

Everyone's faces had softened with hope and pleasure.

Najma feathered her fingers across the screen to touch their faces. She would see them all again. 

Omar had tucked her head under his chin.

She prayed. 

 

When they removed his hood, Asad blinked in the harsh light. He had expected this, visualized and agonized over this for weeks, but it still hit him hard. 

The woman had indeed planned this well. To stage the showdown at the wretched gudia factory—the beginning of it all—was diabolically genius. His heart thumped. Asad knew exactly why she had chosen this location … and what would come. 

He felt oddly distanced as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the artificial brightness. But seeing Ammi tied up made him want to punch something. It took a superhuman effort to not flip out and go ballistic. He was restrained only because he couldn't see Zoya.

Ayaan however, had no such reservations. He shouted and cussed at the men holding him. Because his parents were here he couldn't use his choicest curses so he resorted to inventing gaalis—shouting them at the top of his lungs. 

Asad used the distraction to his advantage. 

His eyes roved to take stock: not too far from Tanveer a fire burned in an old rusty drum. He noted some men in a loose circle with guns trained on the family. His fist clenched to see Abbu and Sidddiqui Saheb tied together to a pillar. Ammi and Chhoti Ammi, and Raziya and Humaira were tied up to two other pillars. 

A firebolt of fury crackled through Asad.

His hands itched to take these hired men's limbs apart, take this doomed place apart that was in his and Zoya's name now, a place whose roots manacled their childhoods, a place that always cast a shadow on their happiness.

Asad struggled to tamp his raging emotions.

His heart skidded to a stop.

Where was Zoya?

His nerves hummed and leaped with volatile terror.

     Asad swung around to demand in a low tone trying not to betray that flare of alarm: "What do you want, Tanveer?"

     "Nothing much Asad. I'm a reasonable woman, a little respect and some retribution will do for now," she simpered. 

She nodded to the men holding him and Ayaan, and they were frog-marched to be tied to a forlorn pillar—a 2X2, thick concrete pillar. 

Asad's heart sank. 

     Tanveer spun slowly on her feet and held her arms out in welcome. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're gathered here today ..." She laughed. Her nostrils flared in spite and her mouth twisted. "We're gathered here today because I am sick to death of you all—"

     "Tanveer, you ingrate—! We welcomed you in our home and this is the thanks you give us!" Dilshad's voice quivered with outrage.

     "Oh please, Khala. You are such an innocent. You didn't welcome me. I came because I was sent to your home—I was sent on a very special mission." 

While the others looked puzzled Raziya and Siddiqui squeezed their eyes shut.

Asad tried to keep interrupting, angrily demanding to know Zoya's whereabouts. He also hoped that the others would be distracted from Tanveer's vengeful revelations. 

     "Who sent you? Why have you brought us here?" Rashid couldn't help but demand. His mind had zeroed in on the woman's menacing words. 

But before Tanveer answered they heard a muffled groan of protest from a dark corner in the back of the warehouse. 

Asad's heart went into overdrive. 

He thrashed against the thick ropes holding him. 

     Tanveer grinned. She rubbed her hands in delight. "Patience Rashid Saheb. Itni bhi kya jaldi hai?  Iss raaz pe abhi parda rehne dete hain. But before we proceed further, let me bring out exhibit A." 

She signaled a henchman who tucked his firearm into his waistband and disappeared to reappear a minute later with Zoya gagged and bound in a wheelchair. 

     At the sight of a bruised Zoya with a gag and blood at the corner of her mouth, a feverish Asad roared, "TANVEER!" even as he strained against his restraints.

His back arched and head hammered against the concrete when he noticed the awkward angle of Zoya's arm. She was wincing in pain.

Was she hurt? Why was she in wheelchair? 

The ziptie snapped behind him. Next to him he felt Ayaan break free from the cuffs too. But they were still moored to the pillar with a thick rope wound multiple times around their chests and waists. 

     "Just tell us what you want from us!" Asad continued to shout at Tanveer even as he pleaded with her for mercy, "please!"

     "Who sent you? Who are you?" Rashid continued to ask. 

Humaira was giving thanks for the pocketknife that Chhoti Phuphi had tied in her dupatta corner. With no one looking in their direction, she had managed to wiggle and grab a hold of it. But opening a knot with one hand was proving to be impossible. She whispered and hunkered closer to her mother who was quietly sobbing. 

     "Ammi!" she whispered urgently as she tried to hold her hand through the ropes. "Help me untie this knot." 

Together they pulled and twisted the thin cloth to free it. Raziya was just grateful for something to do instead of watching everything unravel and come apart at the seams. Humaira prayed that the knife wouldn't fall and attract someone's attention. 

     "Tanveer!" Asad hollered. "Why are you doing this? What could you possibly want?"

     "What I want? Stop being so coy, Jammy! You've always known what I've wanted."

Tanveer couldn't get enough of goading Asad by baiting Zoya. She strode to her nemesis to loosen her gag. Zoya coughed as she drew in deep ragged breaths. Her teary eyes sought Asad's. Her cheek was swollen.

     Eyes locked with Zoya's, Asad hissed. "Then take me and let everyone else go."

He saw Zoya squeeze her eyes shut and shake her head.

     "Take you and let everyone else go? How noble and exactly what your begum said too! It's as if you both are goddamn mind-reading soulmates!" She laughed, loving her own dark humor. "Rest assured Asad, I will take you, but sorry, I won't let everyone go. I want them to enjoy the show. Live show ki baat hi alagh hoti hai! And there are so many curtain-raisers coming up!" 

Raziya's hands shook; she knew exactly what was coming next. She watched with unblinking eyes as Tanveer slowly circled Zoya as if deciding what to do with her. Zoya stiffened her spine but stayed mute. She knew that saying a word would just make the situation worse. Annoyed with Zoya's mild and unruffled manner, Tanveer creeped up behind her and pushed the wheelchair toward the burning drum. 

As much as she had been forcing herself to stay calm, she couldn't keep quiet as the flames neared with every agonizing second.

Zoya screamed.

She kept screaming as her wheelchair rammed into the drum and came to rest a few inches away from the leaping inferno. Embers flew in her hair and singed her clothes. 

     "Tanveer!" Asad shouted in hopeless tears. "Don't, please ... just leave her alone. Don't do this! Please," he didn't realize he was begging Zoya to look at him so that he could assure her that he wouldn't let anything happen to her.

But her rising cries of terror lanced him. He could do nothing for her. He had failed her as he stood by watching her fly apart. His nightmares from many a sleepless night taunted him.

Zoya continued to scream and scream ... and scream ...

     "Tanveer, get her away from the fire, please, I beg you!" Asad's voice became hoarse with despair. Others pleaded with her too but she remained resolute in enjoying Zoya's breakdown.

Zoya's screams got fainter. No one could understand why Zoya, someone who was so fearless, was so helpless and so overcome with fright.

     Raziya cried bitterly. "No, no! Stop!" her feeble words echoed. 

She knew; she withered inside.

     "Please," Asad continued to implore her. "She's scared of fire. She has a phobia. I'll do whatever you ask. But please don't do that to her!"

Siddiqui couldn't bear to hear Zoya's endless screams. He didn't know about her fear of fire. But it made sense and it killed him to watch her. Her eyes were wide in terror and her mouth wouldn't close. Her tied hands slapped at the metal armrest as if warding off imaginary demons. Mesmerized by the snaking fire Zoya's haunted eyes remained riveted to the fiery fiend of her nightmares. 

     "Zoya!" Weeping, he joined the desperate chorus begging Tanveer to release Zoya. 

Eigtheen years ago, in this same place, Siddiqui had done nothing for her; condemned to watch his daughter crumpling before him in anguish, he could do nothing even now. He had never felt so useless and so powerless in his life.

Her screams knocked, bumped and ricocheted against his thin soul. 

Her voice tapered ... a broken, beaten, mangled murmur.

     "Please, I'll give you everything," he sobbed. "Zoya, meri bachchi!" he cried. "Iss badnaseeb baap ko maaf kar dena ... main tumhare liye kucch nahin lar paya ..."

     "ZOYA!" Asad shouted as he saw her slump forward. A dead hush rose to shroud the large space.

     "Thank god! All that screaming was giving me a headache! Jammy, of course I know she's terrified of fire. Why do you think I planned this? And that too, in this place!"

Tanveer laughed at Asad's naivete.

Again she signaled a minion who stepped up to drench Zoya with a bucket of water.

As Zoya struggled to regain consciousness, Asad redoubled his frantic efforts to break out of the restraints. 

     "Ayaan, get that knife," he whispered.

     "I'm trying Bhai, I'm trying. You hold still so I can get some slack to work in my favor." 

Asad stilled. 

     Blinding sweat poured down their faces. Ayaan gritted his teeth and whispered, "I'm going to try to wriggle downward so the ropes can slide up around my shoulders and neck. I can't get my hands to reach it. I need you to press as close to the pillar as possible." 

Asad flattened himself against the concrete wall and felt the ropes crush his ribcage as Ayaan struggled to get a grip.

     "Please, hurry," he whispered. 

     "Tanveer," this time Humaira spoke up through her own tears. "Please, move her away. Abbu will give you anything, do anything, so will Jeeju. PLEASE don't do this!"

     "Look, Zoya," Tanveer taunted a now recovering Zoya. "Look how they beg me to save you. You, who took everything way from me!"

Zoya noticed the fire again and began to whimper before breaking into fresh screams.

Her throat was torn and raw now. 

     "Zoya!" Asad called out to her to make her turn toward him and away from the flames. "Look at me, don't look at that," he cajoled softly. His voice rose, steady and sustaining, despite his tears. He kept repeating those words to her in many variations. 

Her glazed eyes fastened on his lips.

He told her that she was stronger than that fire. Asad told her that she would slay that fire like Jhansi ki rani ... 

  


His hypnotic tone lulled her. Her breathing evened. If she focused on Asad's voice she might just fool herself into believing that there was no fire.

But Tanveer wrenched her face back to face the fire.

     "How cute tum miyan biwi ki mohabbat aur chaahat!"

Zoya shut her eyes tight and bit her lips to stop herself from screaming. Besides, Asad's words had brought her back from the brink of frigid horror. His words, his voice, were breathing a new fire inside her.

     "You got lucky," Tanveer hissed in Zoya's face. "One slip up, or I'd have been Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan today! My baby would have been alive today!" 

     She yanked Zoya by her hair to tip her head back painfully. "And I wouldn't even have cared if he'd taken you on as a mistress! Why couldn't you just let things be?" She shouted, spit flying.

Zoya gasped from the remembered pain of those dark days when this woman had ripped her apart from Asad. It was uncanny how Tanu had sensed her deepest, darkest desire from that time. So heartsick had she been then, that for a fraction of a second she had even entertained the notion, that if he'd asked, she would have gladly consented to being the other woman in his life if Asad had married Tanveer. 

Zoya felt sick to her stomach now just as she had then. 

It had been a terrible moment of weakness. 

How could she have even let that thought creep in? She had begged Allah's forgiveness for letting even the pinpoint of such a sinful thought breach her defenses.

     "Mr. Khan would never have done that!" Zoya spoke up through the lump in her sore throat. She knew Asad would have been stronger than her. He had his own father's acts casting a deep shadow over his soul. 

     "But you would have!" Tanveer shrieked. "Bad blood always finds its way. You are your mother's daughter after all!"

     "Tanveer!" Raziya couldn't stop herself.

     Zoya's eyes flashed fire too. "You can talk of what ifs and if onlys till you're blue the face, Tanveer. The truth will never change: you failed, because you were wrong. I have no regrets! You, on the other hand—" 

     Tanveer slapped her. "You self-righteous bitch!" she shrieked.

She stalked to Raziya who was still cursing her.

     "Badi takleef ho rahi hai Raziya Bi? So sensitive about your husband's illegitimate daughter. The same daughter who—" 

They all heard a commotion outside, some shouts and then a bleeding Anwar was hauled in.

     "Zoya!" he called out to her. He couldn't bear to stay outside and listen to her scream for a second longer. He wouldn't wait for the others to come. He'd barged in empty-handed, a manic animal to its cub's rescue. 

     "Jeeju!" Zoya shouted in joy and fear. 

     "Oh how wonderful!" Tanveer clasped her hands in glee. "Another guest! And another fan of our Ms. Farooqui! Tie him up too," she snarled, and a minion rushed to do just that. 

 

Najma wept bitterly. The police blockade had snarled the traffic ahead and they were stuck. 

     "She'll kill her. I know it, she'll kill her." Najma kept repeating.

     "Shh," Nikhat sobbed too. "Don't say that, Najma! Have hope. Insha'allah we'll reach there in time."

Omar, Feroze and Faiz had jumped out and were in deep negotiations with the constables at the roadblock. Feroze spoke to his local cousins to get numbers of high-up officials while Omar tried the numbers of the Police Commisioner that Prasad had given him. 

Faiz stood in the middle of the chaos.

He watched the girls weeping in the car and his brothers pleading with unknown people on their phones. He felt stranded and moorless—they were strangers in this place. They knew nothing: no routes, no influential people who could help them, nor did they have access to resources they would have at home where a simple 9-1-1 call would be enough for the local PD and a SWAT team to arrive between 5-9 minutes.

     He nudged Feroze and whispered in his ear, "Bhai tell them that there's a fire or a bomb explosion at that location. Or that it's a terrorist hostage situation or something. May be they'll rush resources at record speed then!" 

Feroze hung up and looked up at Omar. Their eyes met. They felt terrible for doing this. Back at home they'd be misdemeanor charges filed against them for knowingly calling in a false report of a crime. 

But this was a matter of life and death too, wasn't it? And it was a hostage situation; it wouldn't be a false report.

Both of them as well as Faiz began to make distressed eyewitness calls to the police. Back at the car, they got the girls to call in reports of an explosion and gunshots at the same location too. 

They left anonymous calls and tips to several media outlets. 

For the moment this was all they could do: sit in traffic and pray. And make calls.

They raised their heads and palms heavenward.

 

 

Song in Title:

Kurbaan (2009) "Ali Maula" 


	98. Door Banaayi Thi Manzil Toh Rastey Mein Hi Shaam Hui

 

Nuzzhat had had it with the inaction. She needed to do something or she'd implode with anxiety. She slapped Nikhat's thigh. Nikhat jumped. 

     "Baaji, give me your bags!"

     "Why? What do you need?"

Nuzzhat just grabbed their purses and began to shove them under her kurta over her belly.

     "Here, round it out so I look really pregnant!" she instructed Nikhat and Najma.

     "What? Nuzzhat! What's gotten into you?" An alarmed Najma asked. 

     "Forget about that! Get the guys to tell that Policewala that there's a woman in labor in here and that you have to get me to the hospital. STAT!" 

Both Nikhat and Najma looked at her as if she'd grown horns, or extra limbs. 

     "Hurry!" she hissed as she adjusted her sister's purses and covered the lumpiness with her dupatta. Najma jumped out to tell the guys about this development. 

Nuzzhat arranged herself over the backseat.

     "Let me know when the officer gets close," she told Nikhat. 

When Nikhat signaled her baby sister that the policeman was nearing the car to check on them she saw her sister transform into another person. Letting her head fall back Nuzzhat let out loud cries of pain as she tossed her head side to side as if she were in great physical agony. 

     She grabbed a shocked Nikhat by her arm and screamed, "Baaji, hurry! I can't bear it. This baby is going to kill me. AaAnnNhhh!"

She hoped the others would go along with this extempore act and not give her away. This was the only way she could think of to get to their destination sooner and help their family. 

Nuzzhat continued to groan loudly, peppering the groans with lusty wails; as the policeman peeked into the backseat her legs and arms flailed. She gripped her belly and gave another high-pitched scream.

     "The contractions are coming closer! This baby will be born here if you don't get me to the clinic! Right now—"

She had to supply her own dialogues too because apparently everyone else was too tongue-tied to say anything. 

     The policeman looked flustered and tried to pacify her. "Madam, shaant ho jayiye!"

     "Shaant ho jaaoon? Main shaant ho jaaoon? Are you crazy? Have you had a baby before?" He paled.  

     "Get me out of here. I'm not giving birth to my baby in the middle of the street. GET ME TO THE DOCTOR! NOW!" Nuzzhat yelled.

The poor constable reeled from the ear-splitting tongue-lashing. A crowd was beginning to gather and there were ominous murmurings. The air was rife with whispers of, "Doctor," "Ambulance," "jaldi!" 

Omar was the first to recover.

     "Please officer, you have to let us go. My sister-in-law needs medical attention. As it is her pregnancy has too many complications. Please!" 

     "AAAHHH!" Nuzzhat belted out another loud one for effect. 

     Omar got swept up in the moment too. He clapped a hand on Faiz's shoulder and shook him. "Tell the officer that she has to be taken in for an emergency C-section." 

Faiz opened his mouth but words failed him. He gaped like a lidless fish. 

Omar turned to the policeman who was wiping his brow in painful indecision.

     "See, sir, how the baby's father is in complete shock, he can't speak! He's so worried. He'll probably have a heart attack. Please, you have to help us!" 

Faiz stumbled. His eyes bugged more; he gulped.

Feroze covered his mouth to hide a smirk. 

     "Oh god," Nuzzhat moaned. "Here comes another one!" She really let it rip this time.

Everyone shrank away from the volume of her shriek.

     Omar pushed Faiz into the car and Nuzzhat grabbed him by his collar, "This is all your fault! You did this to me!" 

     Blindly Faiz groped for her hand, "I'm sorry," he whispered in a daze. He didn't even know what he was sorry for. From the looks of it he was going to be a father and the baby's mother was livid enough to claw his face off. 

The girls begged and cajoled the officer to do something. Their sister was in great pain and if the baby was born here there would be fears of infection and safety. 

The harassed policeman fled to consult with his colleagues. 

Nuzzhat kept up her noisy act. 

Within ten minutes they were cleared to drive past the checkpoint.

Omar had demanded a police escort but one look at a raving and ranting Nuzzhat had made the police wary of accompanying them. The havaldaar told them that he'd radio the next checkpoint so that they could sail through it too. 

They raced to get to the warehouse.

     As a spent and drained Nuzzhat leaned back with her eyes closed, Faiz couldn't help but exclaim, "Whoa! That performance was worthy of an Oscar! You actually made me believe that I was going to be a father!" 

     Nuzzhat slanted an eye open, "In your dreams, pardesi boy. Don't even think about it!" 

Nikhat giggled. And everyone laughed. 

     "Shabaash mera cheetah!" Feroze patted his saali's head fondly. 

     "You scared us! Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Nuzzhat?" Najma kidded.

Their smiles froze and Najma burst into tears. 

They stared ahead, their faces grim hoping the good luck would hold up even when they reached the warehouse. 

Omar played back the recording of the baby's heartbeat. 

A beacon, it beckoned them, pounding out a Morse code of distress. 

  


     "This is getting boring," Tanveer decided as she watched Anwar struggle against the ropes and repeatedly curse her.

     "I don't care who you are, what you want! Just let Zoya go!" 

     "Ah, but you should care Jeeju. You should care a lot!" Tanveer's maniacal laugh bounced off the hard sooty surfaces of the decrepid building. 

Tanveer slithered up to Asad and ran a fingernail slowly down his face. He grimaced in repulsion. His free hands fisted behind him. Her lips firmed in a straight annoyed line. With a glare at him she stomped off to Zoya's side, circling her like a shark. He would behave only if he perceived a threat to Zoya. 

It galled her. 

She nodded to one of her men who signaled the others.

Silently, slowly, they started to gather and heap broken chairs, tables and wooden beams into a pile. 

Asad's heart jammed. 

     "Ayaan!" he whispered. "Hurry, please ..." 

Luckily Ayaan was on the other side so Tanveer hadn't noticed that he'd slid almost half-way down the pillar. His shirt and jacket had been pulled free and the ropes were biting into his skin as he tried to maneuver them closer to his shoulders. Just a few more inches and he'd at least be able to grasp the damn pocketknife which was so close but felt miles away. 

     "Bhai?" Asad heard the desperation in Ayaan's voice. "Which pocket did you put it in? I can't find the penknife," he whispered.

All hope seemed to be evaporating, a puff of smoke in their clammy fists. Till now he had been stalling and baiting Tanveer because he was confident that they'd be free any second once Ayaan found the knife. 

Asad tried to clutch on to his disintegrating sanity as he closed his eyes and tried to picture where he'd put the knife. Did it get jostled in the van? Or fall out when they were dragged out and hauled in here? 

     "Front right ... no, left," he bit out. He could have kicked himself: why didn't he just slip the knife into his own back pocket? His arms were hurting from having strained for so long against the ropes that cut into his flesh. 

His chest burned.

His throat was dry. time. He needed to buy them more time. 

     "The police will be here soon," he snapped at Tanveer. "You think we didn't anticipate your attack?" 

Tanveer spun on her high-heeled foot. Her red sequined dupatta flared out behind her like a jaunty cape. She had taken such care to dress in her finest clothes today. It was going to be her day, her triumph. It was going to be that crowning moment for which she had slogged for so long. This was her party, thrown in her honor; she'd be the emcee, the pirouetting prima donna, the sashaying showstopper, and the crowned champion: the multi-tasker par excellence!

     "Aw, poor Jammy," she cooed. "The police is way too busy today!" 

     He stared at her. "The bomb blast at the mall? You did that?" 

     She laughed heartily. "I wish! No, I didn't do that. But I did take advantage of the chaos that followed." 

     "Enough Tanveer! The police may be delayed but they'll be here." 

     "Are you sure?" 

     Asad frowned, "what do you mean?" 

     Tanveer smirked. "I had my people call in multiple reports of bomb blasts all over the city. The police are probably tripping over themselves investigating every fake report by now!" 

Asad let out a silent groan. Her tactics would make a covert operations commander proud. 

She let out a long dramatic sigh. 

     "Let me tell you why you all are really here, Jammy. You think this is revenge for all the times I failed to snag you, or missed killing your precious Ms. Farooqui?" 

Asad's face twisted viciously and she laughed again. 

She held out her hand and counted on her fingers.

     "Yes, killing Ms. Farooqui is a fun game I've played in my head for months now! Hmm, if I were to count the number of times ... let me see ..." She grinned. "There was that time I pushed her down the stairs but that wasn't the first time I tried killing her," Tanveer gloated. 

Seeing his contorted face made her bolder. "Yes Jammy, even you, the hero of this miserable story, didn't know of so many of my attempts on her life!" 

Asad seethed but remained silent. He didn't trust himself to not upset her further. He didn't even want to think about what she'd do next. 

     "Shut up Tanveer!" Siddiqui shouted. "What kind of a monster are you? You're a blot on womankind!" 

Winking at Raziya, Tanveer continued as if Siddiqui hadn't even spoken.

     But she strode up to that man who had played her father for a few weeks. "There was poison and acid involved." 

She laughed when she heard the multiple gasps. 

     "Then there was that time when I tried to electrocute her." She looked at her fake father but spoke to Asad.

Asad blanched. That was her doing? He thought it was a freak accident when he'd rushed to Zoya's bathroom to remove the live wire from her tub. 

     "You are a fool, Tanveer," Asad said quietly with a lop-sided grimace. "Each of those times you only succeeded in bringing me and Zoya closer."

A flash of stubborn hope flared in him. If Zoya'd survived all those attempts, she'd be fine today too.

He smiled grimly and Tanveer faltered. 

But she was quick to recover. 

     "Yes, she seems to have more lives than a cat, doesn't she? Because each time you were able to rescue her. But you won't be able to do so today. Who knows, may be she'll even beg you to kill her today!" 

     "Shut up, Tanveer! You're a psychopath," he spat out.

Angry tears slid down Asad's face.

Each time hope reared its downy head it got kicked down. Once again Tanveer's evil obsession had proven so much more powerful than all their combined efforts. Would she really get away with it all? 

No, his mind screamed. His sore shoulders squared. He wouldn't let her. Asad redoubled his efforts to break free. He didn't care about the abrasions that were now being tattoed on his thrashing body: a violent calligraphy stamped on his flesh in blood. 

  


Tanveer's brows furrowed in frustration.

The battle of wills with Asad was exhausting. Each time she beat him down, he'd rise up again to challenge and spurn her. To counter Asad's haughty rebellion, she needed to cow the other members of her carefully-chosen and assembled audience. He would break once she brought out her trump card. She moved on to the pillar where Siddiqui, Rashid and now Anwar were tied.

     "I'm no fool, Asad!" she pronounced remembering his earlier boast. "You all are the fools!" she sneered. "Abbu dearest," Tanveer cackled as she came to stand in front of Siddiqui Saheb, "it was so easy to fool you that I was your daughter! But no, super-jodi Asad and Zoya had to ruin that too!"

     "You tramp," Siddiqui bellowed. "Don't blame your faults and failures on others. You are alone today because of your vicious nature. How dare you take Zoya's place! You failed then, you'll fail now too. Allah is watching!" 

Her eyes slitted. She hated how everyone was free to call her names and predict her doom while they sang Zoya's praises. Venomous bile coursed through her. Tanveer turned on her heel to face Rashid.

     "Please let Zoya go, let all the women go. You can do what you want with us," he spoke softly.

     "Rashid Saheb, you poor fool, you know nothing!" 

     He raised his eyebrows but refused to be baited. "I really don't care why you've got us here. All I care—" 

"Oh I will enlighten you soon Mr. Rashid Ahmed Khan. Because there's a very special reason why you're here. You're here because of what you did eighteen years ago." 

Raziya gasped and Siddiqui bowed his head once again.

     Rashid paled. "What do you mean?" he breathed. 

     "I mean that Mr. and Mrs. Siddiqui made fools out of you that day, Rashid miyan! Why do you think I brought you all here to the scene of your crimes?" She spun in a slow circle raising her arms to the side to show the factory. 

     "Tanveer, shut up!" Dilshad shouted. "Stop this nonsense and let us go, for god's sake!"

     Zoya too butted in, "you want me and Mr. Khan, Tanveer. Let the others go! Stop this right now!" 

     "Aww, poor Khala trying to protect these common criminals. And her dutiful bahu being such a saint too! But today I'm going to expose everyone, peel back the dusty veil and reveal all your sorry secrets!" 

Shireen, Humaira, Ayaan and Anwar looked on dazed.

Raziya's heart sank. This was it. This was the moment when they would all hate her more than Tanveer. She felt faint when Tanveer came and stood before her. 

     "But you know everything, don't you Raziya Bi? You know exactly which secrets I'm talking about, right?" 

Humaira was still trying to free her pocketknife but she was getting too tired of Tanveer's nonsense.

     "Stop with your stupid threats and secret games! We all know exactly the type of person you are. Who's going to believe anything you say anways?"

An incensed Tanveer grabbed her by her hair and shook her hard.

     "Really, you, a mere slip of a girl, are going to tell me what to do? For your mother? For your precious sister? Do you even know what your mother did to your sister?" 

     "Tanveer no, please, I beg of you, don't," Raziya sobbed openly now even though she knew how futile her pleas were. 

But there was no stopping this madwoman any more.

     Still glaring at Humaira she pointed a finger at Rashid. "Rashid Ahmed Khan, ask Raziya and Siddiqui Saheb whose body it was that you set on fire that night eighteen years ago!" 

     "No!" Zoya screamed again.

Asad too shouted to get Tanveer's attention but the damage had been done. 

Rashid's face trembled. He knew terrible things were coming; he knew they would be more terrible than that night which had changed the course of his miserable life. 

     "Bhabhi? Bhabhi— Bhaijaan, what is this woman talking about? Tell them that you forced me to do that. Tell them Bhabhi, that I did it because you threatened to kill Najma that terrible night!" 

Humaira gasped and turned to look at her mother. Her mother's face told it all. She looked for a denial from her father. But he too shook his shamed head as tears fell. 

No, no, no! 

What was happening? What were these people talking about? She looked to her Aapi and Jeeju to correct the wild accusations and set everything right. But their heads were bowed too.

Zoya wept in her shoulder and Asad shook his head in sorrow. 

Humaira's hands fell limply by her side. Her hammering heart was trying to tell her something ... 

But Tanveer was only half-done.

     "Oh Rashid saheb, setting fire to this factory isn't even the worst thing they made you do!" 

She clapped her hands again to see Shireen break down and Ayaan shout.

     "They won't tell you that woman's name, but I will! Do you want to know who that woman was? Her name was," she paused for dramatic effect savoring the sobs and moans from Dilshad, Zoya and Raziya. With a flourish, Tanveer exulted, "her name was Zenab Farooqui." 

     "Zenab? Zenab? That's Zoya's mother, what the hell are you talking about?" Anwar asked, sick with confusion. 

Next to him Rashid gasped as his face twisted in self-loathing.

The pieces were slipping and sliding into place ever so slowly and a grotesque montage was emerging from the ashes of the past. 

     "Bhabhi?" Rashid's voice cracked. He looked at Raziya and then at Siddiqui Saheb for confirmation. 

They were a sobbing, soggy mess. 

     "Ammi! Ammi, please tell me that's not true!" Humaira shrieked. "Tell them all that she's wrong!" 

Aapi's mother? No, it couldn't be! It would mean that— 

     "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Raziya wept as she hung her head. She would have been on her knees but the ropes held her up. "Kill me please, Tanveer. Just end it. I deserve it. I killed her. I killed Zenab!" She shouted, blind with tears. "And I asked you to set the factory on fire. I threatened to kill Najma if you didn't do it! I'm so sorry." She faced Rashid and brokenly confessed her sins. 

Raziya looked at Dilshad and then finally at Zoya and wept. 

     "Zoya ... beta ... tell her to kill me ..." her miserable voice rapsed. 

Rashid moaned in pain. He gnashed his teeth uselessly, unable to face his son or daughter-in-law. 

     "It doesn't matter!" everyone heard Zoya shout through the spiraling misery. "That was a lifetime ago. We were so happy. Allah gave us a second chance. I finally found my Abbu and sister, but Tanveer, you ruined everything!"

Zoya pounded her tied fists uselessly on the armrests. 

     "I ruined everything?" Tanveer couldn't believe the idiocy. Grabbing a gun from one of her goons, she marched up to Zoya and hit her hard with it across the face. Zoya's head snapped back from the violent blow. 

     "Tanveer!" Asad shouted. 

     "You really are too much Ms. high and mighty Zoya Farooqui. I can't stand you for this reason! You've forgiven your weak father and his murdering wife but _I've_ ruined everything! I don't know whether you're a saint or a complete fool." 

Everyone looked at Zoya in mute horror.

She had known all this? Ayaan was terrified to see Humaira's blank expression. And dammit! He still needed a few more inches to get to his knife. The ropes bit into him; he didn't even want to think what was Bhai's haal. As he writhed and pulled, he noticed a sliver of plaster crumble from the corner of the pillar where the ropes had repeatedly chafed against it.

     "Bhai, pull harder," he told Asad. "This is an old building, the plaster may crumble just enough to give us room to wiggle out!" 

New hope flared inside Asad. Together, they swung side to side to grind and churn the ropes against the brittle corners. He needed to get out of these restraints. The darkening bruises and blood on Zoya's face hurt just as much the rough rope mauling and lashing his flesh. 

And her quiet grit was bruising his psyche. 

 

Tanveer was so dissatisfied. 

She had expected more drama and and craved more histrionics. But these people always let her down. 

And that sainted Ms. Farooqui was a total wet blanket. 

Always a killjoy. Always disrupting her grand schemes. 

Furious, she moved closer to Zoya's right side. One hand clawed at Zoya's throat. 

     "Fine I've ruined everything. But let's see if Exhibit B adds some masala to the party," Tanveer announced. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the centerpiece of tonight's festivities!"

With a demonic flourish, she ripped Zoya's right sleeve to reveal her scar.

Zoya turned her face away, weeping even more. 

Asad roared and cursed at Tanveer. He was a raving madman by now who couldn't break free as his anger, fear, frustration and desperation clawed at him. Despair savaged him. 

He pulled and strained against the cords of fate that bound and imprisoned him.

  


Raziya sagged in torment at the sight of that scar, the size of that scar. 

     "Umm, Rashid Saheb, that fire you set here, eighteen years ago? Look what it did to everyone's ladli, humari apni Zoya!" 

     "What?" Rashid choked. "No, no, no, no!" he cried out as a spasm rocked his heart. 

Dilshad sobbed for Zoya and Rashid. 

     "Yes!" the monster persisted in twisting the knife into their collective hearts. "She was right here, poor baby. A mere two or three years old, right?" she looked at Asad in victory. "And you didn't even know that you'd have torched her alive! And that's why she's phobic! See?" 

Tanveer reached out to pick up a flaming torch from the drum and waved it in front of Zoya's face. 

Zoya screamed.

Zoya screamed and cowered as the flame swam closer to devour her. She cried and twisted violently in the wheelchair, upending it. 

     Anwar was beating at his ropes and moaning incomprehensibly. "I will kill you! I will kill you all," he shouted.

Zoya's face from eighteen years ago flashed before his streaming eyes. As a baby she had writhed and screamed just like this when the nightmares hit. He and Zeenat had rocked her and sang to her telling her that they would not let anything bad happen to her ever again. 

They had lied. 

They had thrust her back into this seething inferno, this vile pit of vipers.

Oh god Zoya, why did you insist on coming to India to find your wretched father? 

Zeenat was right. You should have never come to this hellhole.

Tanveer continued to revel and terrorize Zoya swinging the flaming torch on her face.

     "Yes, Rashid miyan, see how she reacts to the fire that claimed her mother's body and gave her this signature scar? All thanks to you!" 

She continued to wave the fiery wand in front of Zoya as she lay on the floor struggling strapped into the instrument of her torture. 

     "TANVEER! Stop it!" Asad bellowed just as he saw Zoya collapse. 

     "Abbu!" Ayaan hollered and everyone turned to look at Rashid. His face was an ugly shade of red and he cried out in pain. Had his hands been free, he'd have been clawing at his breaking heart. 

     "He's having a heart attack!" Ayaan shouted again. "Somebody do something! Bhai! Tanveer, release him, he needs chest compressions, please!" 

Tanveer tsked in annoyance. These people always ruined her fun. Just when things were getting to be good, they interrupted with their own petty dramas. She nodded to one of her men and he unbound Rashid who collapsed to the floor now clutching his heart and grunting in pain. 

     "Rashid!" Shireen sobbed insensibly. 

 

Several things happened at once. 

Ayaan and Asad burst free before any of Tanveer's men could react. As Ayaan ran to assist Rashid, Asad ran towards Zoya. He kicked and knocked the blazing drum over to block Tanveer's mercenaries.  

The two men who tried to intercept were slammed on their sides and punched hard as the brothers bolted towards their targets.  

Fists flew, jaws shattered, and noses broke.

     "Zoya, look at me!" Asad got to Zoya to pull up the chair and untie her hands and feet.

He caressed her face to revive her. Slowly her eyes opened and drank him in. He had nearly undone one of her hands when something heavy cracked the back of his skull. 

     "Asad!" Zoya cried out. She slipped her hand out to loosen the other knots and flew to his side as he clutched his head and groaned.

And just as soon as the tables had been turned, things were back to square one.

Asad rose and staggered to block the men from grabbing Zoya but they were too many. 

He struggled in vain but many sets of arms re-chained him. 

Tanveer's men beat and rounded them all up again.

But this time she didn't have her men tie up Asad. She didn't need to.

Zoya was pushed back into her wheelchair and Ayaan retied. 

Tanveer pointed a gun at Zoya's head. 

     "Enough games!" she screeched. "Bahut ho gaya. Here's what I really want, Jammy," she looked at him as he held his bleeding head. 

He swayed.

     "I want you to give your beloved begum a talaaq and marry me!"

     "NO!" everyone shouted. 

     "Yes!" Tanveer happily matched their horrified voices. "Or," she pushed the slide on the gun, "you can say goodbye to Zoya and your khandaan ka chiraag!"

This time she aimed the gun at Zoya's stomach. 

Terrified gasps erupted all around them. 

     "Tanveer, you wouldn't! If you loved me even a little, you wouldn't do that! We helped you and your mother when you were a child. How can you even think of doing this?" Dilshad cried in despair. 

     "Forget it Khala! I did love you, but that stopped once you threw me out of your house! So Asad, what's it going to be? Marry me and save Zoya and your child, or stay married to her and lose them both?" 

     "You're insane," Asad ground out through the raw pain. He'd sunk to his knees. "Even if I did divorce Zoya and marry you, what makes you think I wouldn't divorce you the next second?" He stood up shakily, still holding his head. He was losing blood. Asad squeezed his eyes to clear his vision. "And ... what makes you so sure that I wouldn't go back to Zoya?"

He walked toward her slowly. 

     "Oh I'd make sure of that. If you divorced me, you'd still have to do a Halala nikaah to go back to her. Not something that either of you would want, right?" 

     "I'd go back to her and live with her without a nikaah!" He shot back, eyes watering from the pain. 

     "Such blasphemy! You'd break your cherished priniciples and usools for this woman and live with her in sin?" 

     "Yes!" he shouted. "And you know it too. Now put that gun away and step away from my wife!" Asad ordered her in a cold voice as he advanced on her. 

Tanveer completely lost it then. Stepping back she fired a random shot near Zoya's feet.

Screams and shrieks broke out. 

Asad leaped forward to wrest the gun from her hand but she now held it back to Zoya's temple. He backed away. 

     "One more step, Jammy, and she dies." 

     Asad raised his arms in surrender, palms out. "Zoya, are you OK?" he asked like he had so many times before.

     "Yes, I'm fine," she nodded through tears. 

     "How wonderful! Now that she's fine, say it, Asad," Tanveer commanded, impatience eating away at her.

     "Say what?" he stalled.

     "Pronounce the first talaaq." 

     "Never! It won't be valid anyways. Everyone here will be a witness to testify that it was forced under pressure, at gunpoint. It won't work, Tanveer. Give it up." 

     "Shut up and don't try to preach to me about legal or moral issues! I really don't care. It doesn't matter, I want it kyun ki mere kalaeje ko thandak milegi. Now do it!" 

     Tanveer dug the gun into Zoya's temple. "I won't miss this time Asad." 

He watched in agonizing slow motion as her hand gripped the gun tighter and her finger started to squeeze the trigger.

Zoya's arms covered her stomach protectively and she pressed her eyes close.

     "OK, I'll do it, but step away from her." He couldn't bear to hear Zoya sobbing. He felt like weeping too. 

Asad wanted to tell Zoya that it wouldn't be real. That no one could come between them. Hadn't he already promised her that evening when they had first confessed their love to each other?

     "Aaj ke baad humare beech mein koyee nahin aayega …" he'd said in that restaurant's supply room. 

Rolling her eyes, Tanveer took one step back but now aimed the muzzle back at Zoya's stomach. She made a show of squeezing the trigger again.

     "He's right, Tanveer."

Everyone turned to look in shock at Shireen.

     She spoke softly, poignantly. "Such a Talaaq would never be recognized even if he spent the rest of his life with you pretending to be your husband." 

She looked at Rashid slumped over with a hand to his heart. With each word she sounded the death knell on her own marriage. 

     "You could never separate two people whose hearts beat as one, who love each other and who'd do anything for one another. You foolish woman! You can try, but you'll never succeed in keeping them apart!" 

She was delivering a lyrical eulogy even as she watched Asad and Zoya weep for the coming loss that would shatter them. Tanveer was royally pissed. So close to her manzil and this twit had to open her mouth and ruin the moment. 

Suddenly Shireen had transformed into an idiot savant! 

Just her bloody luck.

And Tanveer was sick to death of people calling her a fool. She'd pulled all this off single-handedly, here they were, helpless, soggy effigies of themselves, and still they lorded their moral superiority and emotional glory over her. 

Clamping her teeth, Tanveer fired off a shot in Shireen's general direction.

Plaster crumbled off the pillar.

The women screamed and shouted in terror and protest. The men joined the chorus of curses and Asad let out the breath he'd been holding for the past few minutes. 

It felt like a lifetime. 

But Tanveer was not to be distracted from her mission. These people's churlish whining was just mildly annoying white noise for her. 

     "I'm still waiting, Asad. Do it," she ordered, snapping the fingers of her other hand. And just for the fun of it, she fired off another shot near the wheelchair's base.

A condemned silence fell. 

     "Now, Asad!"

Asad held up his hands to beg for mercy, and with tears streaming down his face he continued to pray for respite, for some miracle that would prevent the inevitable.

     "OK, OK, I'll do it but please don't ..."

     "Enough stalling! Asad, say it, or I swear I will blow her head—!"

     He uttered the doomed word: "Talaaq!" 

     Zoya's shoulders heaved as she shook her head and moaned, "no! Mr. Khan, no!" 

Everyone else was sobbing too except for Humaira who was still in a numb daze.

Shireen wept.

She couldn't decide who it was that she wept for. Zoya or Asad? 

For Rashid? Dilshad? 

The scene playing out in front of her brought all her doubts and fears of the past eighteen years to the surface. Did Rashid feel just as desperate when he divorced Dilshad? What had Bhabhi done? Had she held a figurative gun to his head too?

She looked at her husband. He leaned weakly against the pillar and sobbed like a man who's lost everything. His breathing was still labored and Shireen's own heart squeezed in heavy distress. 

Please Allah, she prayed. Please do something to stop this. Don't let history repeat itself. 

She couldn't take her eyes off Zoya's scar. 

     "Asad? I'm still waiting," Tanveer prompted him. 

     "No," he crashed to the ground on his knees and wept.

No help had come. All their precautions had been for naught.

Where were Rakesh and his people? The Police? 

     "No, I'll leave her and never see her again, or my child. But don't make me do this, please!" 

     "Sorry, that's not good enough for me," Tanveer said soflty. "Come on, I don't have forever! I called Qazi saheb who'll be here pretty soon." She edged closer to Zoya, yanked her head up by her hair, and hit her across the temple with the gun once again.

     "Say it!" 

He still remained silent and shook his head. 

     "Asad, you're pissing me off!" Incensed now, she grabbed Zoya's hand and yanked her engagement ring off forcibly. 

Zoya screamed in pain and horror but didn't resist. She was scared that Tanveer would punch or kick her in the stomach.

Asad roared and lunged at Tanveer.

She replaced the gun's tip at Zoya's head. 

     "NOW!" she repeated. 

He shook his head in hopeless denial and dropped his face into his impotent hands.

She fired another shot toward Zoya's feet. 

     "Talaaq!" A crushed Asad whispered. 

Tanveer grinned. She was getting closer. And everyone's combined misery was finally making this worthwhile. Their woeful bleats and sniffles were like shehnais to her ears. 

So close—just one word away. 

One more word, and she'd be on top of the world.

  


Asad's eyes drooped; his blistered fingers clawed at the ground. 

His mind was splintering, it was perhaps a psychic hemorrhaging unwilling to process his barren anguish. 

He had begun to hallucinate. Visions of the past haunted him.

Zoya's victorious words from Mangalpur reverberated in his head. 

Yes. Badi decent and acchi si fight ladi humnein. 

He saw their hands in handcuffs. 

Her comically referring to "Sarpanch" as "Mr. Punch!"

Getting entangled with her everyday ... for a lifetime ... without handcuffs.

     He'd love and protect her, "till my dying breath," he had said not so long ago. 

Asad laughed.

Her unique insults reserved just for him.

Snatches of unheard songs broke into his concussed stupor.

     "Tu jahan main wahan ..." 

     "Bol na halke halke"

Did that really happen or was it a bhaang-induced hallucination? Wishful thinking on the part of his fevered brain?

     "I want to spoil you," when had he said that?

Did he spoil her enough?

What if he never got another chance?

The images rolled on the screen of his numb mind in vivid technicolor and in black and white montages. Dimples flashed.

     His akduness: "Neeche utariye!"

Asad smiled suddenly.

     "Aap shakal se hi lecherous lagte hain," "yeh repeat offender hain!" she'd said once.

When? 

His mind reached into secret drawers and found them empty.

     "C'mon Mr. Khan, aap bhi toh dekhne layak cheez hain!" 

He must surely be dying. Why else would their life be flashing before his eyes?

     "Iss smile se dilwaalon ka katl hota hai, patthar dil waalon ka nahin!" 

     "Dance isse kehte hain, Ms. Farooqui."

His mind continued to surf and search the web of their story. The fracturing databases in his brain were cross-connecting and cross-firing.

     "Kucch kahaniyan kabhi poori nahin hoti hain, Mr. Khan!"

No! 

     "Ek kamra milega ...?"

     "Asad? What the hell are you muttering? Stop pretending, it's no use!"

     "Till my dying breath ..." he murmured. 

Tanveer swung around in fury when she heard Shireen laugh.

     "He's losing consciousness Tanveer. His mind is playing tricks on him. If you wanted to get married so badly, your stupid he-man gunda over there shouldn't have hit Asad so hard on the head." 

Tanveer had had it with this woman who'd turned into an opinionated fire-breathing dragon from a feeble mouse. 

     "Shireen, no," Dilshad tried to warn her as Tanveer strode over and slapped Shireen. 

Shireen still couldn't stop laughing. Hysteria bubbled up from her lungs to spill over her lips. When Tanveer pressed her head close to her face to warn— 

Shireen head-butted her. 

The cracking of skulls echoed dully ... 

     "You bitch!" Tanveer snarled as she massaged her forehead.

She'd staggered a few steps back. Now, she aimed her gun straight at Shireen's heart. 

     "Qubool hai," Asad whispered to undo each grisly word he'd said to Zoya.

Tanveer shrieked and leaped toward him. He was trying to crawl toward a weeping Zoya.

     "What are you doing? This means nothing. You can't do that!" 

     "Qubool hai," he continued, oblivious and delirious.

     Tanveer gritted her teeth. "Oh really Asad? You will play games with me like this. Fine! That's it, say bye to your Ms. Farooqui!" 

As she got ready to aim another shot, a flash of black and white fur flew into the air and landed smack on Tanveer's face. It hissed and yowled making unholy sounds as Tanveer lost her balance and shrieked in fear and pain.

The gun clattered away from her.

Her cries matched Dobby's who had sunk his claws into her cheeks and neck and wouldn't let go. He bent his head and latched on to her nose with his teeth doing his best to tear her flesh off.

She yowled louder than him as she tried to shake him off. 

But he hung on for dear life.

Asad scooped up Zoya to crush her tight against him.

Dobby? He didn't care where that 23-hour napping, bra-stealing, pee-dripping monster—no, guardian angel—had come from. He was just glad that he'd swooped down like an avenging super hero straight out of the pages of a comic book. 

For months they would all speculate and offer theories for how Dobby got here from the house.

No one really ever knew.

Much later Zoya would tell him and the kids (in the censored version of course) that her Ammi had sent him. Not only now; but also on the day he'd first walked into their lives and adopted them.

Raziya watched Tanveer fling Dobby off her scratched and bleeding face. The woman rose on an elbow and groped around for the gun that had fallen out of her grasp.

No!

By now Raziya had found the pocketknife and gently removed it from Humaira's limp hands. She flicked it open and cut away their restraints. 

The ropes fell away and Humaira sagged to the floor—unmoored, bereft.

Raziya knew she could do nothing for her daughter. 

The cord had been severed.  

From the corner of her eye, she saw Tanveer clamber up and aim the gun at Asad and Zoya. Shoving the knife into Ayaan's hands she lunged at Tanveer just as the gun went off. 

Confused yells and cries erupted. 

Sirens sounded in the distance. 

Ayaan feverishly worked to cut away the ropes they'd reused on him. He freed Shireen and Dilshad both of who ran to Rashid.

Next he helped Siddiqui Saheb and Anwar managing to bat away Tanveer's gundas.

Rakesh and his guys as well as Feroze, Omar and Faiz and their bodyguards rushed in with the police following after a second's delay. 

 

A catatonic Zoya fell into her Jeeju's arms.

     "Ammi!" "Ammi," she kept whimpering.

Her eyes were glassy, she stared at them all without seeing anyone.

Siddiqui hid his hands behind his back and wept; he moved only to take off his glasses to wipe his tears.

Some of Tanveer's hired goons had fled even before the first sound of the sirens. Flying cats, head-butting mummys and fiery futures were not worth hanging around for. The remaining ones were quickly cuffed and led out. 

Siddiqui bent down to turn Raziya over. She was bleeding. Under her Tanveer groaned in pain. Raziya had managed to stab her multiple times in the chest using the knife she'd sneaked into her bra when they were ordered out of the safe room.

Pushing Raziya's body off her, Tanveer tried to raise herself, Raziya's penknife now clutched in her hands. 

She looked around for Zoya, and in the melee tried to crawl toward her. 

     "Tanveer, put that down!" Asad now held the gun and pointed it at her.

Tanveer still crept forward and raised her arm to strike.

     "Tanveer, stop!" Asad warned her, his hand ready to squeeze the trigger

With one final groan Raziya pushed herself up and threw herself at Tanveer to grasp her raised hand. Twisting it inward, she plunged the knife into Tanveer's neck.

It pierced her carotid artery. 

Blood spluttered and gushed; she gurgled.

Tanveer's bridal dress bled red. 

She fell back, lifeless, sightless. 

Raziya collapsed on the blood-logged floor next to her.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Dil Chahta Hai (2001): "Tanhayee"


	99. Har Saanse Khwahish Sile, Saazish Hain, Kucch Hai Gile, Ke Mushkilaatein Be-shumaar Hain

 

Rashid suffered another attack; in the ambulance, a distraught Shireen clasped his hand and pressed her lips to it.

Ayaan was riding along too but his head was still at the factory. He hoped his sisters would take over Humaira and tend to her. He couldn't even hold Humaira in the chaos as they'd all rushed to load Rashid and Mumani into ambulances.

Solid ground was fast disappearing from under their feet. 

Ayaan dropped his head in his hands and sobbed. 

It was all over. 

Their lives had been a glossy mirage built on the shifting sands of deceit, lies and murder. No, built on brittle bones ... 

And some people had known this all along. 

They deserved this misery, didn't they  ... 

How would Humaira ever recover ...

How did Zoya endure even after knowing everything? And Bhai?

     His sisters' questions kept tormenting him: "Bhaijaan, what happened to Zoya Bhabhi? Why is Humaira like this? How did Abbu collapse? What happened here?" 

What? Why? How? ... 

The endless questions that they all had the answers to, except nobody wanted to answer those questions. An innocuous bandaid had been ripped off ... but under it was not a bruise, but a tumor. 

Not a tumor, but a time bomb.

And that time bomb had ticked its last tock before detonating in silence.

Even when Tanveer's death was confirmed, everyone's hearts had cracked to see Asad and Zoya. There had been no exultation or joy at the slaying of a rabid and rampaging beast. Instead, the zombie virus continued to feast on everyone's brains and hearts. 

Tanveer may have died, but the damage she'd wrought would last a lot longer.

Ayaan couldn't even imagine what Bhai was going through right now. To see him so helpless when Tanveer had blackmailed him into pronouncing the divorce decree had made Ayaan want to tear his eyes out. May be a tiny part of him had registered that this was his father's story too. And that is why he had opted to go to the hospital with Abbu and Ammi even though he wanted to stand by Bhai's side. And Humaira's.

But to see the horror on Bhai's face when Zoya had descended into some kind of catatonic or fugue state afterwards, had been infinitely worse. 

     Her blank eyes had sought only Jeeju's face as she'd cried in a baby voice, "Ammi! Ammi! Bachao!" 

She hadn't seemed to recognize Bhai who had staggered backwards as if shot in the heart. 

     Holding Zoya, Jeeju had pulled out his phone and yelled through tears, "someone call Zeenat, hurry! Put her on the speaker," he'd ordered in anger and despair. 

     Dilshad had fumbled with the phone and then they'd heard Aapi's anxious voice, "Anwar? Anwar? Hello! ANWAR! Where are you?!!! Talk to me!" 

     "Zeenat," he'd sobbed. "They destroyed her again. All these cowards, they killed our baby all over again!" 

     "No!" Asad had fallen to his knees. 

Ayaan had rushed to his side and held his quaking body.

     But just then he'd heard his mother's wild cry, "Rashid!" and he'd run to her to catch her from collapsing on the ground as the paramedics tried to revive his father. 

     Over the phone they'd heard Zeenat's screams, "No, no, no! What happened? Where's Zoya? Tell me she's OK! Anwar!" 

... endless questions ... 

     "She's not OK," he'd cried. "It's like she's three years old again when we found her at that orphanage. She's rocking herself like she did then too." 

Snatching the phone from Dilshad, he described Zoya's state to Zeenat as everyone looked on in growing horror. Zoya was rocking manically. Her tearless eyes were wide open and some trapped animal sound was coming from her twisted mouth. Her fists were beating her chest, whether in funereal mourning or wanting to shock her heart into stillness, no one knew. 

Siddiqui Saheb was sobbing against a pillar. He'd dragged himself as far away from Zoya and Humaira as possible. He beat his own feeble fists against the concrete. 

     "You were always right," Anwar raged. "We should have never let her come back to this godforsaken place, to these monsters."

He'd broken down then as he tried to control a violently shaking Zoya.

     "Sing to her, Zeenat," Anwar sobbed. "She needs us. Sing to her before she starts clawing at her scar again." 

And through the phone they'd heard Aapi's cracking voice as she sang. Anwar pressed the phone to Zoya's ears. It slipped from his hands because she was rocking so violently. A teary Najma, who didn't know what was going on, instinctively slid next to Zoya and held her stiff fists. Zoya's body was taut as if in rigor mortis. Omar knelt behind Najma too, absorbing the blows and wrapping his own hands over Najma's. Zoya's tremors rocked them too. 

     "Mere ghar aayee ek nanhi pari ... 

     Chandini ke haseen rath pe sawaar." 

Anwar too sang along brokenly, as he continued to cushion Zoya's shuddering frame. 

     "Mere ghar aayee ek nanhi pari ..." 

A weeping and hiccupping Zeenat dug out those old songs that she was planning to sing for her coming grandchild ... 

     "Chanda hai tu, mera suraj hai tu ... 

     O meri aankhon ka tara hai tu." 

But when she sang that one song, Zoya crumpled and wailed as if demons were dragging her to the fiery pit of hell: 

     "Aane wala pal, jaane wala hai ... 

     Ho sake toh isme, zindagi bita le, 

     Pal yeh bhi jana wala hai!" 

     "AMMIII!"

     "Zoya!" Asad choked as he saw her faint again.

 

At the hospital Rashid was still critical, and Raziya in surgery; Zoya was undergoing psychiatric evaluation. The shell-shocked family huddled outside unwilling to make eye contact with each other and grateful for the segregated pools of misery that had tossed them across different hospital floors and wards. 

Omar, Feroze and Faiz were the pillars and vital connective conduits that they all leaned on. They zipped between desolate family clusters with updates, sustenance and robust reinforcements. 

The girls knew that some terrible trauma had visited their family; its source was invisible to them, but its aftermath was fracturing their universe. They knew too that they had to put aside their questions for the moment; their quiet strength had to buoy the family from its slow descent into the abyss. 

Najma mothered her mother and brother, and Nikhat hers. 

Nuzzhat refused to budge by Humaira's side. A frozen Humaira crouched unblinking and unfeeling next to her shattered father. 

Her body was ice. The only warm patch, if she felt it at all, was between her shoulder blades where Nuzzhat's sturdy hand braced her, ready to steer her away from the brink of freefalling misery. 

Anwar and Asad had tussled over holding Zoya as they'd staggered out of the warehouse. But finally a reluctant Anwar had relinquished her to his son-in-law—he had no idea about doctors and which speciality hospital to go to; Asad did. And they needed to get Zoya looked at by a mental health professional as soon as possible. 

Asad lifted her limp body into one of the cars. 

He dropped a kiss on her oblivious head. 

She remained stiff as a plank.

 

Many stitches ... tests ... bloodwork ... prescribed painkillers ... and unheeded instructions later, they returned home.

The clinical smell of death covered over with bleach and chlorine dragged in behind them. 

Tattered, they returned to the Khan house. 

Except it wasn't home any more.

She refused to look at him let alone let him touch her. 

At night Zoya pretended to be fast asleep. 

And each night he knelt by her side and kissed her hand.

In the prenatal mornings, Asad knelt before her again only to lightly feather his fingertips to her stomach and recite Allah's name in his head. 

He would be gone when she woke. 

The nightmares had returned and when he held her she went rigid in his arms.

He didn't know that her nightmares had morphed ... they'd been re-baked by a new trauma's temperature: The fire roasting her alive was still there, but this time it was Tanveer who set the fire, and Asad just ... watched, before walking away. She called out to him till her throat bled raw but he receeded into the blackness.

She would only let Dilshad, Najma and Anwar any where near her. 

No sound passed her lips.

Borne on a spiraling unspoken torment that widened the divide, they continued to drift. 

Fingertips that had once touched and caressed, now curled in to clutch emptiness. 

Hollow sorrow shriveled them up. 

For yesterday's appointment with Dr. Sharma, Asad had begged Dilshad to accompany them and stayed outside to pace in the waiting room so that Zoya could speak freely. It was the same waiting room where she'd blurted out, "I want to find out when we can have sex!" 

He'd promised to find the answer then. 

But he didn't have any answers any more. 

     "Just give her some time," Dilshad had said with a hand on his shoulder.

Asad had ducked his head and nodded. He didn't have the heart to tell his mother that he was terrified that they had run out of time. That all of her valiant defenses against evil nazars had fallen woefully short. 

Asad had offered to take her to the Dargah and she had nodded silently.

But when he had taken Zoya to her mother's gravesite, she had burst into tears and refused to leave the car. When Asad tried to take her into his arms to comfort her, she'd resisted and turned her back on him.

At dinner that first night Zoya had refused to come to the table. 

Many nights after that, Asad had pretended to work during dinner so she'd eat with the others.

But last night Dilshad bullied him into joining them.

     "Enough! I won't let you eat alone any more."

Reluctantly he'd slapped the laptop closed to appease his mother. But when he came to take his place, Zoya rose to walk away.

Asad grabbed her wrist to stop her. Then getting up, he gently pushed her down in the chair and walked out of the front door. 

That night he had driven to the hilltop, alone, and spent hours with his head pressed against the cold steering wheel. 

 

She had initiated the distance but now she didn't know how to undo it.

Something had broken inside of her.

Each time Zoya looked at him from under her lashes she heard the air buzzing with that fatal word, "talaaq!"

Yes, her brain tried to tell her, he was forced, he did it to protect her. It had killed him to say it, and he had said "qubool hai" later.

But the shrill decibels of "talaaq" continued to drown out everything else.

She had felt his kisses on her hand every night, his atoning fingers on her tummy in the mornings ... even a teardrop on her palm.

Had she gripped his hand as he walked away ... ?

But him walking out of the front door had struck her dead cold. The finality of the closing door splintered her. It had finally started to thaw her—Zoya felt a sharp loss, a deep gash that cleaved her in two. 

She wanted to run behind him and hold him.

Why didn't you Zoya? Why did you let him walk away from you?

She waited for him all night and he hadn't come back.

So many times she wanted to pick up the phone, call him, text ... but in the end she couldn't. 

The empty room was a mausoleum. 

          "Kaneez ko deewar mein chunvaenge, Jahanpanah?" 

          "Nahin, dil mein." 

          "Lekin chunva ke rahenge?" 

          "Ab aap aise hi kabu main aati hain to yehi sahi."

          "Mr. Khan!" 

She hadn't spent a night apart from him since they'd been married. 

Well, except for that sleepover. 

When Zoya pressed her hands to cup her stomach the charms on her bracelet rustled. She lifted her wrist to her face. Asad's initial dangled against hers. They brushed against each other.          

          "A to Z and everything in between ..." she'd said to him.          

Why did you let something come between us then? 

The tiny cricket ball swung and spun in slow motion ... 

Her tears fell.

Everywhere she looked around the room she saw haunting holograms of the two of them. 

Asad's face swam before her eyes.

By her bedside sat the polished marbles in the jar along with his cricket ball in its bone china nest. When Zoya looked across the room she saw the settee ... so many times she'd fallen into his arms on it. 

That first hug thanks to her curiosity and his mistaken identity … She had hidden here when she'd come looking for her earring … She had hidden here on their suhaag raat too because she was so embarrassed ...

          "Mr. and Mrs. Khan ... hiding by the settee ... not K-I-S-S-I-N-G?"         

 They had made love on it ... it was raining that evening ...         

          "BTW, this mirchi is already stuffed, thanks to you and Baby Ahmed Khan ...

          "You're getting slow Mrs. Khan. I was expecting you to say that 2 hours ago!" 

          "When's your baby due?" she'd sassed.

          "Same day as yours!" he'd texted after.

Asad had wrapped and tightened his tie around their wrists when they'd made love after the photoshoot he'd arranged for her so she could wear the lehenga that Abbu had given her ...

That one evening when they had prayed for the baby's well-being he had recited Rumi's eternal words for her:        

          "If anyone asks you 

          how the perfect satisfaction 

          of all our sexual wanting? will look, 

          lift your face and say,

          Like this."

Zoya ran to the closet and opened the drawer—that miniature museum that archived their history, and their crackling chemistry ... broken phones ... one wrapped in colorful tape and with a pink post-it note ...

This is where he'd kept her earring after ... 

The ruined CD was still here ... 

... the coin that was tossed in the air to determine whether she'd stay or go ...

The coin toss she'd insisted on just after "mat jao Zoya" ... because there was no other way she could think of to stop her departure. And the lie he'd told after that which had made the decision for her.

Three words, "mat jao Zoya," that had started it all.

Three words said in a tiny restaurant supply room through tears and kisses.

Two words that united them before the eyes of Allah and loved ones ... 

And one word that wiped out everything else ...

 

A tear slid down her cheek. 

Zoya looked across the room toward the picture window and the settee under it. That is where she'd stood nearly nine or ten months ago when she'd delivered her half-confession of love. Her heart had beat so violently then that it could have leaped out of her mouth to land clumsily at his feet ...

Her heart beat just as violently now ... Zoya looked down at the drawer. Next to these collectibles of the past lay the sassy relics of their present: feathered handcuffs ... the white bikini ... More post-its that she'd tucked away as naughty surprises in his pockets to discover at work. 

There was more:

Cards ... notes ... the scores that she had awarded him on their honeymoon ... a silly wish list for her future husband from her past ... 

It was from a past that was Asadless, an all-seeing past that knew who that list was for.

... the DVD that he'd surprised her with ... sent with the reddest roses and black forest pastries.          

          "You're sure you're fine?" 

          "Better than fine. Just mushy and all gooey. Like a chocolate bar left out in the sun."

          "Mmm," his voice rumbled.

          "You're too good to me, you know."

          "I know."

          "Mr. Khan!" she giggled. "Always so full of yourself!"

          "Mrs. Khan, tonight you'll be full of me too!"

Ammi's voice ... and her childhood pictures.

     In playful retaliation for all of her nicknames for him, Asad had christened her with one himself: "Telpur ki shehzadi" ...

     "ASAD!" she missed him so much. 

The physical ache slashed at her ... she may have been on a conveyor belt slowly being fed into a thresher or a woodchipper. If someone came in here with a black light they'd surely be able to see the blood spatter patterns across the walls ...

Zoya picked up the lion mask from his childhood that she'd found once and adopted, not even knowing it was Asad's.

     "I'm sorry!" her hollow words boomeranged to gut her. "Please come back!"

She cried herself to sleep next to the open drawer, the mask clutched to her heart.

 

In the morning when Asad came back he went straight into the bathroom without looking at her. 

She sat clotted on the pristinely-made bed.

When the bathroom door unlocked nearly an hour later, she tensed even more.

Zoya was terrified of looking into his face. 

But she craved a glimpse; she hadn't looked into his face for a lifetime. And being robbed for even a second would be too long; she would die.

Zoya crept to the bathroom door and saw him from the side: shirtless, just in pants. But seeing him barefoot pinched her heart. The naked vulnerability of his bare feet reminded her of the first attack on the house ... he had stepped on broken glass and then beaten her attacker to a pulp ... 

She saw him peering into the mirror to apply something to his chin and neck. Had he nicked himself shaving? Asad hissed in pain as he moved his shoulder stiffly.

She frowned in concern; she wavered at the threshold.

When he turned, she gasped. Tears stung her eyes and she ran to him unable to stop herself. 

Zoya searched his gaunt face; Asad looked away, chin rising in hauteur. 

But she hadn't missed the redness of his eyes.

She couldn't resist running her fingers over the bruises that fanned out on his chest and arms when he'd thrown himself against fickle destiny's ropes to free himself at the factory. Deep dark marks were riven into his skin as if he'd been whipped by thick leather ropes studded with nails.

Angry wounds snaked and coiled over his chest and stomach. 

She knew he hadn't let himself be examined by any doctor since that day. They had stitched his head injury but did nobody look at these? 

Zoya knew he was punishing himself. 

He could have been one of those martyrs who lashed themselves for their sins and walked on hot coals ...

Asad had gone perfectly still when her fingers grazed the unhealing welts. He had hungered for this. Yet even as his muscles had bunched and fists balled and he still wouldn't look down at her. Zoya blindly pressed her lips to the bruises, flicking her tongue out to lick him and he jerked. 

His throat moved; the Adam's apple bobbed. 

Asad's eyes squeezed close.

But he remained immobile, as painfully stiff in her arms as she had been in his.

She continued to kiss him. Zoya pressed her lips to his throat and heard him swear and groan under his breath. But she still couldn't feel his arms around her. He wasn't wearing armor, but he may as well have been. His corded arms were steely columns that still left her marooned. 

He was half-naked, but she felt exposed. Her tentative fingers stroked the old scar at his stomach and moved to undo the clasp at his waist. 

She knelt before him.

     "No!" Asad cried out.

He raised Zoya forcibly to her feet by her upper arms.

     "Don't," he bit out wanting to fling her away from him. But he didn't want to hurt her. He'd hurt her enough. "Don't cheapen yourself on my account. No amount of sex or blow jobs will fix this!"

Her eyes widened. 

     "Asad!" She sobbed at his ruthless rejection. He had never thrown the sexual act itself in her face before.

     He rounded on her, eyes blazing. "Do you know how long I waited for you to call out to me when you were in pain? To let me touch you, hold you? You blocked me out, Zoya! You wanted to punish me? Fine, you succeeded! Are you happy now?" 

     "No, I'm not happy!" she yelled back. "I'm miserable!"

Asad exhaled and wiped his brow.

     "Why? Why must you be miserable too? Isn't me being miserable for the two of us enough!"

     "I'm sorry," she gulped through tears that blinded her. She'd flinched at his bitter words; yet they were her only anchor.

     He sighed turning away. "I am sorry too." 

     "Please don't—"

     "You won't let me hold you. You treat me like a leper. Were you ever going to let me near you?" 

She was weeping and slowly slid down. Her knees buckled, refusing to hold her up. He swung around to leave.

     "No! Asad, don't walk away from me again! Or I'll never be able to—" 

     "You walked away, Zoya." She saw angry tears in his eyes, or were those her own? "You let her break us," his bleak whisper echoed. 

Asad turned on his heel and this time she did run to hold him from the back, letting her hands slide up his shredded chest. Somehow her knees succeeded in holding her up.

     "I know I hurt you. I hate myself for it!" Zoya rained hundreds of kisses on his back. "But I keep hearing those words. I hear them when I wake up, before I fall asleep—if I fall asleep!"

She burst into fresh tears and backed away from him. 

He had gone still. 

     "I don't even know if we are still married any more! How can it be so easy to end what we had? How can one word said three times over—!" 

Zoya couldn't go on. Her throat was closing in on her and strangling her words ... her breath.

  


Asad turned to see her on the floor by the tub. She was hugging her stomach and her body was harrowed by great sobs.

     "Zoya, shh," he knelt by her trying to hold her.

She pushed his hands away, gasping for breath, for control.

     "We're two-thirds divorced, aren't we? Once more, and we'd have been fully—" she hiccupped and tried to draw a breath. 

     "Zoya, no! Never!"

She held up her hand to stall him.

     "Why not? Just one word away and I'd be your ex-wife ... you couldn't have touched me then ... would you have held me then? Tomorrow, if you get as mad at me as you're today and said it even once, wouldn't it be the third tala—?"

She couldn't even say the word even though it had pealed in her head all these days, deafening her, driving her insane. There was so much she wanted to say but her tears and stupid voice wouldn't cooperate. 

     "I know you aren't your father's son, you've proved it in a million different ways. But me? Am I not close to being that woman ... your Ammi, my Ammi? I'm just one word away from being another chhodi hui aurat!"

Asad's tears fell too. He had no idea that she'd been entombing herself in such existential misgivings. And damn it, she still wouldn't let him hold her. She kept slapping his hands away. And of course, this was Zoya. She still wasn't done. 

Her voice rasped, struggling to surmount some treacherous ravine or mountain pass that gave no way to retreating armies. 

     "Your father, my father, you—you can all claim to be manipulated by some vamp, but why do your words have such power? Why do they get to obliterate everything?"

     "Zoya, pleas—!" 

     "No!" she tried to shout, but her voice collapsed.

     "That place ... that factory took away everything from me eighteen years ago, and it almost took away everything—" 

     "I know, I'm sorr—" Asad tried to soothe her.

     "No you don't know. You don't know what it's like to be the biggest freaking stereotype! I thought I was strong. I talk about women's rights and I was nothing but a strung up turkey strapped to a wheelchair!"

     "I do know!" Asad raged too. "I was there, remember? What do you think it was like seeing you disintegrate and not being able to do anything?"

Zoya shook her head. He still didn't get it. Why was it so hard to go on? Why wouldn't her throat let her say what her head had been screeching for so many days? She had screamed so much that day. Just like she had screamed for her Ammi so many years before. And she'd pretty much stopped speaking since she came back home. Shouldn't her voice have healed by now? Or had it given up too? 

     "You don't get it. You just don't get it! I was my mother, your mother. I was a woman in an age-old battle with another woman over a man! It could have been a scene from centuries ago and I prided myself as a woman of the 21st century!"

Asad's eyes widened. He couldn't bear to see her unravel. But she wouldn't let him come close to her so that he could hold her and kiss away the horrors she'd embraced.

Angry at herself, at him, Zoya flung out her hand where her ring was. It was still bruised where Tanveer had yanked it off.

     "I am almost your ex-wife. My ring is gone. You would have put it on her, married her, fucked her!"

There! She'd been just as crude as him. She wanted to inflict pain too.

She wheezed through sobs that wouldn't let her exhale. An avalanche of air was trapped in her lungs. 

     "Shut up, Zoya! Just shut up!" 

     She shook her head. "You would have married her. She would have had rights over you, and I'd have had none! Even though I will be the mother of your child, and even if your name is embossed across my heart!"

Asad swept her into his arms crushing her to him despite the throbbing pain in his arms and chest. Her breath exploded out of her but that boulder in her throat wouldn't budge. 

Zoya continued to fight him off. Had he been wearing a shirt, she'd have been shaking him by the collar. 

     "Tomorrow our daughters could be at this crossroad! Would you be able to stop that?" she asked as she saw him crumble. She knew she was going for the jugular this time. 

     "I did it for us. I had to say it for you and the baby." Asad whispered in her hair. 

     "No! You think I would've been alive if you'd said that word one more time? I'd rather have died!" she still struggled against him. 

     "Zoya, shut up and listen to me! I would have done anything she asked me to do if it kept you and the baby alive." Asad held her face in his hands, "I'd do it again!"

     "No! Allah miyan Mr. Khan what's wrong with you! Haven't you heard a word I said?"

     "Yes, I have. And you're done talking. Now you'll listen to me. I swear, I'd do it again! And again!"

She nearly punched him in the chest but then remembered his bruises. So she bit his ear instead. 

Hard. 

     "Ouch!" Asad laughed through his own tears and nearly shook her. "Of course, we're still married! How can you even doubt that? And if you're still not sure we'll go talk to Maulvi Saheb today. But remember this, nothing he could say will change how married I feel to you." 

     He lifted her chin, "and listen very carefully Mrs. Khan, I would have said that word a million times to keep you alive, you hear that? And even if those words separated us legally, officially, I would still come to you every night, wake up next to you every morning. Only you." 

She buried her face in the crook of his neck and wept. 

     "Yes, that one word has terrible power but nothing could erase what we had yesterday and have today, nothing could ever erase what we'll have tomorrow and the day after. And if a word could erase everything between us then I would erase that word—expunge it from all spiritual dictionaries and legal databases. And Allah would have forgiven me for it." He held her face in his hands. "Zoya, I love you. Was I so wrong to believe that that would be enough for us?"

Zoya shook her head. No he wasn't wrong.

Finally, she breathed. 

She healed. 

     Asad kissed the top of her head, hugging her even closer if that was possible. "I thought you were going to leave me. You wouldn't even look at me!" Asad voiced his own dark grief. "Would you have taken the baby and gone back to New York?" 

     Zoya trailed soft kisses on his chest. "All these days I've been driving myself crazy about us, but I could never ever separate you from the baby!" Not after what both of us have been through with our own fathers, she meant to say. 

And he understood. 

His eyes brimmed. 

     "Thank god!" Asad said in prayer. "I missed talking to the baby and touching you, writing on your tummy. Oh god, Zoya, you killed me! I thought it was all over between us. That you would run away from me. I thought I'd wake up and find you gone."

     "I'm never letting you go," she told him firmly, understanding his fears and laying them to rest. And now that she'd voiced her darkest terrors, she could feel her strength return. "I'm as permanent as that scar you got because of me."

     "Which one," he teased through his own tears. "This one on my stomach, or this one?" Asad held out his palm.

Zoya slitted her eyes at him and glared.

     His lips twitched and so did hers as she bent to kiss his palm. "There, is that better now?"

     Lifting her face, he sucked her tears and their eyes locked. "It'll be much better when you kiss away my other bruises too," Asad said huskily.

They swooped at each other, ravenous and restless for each other. 

     "Oh god, I missed you so much," each whispered. 

     He picked her up. "Asad, no!" Zoya yelped. "Put me down!" 

He stilled, and looked down at her, hurt.

     "You're hurt," she told him. "Your arms, and these bruises ..."

     Asad grinned. "You scared me. I thought you didn't want me to touch you!" 

     "Are you kidding me?" she said. "I've craved your touch, your hands, your mouth on me. And I've hungered to touch you, taste you. But let me put something on this, a hot pack or something. Please!" 

     He put her down and backed her into the wall. "Later. First I want some sugar," Asad breathed, nipping the jumping pulse at her throat, " ... and a lot of spice! I died a thousand deaths each day when you turned your back on me!" 

     "I'm sorr—!" 

He silenced her with his mouth; she moaned in her throat at the delay and the reprieve. 

Their ready fingers remembered the familiar clasps and buttons and just how to get each other out of their clothes at record speed. For a minute they let their naked bodies rub against each other, reacquainting themselves with the feel of each other's skin: the soft silk, the angular velvet.

Wet heat burnished her waiting flesh; it sighed in welcome as he took her without any foreplay. 

Zoya gasped and arched as she felt him move inside her.

The familiar shock of the swift entry meant that she was finally home. She wrapped her legs around his waist and clenched and unclenched her kegel muscles; Asad groaned with pleasure.

Absence and heartache made their practiced rhythm even more intense. 

The frenzy mounted; their bodies steamed. The sighs and cries of satisfaction echoed in the small room. 

Her eyes popped open. 

     "Oh God!" She moaned, holding her head in despair as she rested her elbow on his flexing shoulder.

     "What?" Asad panted through gritted teeth even as he rocked her pinned to the wall. 

     "The bathroom and the bedroom door are wide open. Oh my god Asad, everyone must have heard us!" she cried out in shame. 

Asad's eyes glittered. He twisted and rolled to bore into her at a different angle. A soft cry escaped her as Zoya arched helplessly, biting her lips. Her eyes drooped. 

     "Let them hear me fucking my wife!"

Her eyes flared open. Was he still mad at her? At what she'd said earlier? He dipped his head to swirl his tongue in her ear. She sank her teeth on her lower lip to stop another keening moan from escaping.

Blushing, Zoya gripped his hair painfully.

     "Oh god, Asad! Say it again," she shuddered. 

He did, dropping his voice an octave lower. 

She jerked.

In the past he'd always used that word as a husky promise in her ear, never an open challenge like this spoken aloud. 

     "Again," she rolled her head to the side.

He did, even more huskily. 

She'd begun melting. 

     "Again!"

And there it was: That sexy purr. 

It undid her.

She tightened and clamped around him, convulsing and spilling. Her lips parted in a silent scream. Asad swallowed the tiny mewls that she couldn't smother.

 

Dobby circled around two times before settling down on Asad's dark pants for a nap. They were warmer than the marble floor. 

Finally!

Those sounds meant that things were back to normal even though he was in a brand new place; he had already explored all the nooks and crannies and found favorite spots to sunbathe in. And he loved his new bed which was big enough for a king; Dobby almost didn't mind sharing the settee with his vazir: Dhoni bear. 

As he washed his paw, he eyed the polka-dotted bra near the tub.

 

 

 

Title in Song:

Kurbaan (2009): Ali Maula


	100. Koi Kasar Na Rahe, Meri Khabar Na Rahe, Chhoo Le Mujhe Iss Kadar, Be Intehaan

 

 

  

They had already planned out the itinerary for the day. But that meant stepping out of their room first.

     "No! It's beyond embarrassing." Zoya buried her face in her hands. "I'm not going out. They'll know we did it!" 

     "Zoya, you're pregnant, of course we've done it," Asad stated the obvious.

When they'd tip-toed out of the bathroom, they'd blushed to see the door closed. Both knew it was Dilshad's doing.

     "But this time they probably heard us!" she couldn't get over the horror. 

A part of her was grateful for this though. If her biggest fear at this moment was sexual embarrassment, then wasn't life just masha' allah? Totally MA!

     Sitting cross-legged on the bed Zoya cupped her face in her hands and wondered aloud, "you're right, may be it isn't the end of the world. Who cares? We're married after all." 

     Asad's lips curled in devilry. An eyebrow cocked as he asked a little too innocently, "are we?" 

     "MR. KHAN, I SWEAR TO GOD, I'LL KILL YOU!" She leaped up on the bed and hopped in rage, mad as a Tasmanian devil bitten by a PMSing hornet.

Asad couldn't resist this sight. He threw his head back and laughed. He hadn't laughed like this for ...? 

Forever. 

Hauling her off the bed, he kissed her. Hard.

Asad was replete. 

He had caught up with the baby, kissed Zoya's rounding stomach at least a hundred times, and together, they'd listened to the baby's steady heartbeat—it had re-sewn their warp and weft into a firmer fabric. An equally exuberant baby had been the perfect angel by not making its mama go careening to the bathroom to hurl in a fit of morning sickness. 

In fact, come to think of it, she hadn't been sick for the past few days. 

Shy at first, Asad had shown her the letters he'd written to the baby every night, and Zoya had kissed his fingers through fresh tears. The letters were now safely tucked away in their drawer. She would make him read them to her and the baby tonight. Every night. In fact, Zoya loved the idea so much that she decided she'd write a journal to the baby herself.

     "Chaliye," Asad ordered after pinching her butt. It broke her reverie and she squealed.

     Zoya dived back in and pulled the sheet over her head; she crashed into the headboard. "No," she groaned.

     Asad came to sit by her side and peeked under the sheet. "C'mon, or it'll be too late to talk to Aapi." 

     "Annnhhh!" but she got out and smoothed her hair in the mirror. 

They breathed a sigh of relief when they saw the empty kitchen and living room. Dilshad had left a note for them on the table.

     "We're going to the hospital. They may let Rashid go home today." 

     "Cool," Zoya exclaimed. But then she made a face. "I still shouldn't go in front of him, right?" 

     "Let's see what the doctors say." Asad tucked in her hair behind an ear. It was pure bliss to be able to touch each other again.

He couldn't resist running his hands over her body and had promised to do a leisurely inspection later on so that he could lovingly record and report the brand new changes in her body. She had missed that so much!

     Asad framed her face in his hands, "before we'd, you know ... made up, it wouldn't have been good for him to see you and me look so miserable. But now, I think it may actually do him some good."

     Zoya grinned up at him cheekily. "Oh, so this is a new type of therapy? Abbu'll feel instantly better knowing that we fu—"

     "Zoya!" he squeaked in alarm as he covered her mouth and looked around to make sure they hadn't been overheard. "Behave!" 

     "Make me!"

She skipped away from him. 

Asad yanked her back to him.

     "I wish! But misbehaving Ms. Farooqui has made me too besharam to be any good."

     "Aw, Mr. Jahanpanah Bond, as your boss, I hereby renew your license to be as besharam as you want."

Asad backed Zoya into the kitchen island and looked down at her, drinking her in.

     His thumbs stroked her cheeks. "I love you so much, Zoya. That killer dimple makes me want to be badtameez and besharam with you all day and all night long. Only you. Your smiles and giggles are the bedrock of my world. Your tears crack my soul."

     Zoya sniffed. "You better watch it, Mr. Khan; if you're going to flirt with me so shamelessly I'm going to be a hysterical, weepy mess! And today already promises to be the day of tears." She went up on her toes and kissed his nose, "so that tomorrow will be all about smiles and laughter." 

Asad took her hand in his and kissed it.

Then they trooped up the stairs to talk to Anwar—with some stops in between for lingering kisses and hot gazes that promised lazy foreplay and sizzling ... frenzied afters. 

Anwar looked at them indulgently as they facetimed with Zeenat. 

He was much calmer now, thank god. 

That day and the next couple of days, he had been insane with fury and hollow regret. He could only see Zoya's in-laws and father as the catalysts of her torture that day.

It brought back all those terrifying moments when both he and Zeenat had held a squawling Zoya as a baby unable to lessen her pain and grief. How do you pacify a child so torn by pain that even her screams dry up? How do you rock a child so that she remembers to breathe? How do you forgive yourself for wishing for death to ease her pain?

It had taken nearly a year for Zoya to fully recover ... to recover her laugh ... her Zoyaness.

Zeenat and he had sworn then that they would always look out for her and never let anything bad happen to her ever again. Zoya's dimples had become the trophy they pledged their allegiance to every morning ... the evening star they swore by every night.

But seeing her tied and torn up, tormented, bleeding and manic that day in the factory of horrors, had made Anwar want to claw someone's heart out and feed it to blunt-beaked buzzards. The horror of the moment when he realized that Asad's father had been responsible for that scar ... was unspeakable. 

Since that day, when he looked at Asad he could only see Zoya's vicious scar ... he could only hear her screams as a child ... and her screams that day in that warehouse ...

He could only bear to look at and talk to Dilshad.

But Asad's quiet grief afterwards had washed away his rancor.

And Anwar had begun to realize that just like Zoya needed him and Zeenat when she was a child in pain, she needed Asad now. Only Asad could be the salve that her bleeding, blistered soul hankered for. Like Dilshad and the others, he too prayed for and craved their reunion. They had been so happy; Zoya had been so happy. 

Please, let them find their way to each other.

Months ago, he had seen Asad take such exquisite care of Zoya when they'd buried her mother. That these kids had known all the gory family secrets and kept them from everyone else was a strength they could have found only in each other.

Please let them find their way to that strength again. 

 

     "Zoyajaan! I will kheencho that choti!"

Shaking himself, Anwar wiped a tear as he now heard the familiar banter and the old playful Zoya. The voice laced with a thousand giggles was back and was backchatting Zeenat. 

As usual. 

If he closed his eyes they may as well have been in their brownstone in New York.

His glad heart leaped.

     "Ya Allah, ye ladki!" he heard his wife exclaim. 

He felt the weight of the world lift from his aching shoulders. 

Anwar smiled and gripped Asad's shoulder firmly, squeezing it in solidarity and apology.

Zeenat's eyes misted too as she saw Asad's smile slip. She knew that Anwar had lashed out against Asad on that day and also about how deeply he regretted it now. He had also told her about the yawning distance between Asad and Zoya.

     "Zoya, be good, OK? I want you to take extra care of Asad. Lakhon mein ek hai humara damaad, samjhi tum?" She glared at Zoya who had stuck her tongue out at her Aapi and was rolling her eyes. "Asad?" Zeenat continued now, trying hard not to weep. She would have to say it, because she knew her husband would never be able to express it. "We love you, you know that, right?" 

He nodded, suddenly too emotional.

     "You're like the son we never had," she continued.

     "Hey, I thought I was the son you never had," Zoya interjected taking mock-offense but eyes now bright with unshed tears.

     "Chup karo tum, badmash ladki!" Zeenat scolded her as Asad and Anwar smiled.

     "Asad, I know aapke Jeeju ne uss din, gusse mein ... " She sniffed to control her shaking voice. "I know Anwar ne bahut kucch keh diya. We are sor—" 

     "Aapi," Asad interrupted her apology. "I'm going to be a father. I think I am beginning to understand what Jeeju was going through. If that had happened to my daughter, I'd have said and done a lot worse." 

Asad wrapped Zoya's hand in his as she and Zeenat both erupted in tears.

Anwar held Zoya and Asad's shoulders from behind as he dropped a kiss on Zoya's head. He lifted his palms in prayer. 

Shukranallah.

 

The hospital was the next stop.

Zoya was yearning to hold Humaira. All these days of being in a fog of misery had made her blind to her sister's pain and self-isolation. She knew that her father would be a mess as well. 

She had wasted so much time. 

There was not a minute to be wasted any more. 

But before that Asad took her to her mother's gravesite. Head covered, Zoya kneeled to kiss the stone they'd covered in a chadar.  

     Zoya wiped her tears and smiled. "Ammi, everything will be all right now. Thank you for looking out for me all these years. Thank you for sending Asad to nearly run me down with his car a year ago."

Asad threw his head back and groaned. Not that again! 

     "I did not run you down! You weren't looking. As usual."

He smiled too. 

     She elbowed her husband sharply. "Ammi, thank you for bringing me to India and throwing me in this man's path and arms. Even though he's only my half-husband now and I'm probably living with him in sin!" 

Asad rolled his eyes which had just prickled a second ago.

     "OK, fine, we'll go talk to Maulvi Saheb right now!" he tugged her up by her hand. 

     Zoya rose and pressed her fingers to her lips before touching the sun-warmed stone again. "And Ammi, thank you for sending Dobby too. I love you."

This time when she cried in the car Zoya didn't push Asad away. She clung to him.  

They bought flowers on the way. And balloons.

At the hospital, first she insisted that Asad get fully checked out. He growled about the fuss but Zoya wouldn't hear a word. There were no fractures or broken ribs, thank god! But both blushed when the doctor told him no strenuous activity or heavy lifting.

Next, Zoya leaped to get to the floor that she knew Raziya was on. Humaira would be there. The balloons were for her.

     "Zoya babe, slow down," Asad tried to caution her but that was wasted.

Zoya saw Humaira huddled in the sculpted bucket seat. Ayaan was kneeling in front of her and pleading with her. But Humaira looked away. She wouldn't let Ayaan take her hands in his. She continued to tighten and curl up into a tiny ball of misery.

     "Humaira," Zoya whispered. 

Humaira looked up at her and with an anguished cry ran towards the exit by the stairs.

     "Humaira, no!" Zoya ran after her too. The balloons bobbed uselessly. 

     Asad held her back. "Let Ayaan ..." he told her as they saw Ayaan determinedly lope after her.

Zoya nodded and braced herself for the next obstacle course.

Asad placed a kiss on her shoulder and nudged her toward the door.

  

The hydraulic door whispered close behind her.

Zoya saw her Abbu by the bed, his head in his hands in the semi-darkened room. He had probably dropped to sleep in exhaustion. A comatose Raziya was attached to machines that whooshed, beeped and clicked around her. Soon, the family would have to make the decision to pull the plug ... 

Her heart wrenched. No flowers decorated the surfaces as they did in countless other hopeful hospital rooms. 

She tiptoed to the table to place the bouquet of flowers. The splash of vibrant colors lit up the drab whites and greys of the room. The cellophane rustled; Siddiqui saheb stirred. 

     "Zoya?" He whispered in disbelief.

He believed himself to be dreaming. Was it the angel of death come to take away his shattered wife? May be it was for the best.

     "Abbu!" Zoya ran to him and hugged him from the back, resting her cheek against his head.

He wept. How could she still bear to touch him or call him Abbu? How could she bear to be in the same room as Raziya? 

     "Shh," she came and knelt before him. 

     Siddiqui hid his face in his hands. "Zoya, go away beta. I don't deserve your calling me Abbu. Allah dushman ko bhi aisa Abbu na de!" 

     "Abbu please," she scolded him, firmly wiping her tears away. "I didn't spend all my life looking for you to have you tell me what to do and what not to do. You know by now that I do as I please!" 

     "I should go away as far as possible from you. I don't want to cast even a shadow on the happiness that you so richly deserve," he muttered as if talking to himself. 

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Abbu!" she shot up, hands on her waist. "If you leave me again, I'll never forgive you!" 

     Siddiqui began to sob, "why have you forgiven me? I don't deserve your forgiveness, or Asad's or Rashid's!"

     "Abbu, we've had this conversation before and nothing has changed. You promised that we would look ahead, and not behind us." Once again she knelt by his knee. 

He raised his tired head to finally look at her; Zoya's mutinous face still showed traces of tears. But her pout and tiny frown parted the thick clouds of woe that had suffocated him all these days. Not seeing her all this time had made him shrink. She would never forgive him again; and she would have been right to do so. 

     He nearly smiled and raised his gnarled hand to pat her head. "I did wrong by Zainab. And you. I shouldn't be given a second chance! But I ache to hear your voice, to see your face. Tumhara chehra dekhe bina mera din nahin shuru hota. I would willingly banish myself from your life but I'm too selfish. I want to stay. I want to see you become a mother. I want to hold your child in my arms. I want to celebrate that tiny part of me that did right by having you in my life." 

     "Then it's settled!" Zoya kissed his hand. "You'll be my Abbu and my baby's Nanu and always be by my side." 

"Nanu ...?" he said the words in wonder. But then his face twisted. "No! I don't deserve to be called that. Anwar saheb ka haq hai woh! I'd just be happy to get a glimpse of him or her from a distance." 

     "Abbu, again! Will you please stop being such a drama queen! This is the last time we are having this conversation. I won't hear anything more about going away or watching from a distance"my life is not doordarshan! You will be in it. You promised to change diapers! I want what we had before. I feel greedy. I want all my family around me. I want you to read me and my baby, bedtime stories! My baby deserves to have two Nanus!"

Nanu? Bedtime stories? Diapers? Tiny feet and tinier hands ... 

He glowed. 

Siddiqui didn't mind being scolded at all, or being called a drama queen, whatever that was. He felt like he was the child here and she his mother. And it was right. That's exactly what his mother would have said too. Shaking himself out of the overstuffed chair, he stood to hug her; he sensed a new life course through him. Siddiqui felt hopeful and alive again, he was a child, eager to get the day started.

When Asad walked in a minute later, he smiled to see yet another doubter being forcibly reanimated after express orders to DNR (Do Not Resuscitate)! His wife was a miracle-worker, of that he'd never had any doubt. 

But her services were needed elsewhere too. 

     "Zoya," he said softly. "Humaira's back."

Zoya wiped her eyes and sniffed hard. More tears and sniffles were waiting for her. But so was a life finally free from secrets and lies.

And she really was feeling greedy. And impatient.

She wanted their old life again. She would snatch her happiness and her familiy's from the toothless jaws of fossilized pain and grief. That had been her silent pledge to herself at the Dargah this morning.

Zoya turned to leave but Siddiqui stopped her. Reverently, he touched her arm where her scar was.

     He ran his fingers over her arm and raised it to pepper tiny kisses over her sleeve, "kitna dard hua hoga, meri bachchi! If I had known, I'd have never ever"-Ya Allah, mujhe maaf kar dena!"

     "Abbu!" She couldn't stop the tears now.

     "I'm sorry for giving you so much pain. I should have been there to protect you. What a terrible father I am!" Siddiqui hugged her to him and they cried in each other's arms.

 

He'd caught up with her in the stairwell as she fled from the 4th to the 3rd floor.

Grabbing her from the back, Ayaan pushed Humaira against the cool wall.

Pigeons cooed on the ledge of the open grill.

     "Humaira, I've given you enough time. You're not pushing me away any more!" he hissed. 

She turned her face away. Like her sister, Humaira too had gone numb and mute since that miserable day.

Every waking moment since then, Humaira wished she could have taken Zoya's place that day. She'd gladly have taken the blows ... she'd have taken the roasting alive ... the scarring. Anything, but to be what she was ... the daughter of a vicious woman who had killed and maimed ... She wanted to rip her skin off her bones, to be bloodless, to not have her parents' tainted DNA. 

Aapi's screams had echoed inside her head for days ... they had bashed and bounced against her eyeballs and eardrums but still she could see ... still she could hear. How? Why? 

Her mother lay here dying. In a coma.

Humiara wanted her to be dead. As dead as Aapi's Ammi. She'd trade her for Aapi's Ammi. Humaira hadn't been inside the hospital room. She knew if she stepped inside she'd rip off the tubes and needles from her mother's repulsive body. She knew she would tear out her mother's womb with her bare hands and immolate it, and herself—the fouled fruit of her looms. 

They had kept her under observation for 72 hours because she'd tried to hurt herself.

At home, Humaira had gone into her mother's medicine cabinet and downed all her meds in some diabolical infliction of poetic justice. Too bad her mother was unconscious because Humaira wanted her to see how much she hated herself, her body, everything that her mother had worked hard to protect and preserve. In the emergency room they had made her retch her guts out—Humaira was disappointed that she didn't see her mangled heart and other organs ejected out of her body. 

Sitting outside her mother's room every day, Humaira imagined throwing herself before trucks and trains, off roofs and ravines. She could stare at hours at a knife blade or razor. She smiled at visions of dousing herself with kerosene and slow-dancing with flames in a lover's lurid embrace as her mother looked on.

Ayaan had stood by her side whenever he could get away from his father's bedside or his mother's knee.

And Humaira dreamed of hanging herself from a ceiling fan, or slitting her wrist and draping her arm over a white bathtub ... drink some Phenyl may be. Rashid Phupha's heart attacks were also her doing. Her mother's, technically, but hadn't her mother really done all this for her? Humaira, after all, was the deity at whose idolatrous altar her mother had offered human sacrifices ... 

Aapi had disappeared. 

She hadn't seen her or Jeeju for days.

And Humaira had lost that last iota of faith in her deliverance. She had started crying on the seventh day. And she couldn't stop.

     "Humaira! Listen to me!" Ayaan shook her now. "I will not let you walk away from us!" 

     "NO!" she screamed at him.

The pigeons flapped away in alarm.

     "Go away, Ayaan! There is no 'us' anymore! Don't you get it?" 

     "Yes, there is. There'll always be an 'us' and I'm not going any where!"

Ayaan let go of her arms and smiled. 

She was talking and she had a lot to say. He knew she wouldn't run away; she was raring to talk now. And that was good. For too long he'd seen her quiet as a mummy—wrapped in shrouds of doom. She hadn't responded to overtures from Nuzzhat or Nikhat, or even Omar. And Ayaan didn't have the guts to approach Bhai or Mona Darling. They were in their own circle of hell. 

     "Why? Why won't you go away?" Humaira croaked. Her voice still wobbled. "So that there's even more damage my mother can do to your family? What if I become her? What if I kill people who make me insecure and burn babies?!" 

Ayaan laughed. He couldn't help it. She whacked him across the head and he stumbled.

     "Humaira, you could never do that, no matter how hard you tried! It's funny because I can't even imagine you doing anything like that!" 

     "How do you know? What if tomorrow I get jealous of Aapi's baby and do something to it?"

     "Yeah, right," he kidded. "I can just imagine the bloodbath because Bhai will kill you! Give it up babes, I know, you won't. You can't!"

     "Ayaan, stop this. I can't be with you. I just can't. Not after what my mother did to your Abbu, and Jeeju and everybody. And Aapi! Oh my god, what she did to Aapi! I wish she had set fire to me!" Humaira turned away from him. "Please, just leave me alone." 

     "I've left you alone long enough. You nearly killed me by trying to hurt yourself. Thank god, Nuzzhat found you! Abbu's a lot better now and we're taking him home today. So be prepared to see a lot more of me. I don't care if you have me reported for stalking." He saw her shaking her head and get ready to speak up. "Nope, it's just not negotiable, babe."

     "Ayaan!" she stomped her foot in frustration and turned to leave.

He hauled her to him.

He'd given her enough notice. No way was she going to play the same beaten record. He was done. Ayaan crowded her into the corner and dipped his head to shut her up. She struggled against the kiss that she had craved so badly. She used her fists to pummel him. But soon her hands clung to his jacket. Humaira had tried to punish herself before by practicing some Ayaan-fasting, but he never let her self-imposed celibacy get too entrenched.

That was her problem since fourth grade: she could never resist his rakish charm. Never. 

That she was still a virgin was not because of her choice, or morals; it was because he had applied the brakes of self-restraint for both of them.

Ayaan was at breaking point too.

     Just once he wanted to lose control with her so that he could wipe away her misery and make her go crazy in his arms. "I love you," he said when they came up for air. "If we were somewhere more private I would have made love to you right now." 

Humaira gasped; his eyes blazed. Color was returning to her cheeks and sparkle to her eyes. 

     "That is how serious I am about being with you. Forever. And that is why I'm not letting you go anywhere." He kissed her more gently this time and felt her tears on his cheeks.

     "Ayaan, I'm so sorry for what my mother did!" Humaira wept, finally letting go of her heartache.

     "But you aren't your mother!"Ayaan insisted. "Our parents' wrongs aren't ours," he said through soft kisses. "We have to believe that, or we'd just be miserable for the rest of our lives. I think Bhai and Zoya have shown us that our generation can be smarter and kinder if we believe in the power of love. I guess if there's love, then the forgiveness comes automatically. Is that too corny?" He ruffled his hair in embarrassment. 

     She smiled slightly. "For you, yes!" 

     "I mean, may be your dad and ... mine, didn't stand up for love. They gave in to fear or something. But I can't imagine Bhai without Zoya ... or me without you. No way in hell is anyone coming along to separate us. Not even you!"

She grinned, after what felt like ages.

     "So you'll believe in the power of love with me?" 

     Humaira's gaze lowered and her smiled quivered. "I'm scared," she said finally. 

     "Well, may be the power of sex can sweeten the deal?"

     "Ayaan!" 

     "I'll take that as a yes!" He ground into her and she blushed. "And Humaira?" She looked up at him. "I'm done waiting for you to test your independence and spread your wings. We're getting married as soon as possible, and that's final! No ifs, ands or buts, OK?"

She nodded before burying her face in his shoulder.

     He took her hand in his and pulled her up the stairs. "Ready to talk to Mona Darling?"

     Humaira took a deep breath. Her eyes prickled. "May be it's time now. I want so badly to hug her, but how can I face her?"

     "By letting her hug you, hold you. By facing the past and then letting it stay in the past." 

Humaira squared her shoulders. 

  

     "Najma?" Asad spoke softly over the phone. "Bring Dadi and the girls to the 4th floor. No, just you four. I'm waiting."

While waiting for Zoya, Asad had paced outside, and come to a grim decision.

     Her words from this morning had tumbled in his head all day long in a washer's spin cycle: "Tomorrow our daughters could be at this crossroad. Would you be able to stop that?"

     His own words rose up like curling smoke: "If that had been my daughter I'd have said and done a lot worse."

At that time he had been distracted by his own demons and Zoya's spiraling distress. But now those words rattled around in his head, restless and tireless. 

Daughters?

He couldn't get Najma or Nikhat's faces out of his mind either. Or Omar's or Feroze's. Yes, he had made his mind up.

Enough was enough.

Once Ayaan brought Humaira back, they would sit the girls and Dadi down and answer the questions that buzzed in their anxious minds.

When the girls came up, with Zoya and Humaira ensconced inside with Siddiqui saheb, Asad cleared his throat.

     "Dadi, you may know a little bit about this but I think it's time that you all knew what happened at the factory that day ... and eighteen years ago."

Ayaan covered his face. He had wondered whether to tell their sisters. A part of him wanted to stop Bhaijaan. They didn't need to know. How would they look at Humaira? Would they hate her? Omar and Feroze would know too. Wouldn't they regret marrying into this godawful family of freaks? 

Asad read Ayaan's mind. There was no need for any P-language any more.

Straight talk was what they really needed. Hiding the truth all these years had wrecked their families, and as cliched as it sounded, truth was to only way to set them all free.

He told them. Everything. 

But he told them his reason for telling them, first.

     "I've been wrong trying to protect you all from this. I was playing god with your lives, controlling what you knew or didn't. You should know as members of this family. This is your history too." 

Asad could see the impatience and fear on their faces. They dreaded his coming words wondering why it needed such an ominous preface.

Asad told them about what happened eighteen years ago: A woman who had come from America with her three-year old dimpled daughter. A murder, a conspiracy, a reluctant arsonist, a fire ... and a cruel scar ... 

In painstaking detail, he recounted their parents' blood-soaked, ash-clogged history ... 

     "That young girl was Zoya." Asad uttered finally as he crossed his sore arms across his chest. His arms and chest still hurt, but thank god not as much as they had these past few days. 

Dadi sobbed into her dupatta. Yes, she had known and even lived through a part of this story. But Rashid's acts had hurt Zoya? 

The girls wept quietly. They knew it had to be bad. But this was so much worse. It was so easy to imagine culprits being strangers. But what did you do when they were your own blood? 

     "A scar? Zoya?" Najma couldn't process it.

Ayaan nodded shamefully. He had seen how deep and long that scar was; he had seen how steep and wrong her terror was.

     His sisters' questions spurted with growing horror: "She knew all this? When? Bhaijaan, how long have you known this?" 

     Asad nodded. "Some of it we knew before the wedding. The rest we found out ... when we were away on our honeymoon." He was done sugarcoating the truth.

Nikhat and Najma pressed their hands to their ears trying to block their Bhaijaan's words out.

What had he and Zoya been through when they first found out? How did they go on? And yet they had forgiven Mumani? Humaira's Abbu? Their own Abbu? How had Zoya loved them all even after knowing this?

Nuzzhat sat frozen in self-loathing. They had lived cushy, ignorant lives. Arrogant lives, while—  

     "But there's another reason why you must know everything." Asad continued, "because, eighteen years later ..." He wiped his brow with stiff fingers. "Eighteen years later Zoya and I tried to keep these details from ever leaking out. We thought if we kept a lid on this, everyone would be protected, everything would be OK. But Tanveer had other plans. That day she put up a grand show to connect all the dots; we couldn't do a thing. Abbu ... collapsed when he found out about Zoya ... and that he was responsible for her scar."

Ayaan had been pacing behind him through the retelling. He pulled his hair now. He wished he could have turned time that day. If only they could have done things differently, if only Rakesh's team had gotten there on time, as planned ... if only ... 

But Asad was still not done. This part was the hardest; they all needed to know of this too.

He couldn't help but relive the awful moments when he had seen Zoya fracture again ... and again—he had seen it on the train on their honeymoon, during her recurring nightmares ... 

Then it had been because of their father and Raziya Siddiqui. 

But that day in the factory ... and then back at home ... another trauma had sliced and minced her. The doctors had shaken their heads and murmured of the lingering effects of PTSD. They had talked of aggressive medications, but Zoya was pregnant.

Asad felt angry for her. On her behalf. Jeeju's helpless words pierced his conscience: "cowards ... monsters," he had called them all. 

At the Dargah this morning Asad had finally understood. Perhaps he now understood the root of Zoya's earlier anguish: She had easily forgiven her mother's murder, the exile from her father, her scarring even. She had finally healed and even married the man who was the son of the scar-giver. But Tanveer's scratching off the scabs of the past topped by the forcible "talaaqs," had seared a fresh new scar on Zoya's psyche: the unwitting father had given her the scar on her arm, the unwilling son ... on her entire being. 

It had imploded her.

You couldn't see the shards and torn flesh this time, but they were there. He had seen them this morning. This morning as he had held her through her breakdown and free fall into the abyss, he had panicked seeing Zoya struggle like an asthmatic to draw breath. She had told him too of her new nightmares and he had fallen apart. Her fears were justified; her trauma, inexcusable. She hadn't said it, but he knew now: with his third "talaaq," their child would be condemned to the same history as its parents: fatherless—living at the cusp of legitimacy and despairing hope, robbed of bedtime stories, annual and sports days ... Yes, their child would have angry birthdays, hollow milestones and a mess of grief. 

No, he was not done. They needed to hear it; he needed to say it.

     "I want you all to listen really carefully," Asad emphasized each word. The girls went silent and breathless. "That day Tanveer threatened to kill Zoya and ... and the baby. She forced me to say 'talaaq'!"

His voice had dropped to a harsh whisper. It was hard to control his own emotions because it all came flooding back. The girls strained to hear his words. They gasped at that word and looked at each other in horror and confusion. 

Were Bhai and Bhabhi divorced now? 

     "No, we aren't, thank god!" Asad exhaled loudly. "All these years I was angry at Abbu for leaving Ammi. I had tunnel vision. I only saw her daily struggles to raise me and Najma. But that day I could have been that man. My child could have hated me ... for more than half their life."

His voice cracked. 

     He wanted to rage and pace, but he controlled himself. "That word can be used by us too easily ... but its savagery cuts women more deeply." 

Asad's mouth twisted.

     "That word ... its fallout ... lasts for generations." He struggled to go on. "That's why you have to make yourselves stronger. If it means working, being financially independent, whatever you have to do, do it. Do not ... don't rely on a man, however good, to take care of you. Don't let that word or even its shadow break you."      

     "Asad!" Badi Bi nearly collapsed with the weight of his words ... their bitter implications. 

     "Bhaijaan!" It wasn't just the girls who cried out in horror but Ayaan too.  

     "I mean it," Asad said, scrubbing the tears off his face. "I love Zoya. But even I had to say it ... It nearly killed us."

He would have walked away swaddled in his own self-persecution. But his sisters threw themselves at him to hold him and wrap him in their perfumed empathy. Ayaan too flung himself at the sibling huddle to enfold all of them in his embrace.

Their collective warmth slowly wicked away the chill.

They sobbed.

 

When Zoya came out and saw them crying, her feet skidded to a halt in fear. Her wet eyes met Asad's and a cold hand crept to her heart.

     "Abbu?" she asked fearfully. "Oh my god!

The girls saw her then. And they pounced on her.

     Cries of "Zoya!" and "Zoya Bhabhi!" nearly staggered her as they encircled her in a group hug.

     "No, Abbu's OK!" Asad told her hurriedly. 

And a smile broke out on his face. It drove away his grief.

Even now she worried for his father.

Asad peered at her. She looked exhausted. Zoya swayed from the day's emotional and physical onslaught and he leaped to hold her. Gently, he extracted her from his sisters' clinging arms and hugged her. Without a backward glance, Asad led her away to the stairwell. 

The pigeons had returned. They cooed watching another pair of lovebirds. These two didn't fight; they sighed into one another.

Asad sat down on a step and pulled her in his lap. Zoya burrowed in his chest whispering, I love you. He dropped a kiss on her head. No sooner had she tucked her head under his chin and she was fast asleep. She had pretended sleeping all these days; now she really slept.

His cheek against her hair, Asad dozed too.

 

     "Humaira? I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, baby." Zoya had whispered when Ayaan pushed her into Raziya's room and closed the door after him.

Siddiqui had covered his mouth to hide his trembling lips. He understood Humaira's grief but had felt powerless to do much about it. Her suicide attempt had made him want to kill himself too. They had continued to wallow in their personal bubbles of hell not able to do anything for each other. 

     Humaira had burst into fresh tears at Zoya's words. "Stop it, Aapi! Don't call me baby, or treat me so nicely. I don't deserve it. Everything terrible that's happened to you was because of me!" she fell to the floor at Zoya's feet. 

     "Shh," Zoya stooped to sit by her and hold her.

Humaira had continued to weep. 

     "How can you bear to look at us?" Humaira gasped. "How can you even be in the same room as HER?!" She had flung her arm out in revulsion and pointed to her half-dead mother.

     "Because I love you, and that trumps everything else. Why would I only cry for what I lost? I want to cherish what I've found." Zoya stated simply.

     "But Ammi? What she did, was unforgivable!" 

Zoya smiled and took Humaira's hand to rest it on her lightly swelling stomach.

     "Your Ammi saved my baby. Tanveer would have shot me and Mr. Khan, but your mother took a bullet for us." 

     "But she killed your—"

Humaira saw Zoya's eyes fill and could have killed herself for it. 

     "She killed Tanveer. And that's what matters more to me right now."

     "But Aapi ... all this would have never happened had she not ..." Humaira was wracked by sobs again and couldn't go on. 

     "She may have started all this. But she also ended it. Humaira," Zoya sighed. "I know you feel guilty and responsible for all this somehow. But it really had nothing to do with you. You were an infant and I was a toddler. What did we know? But we know better now. Can't we make sure that the next generation grows happy and knows the love of aunts and uncles and grandparents and cousins?" 

     Humaira bowed her head. "Ye—s," she whispered.

     "So you promise to change diapers?" Zoya teased. 

     Humaira giggled through her tears. "Promise!"

     "Even the extra smelly ones?"

     "Specially those." Humaira vowed fervently. 

 

     "Zoya, come to bed babe," Asad texted her for the third time that night. 

In a burst of grateful high jinks the celebrating siblings and spouses had gathered at the Khan house for dinner, movies, makeovers and sleepovers. The men however had soon tired of the manic fun, noisy chatter and staying up late that the girls seemed to love and thrive in.

Ayaan was snoring on the couch. Feroze had gone to bed, alone, and Omar had dragged a somewhat-reluctant Najma away. 

     "Hmmphh! I am enjoying my time with the girls as a semi-single woman. I'm going to watch Desi Boyz' and check out what all the fuss with 'Magic Mike' was about! And we're having mocktail Cosmos, so forget about it Mr. Khan!" Zoya responded. 

Asad groaned and punched the pillow. What the hell were Desi boys and Magic Mike?

Asad powered up his laptop. 

Five minutes later, he yelped. Male strippers!

He fumed; he prowled; he went on a scavenger hunt. 

When Zoya saw the next text her eyes bugged and she had to cover her mouth to repress a thrilled squeal.

     "Wouldn't you rather see the Magic Jahanpanah and your desi boyz ka live show?" it asked.

The attached photo made her choke on her virgin Cosmo and gave her some very unvirgin tingles and flushes. She mock-yawned, stretched and pushed herself off the couch.

     "Guys, I'm dead on my feet. I'm off to bed, nightie-night!"

     "Spoilsport!"

But they mostly ignored her. Too much eye candy on the screen. 

Zoya tried not to run into the waiting arms of her magic Jahanpanah who had made such a glorious effort to market his competing services—he wore only the blackest sunglasses paired with a matching half-loosened necktie. 

And nothing else.

The fading bruises across his chest may have been the lashes scored by an adoring dominatrix ... His sculpted six packs glistened. 

Her mouth watered. 

Feathered handcuffs were gripped between his teeth and a furry cat was held just strategically enough to not leave her guessing ... 

It couldn't be. No way. 

Dobby could not be winking.

Mmm Mr. Khan, the sinful Ms. Farooqui is going to get very lucky tonight. 

Booty call, start your engines, here I come.

Zoya skipped into the semi-darkened, candlelit room and latched the door behind her. Wow, being a newly half-single girl about town did have some fun perks. 

She'd decide after tonight's one-night-stand if she'd keep her Jahanpanah with benefits, or enter a no-strings-attached relationship with a certain Akdu Ahmed Khan in apartment 3B. And if that didn't work out, there was always that incredibly foolish "main-voh-actually" Rumi-reciting and dangerously-driving sweetheart in 2C. And when not on a mission ... the super-sexy secret agent, Jahanpanah Bond in 4A would do just as well.

Yum, she was going to have her hands full— 

     Zoya remembered his words and blushed: "Tonight Mrs. Khan, you're going to be full of me!" 

Yup! She was going to have her hands full juggling 50 shades of Khan.

Bring it, Mr. Khan.

When the soft strains of "Be-intehaan" started up, she groaned in anticipation. Wow, he'd even accessorized with the feather boa that she'd used on him in one of her Hawa Hawaii seduction routines.

Ooh la la! Bijli giraney, main hoon aayi.

Correction, bijli girane main hoon aaya ... 

Dobby had been discarded for the guitar because all of a sudden her Akdu was feeling shy. She plucked the guitar from him and stood back hugging it.

He blushed.  

     "Makhmali raat ki ho na subah ..." played on.

     ... Do bekhabar, bhige badan

     Ho besabar, bhige badan

     ... Le rahe raat bhar angdayiyaan" 

She swayed to the music and blushed at its sultry promise.

 

 

 

 

Song in Title: 

Race 2 (2013): "Be Intehaan"


	101. Udne Laga Kyun Mann Baawla Re, Aaya Kahaan Se Ye Hausla Re

 

  

After Bhai's bombshell declaration, when Ayaan slunk into Mumani's room he was surprised at his lack of resentment against Humaira's mom. She looked too frail and forlorn so close to her end anyways. As he looked around the room, he half-smiled. The flowers chased away the banality of arrested death, and the bouquet of balloons bowed and bobbled in valiant cheer. 

Humaira was curled up in the easy chair ... fast asleep.

Finally, she seemed at peace!

He turned when he heard the door open.

Siddiqui walked in holding two paper cups of coffee; he ground to a halt as he saw Ayaan. 

      "Ayaan?" he croaked with uncertainty. 

Siddiqui was no longer sure how Rashid's family would react to him ... to all of them. Raziya had the advantage of being in a convenient coma. That just left him to be the face of evil that had destroyed the family.

And it was only right.

His cowardice had brought this on. He should have seen the warning signs; he should have been able to protect Zainab and Zoya ... 

Siddiqui recoiled as the image of Zoya screaming when Tanveer had pushed her toward the flames flashed before his eyes. It was only fitting that he hadn't slept much since that day"because when he did, he saw himself pushing Zoya into a fiery grave. 

Thank god, Zoya had Asad now—  

Unbidden, the words from Harivansh Rai Bachchan's poem sprang up in his head: 

          Ashru, swed, rakt se,

          Lath-path, lath-path, lath-path,

          Agneepath!

          Agneepath!

          Agneepath!

Blinded by shame he nearly stumbled, spilling the coffee. The hot liquid scalded his hand and spiked his heart. His eyes watered—not just because of the burn, but because they remembered how much worse Zoya's pain must have been.

Zoya and Asad had married despite knowing about their intertwined histories baked in fire and soaked in blood. The nikaah between Humaira and Ayaan was most likely off though. 

Then what was Ayaan doing here? 

     "Mamu, how are you?" Siddiqui was even more surprised by the question—he was thrown by its neutrality. For almost the first time since he could remember, Ayaan didn't look at him with contempt. 

There was no anger or judgment. 

      "I'm OK, beta," he answered after clearing his throat. "Aur Tum? Humaira told me that your Abbu is doing much better. You don't know how glad I am to hear that." Guilt made him duck his head. "I'm sorry for everything," he whispered. "I wish I hadn't been such a coward. We ruined Zoya's life then." He looked at a sleeping Humaira. "And we've possibly ruined Humaira's life now. What a terrible father I am!" 

     "Mamu," Ayaan interrupted. "I was mad, I'm not going to lie. That day at the factory ... specially when Abbu collapsed, I could have killed you with my bare hands."    

Siddiqui bowed his head in misery and wept quietly. 

But Ayaan wasn't done yet.

     "What your actions did to Bhai all those years ago—that still makes me mad. But when I look at Zoya and Bhai and see them being OK with you ... When I see them put the past behind them, it makes me want to do the same. I may take longer to be as noble as them, or maybe I won't. Who knows? But I do know one thing: Humaira and I are getting married as soon as possible." 

     "But Ayaan? Even after all that's happened? What if later on this comes between you two?" 

     Ayaan ruffled his hair in agitation. "I don't know what to think any more, Mamu."

He remembered Humaira's words from a long time ago: 

      "Ayaan, you are thinking of our future together and are more worried about hurting me instead of hating me for what my mother did? I don't think you could ever accuse me of being like my mother. But if you do, I hope our love will be strong enough for me to hit you with something hard and get past it."

      He grinned. "It could happen—stuff might flare up. But I hope our love will be strong enough to get past it—that's what Humaira said to me some time ago. She made me believe. And I want to believe in that love. Not hate, or anger, or revenge."

Funny, he no longer felt embarrassed talking like an uncool goody two-shoes. 

Siddiqui smiled and came closer to pat Ayaan's shoulder.

     "Where did you kids pick up such deep mystical ideas? When did you all grow up to be such fine human beings? I wish I had your strength and integrity. But I will spend the rest of my life learning from you all if you'll have me in your lives." 

Humaira stirred awake.

She had heard her father's words and smiled. Yes, she could see signs of healing all around her. Tender green shoots were unfurling from a sooty stump they'd thought long dead. Their parents had kept vicious secrets from all of them and spawned brooding resentment; but Aapi and Jeeju had righted the arc of their families' history, thank god! They had tilted their universe just a little bit to let in the sun—the best disinfectant. 

She glanced at her mother. Strange, she didn't feel like ripping out the tubes or stabbing her with syringes or scalpels any more. Humaira rose and brushed the thinning hair from her mother's forehead. But she didn't completely agree with Aapi. Maybe her mother had to die in order to set their world finally right. 

Her heart beat hard.

My mother for yours, Aapi. 

Qubool hai.

 

What a show it had been! Its sensuous aftermath had been just as be-intehaan too. The playful sex-talk and smoky gazes had soon morphed into devouring devotion and searing worship.

Later, in each other's arms, her head on his bare chest, Zoya asked what she'd been meaning to ask since this afternoon.

     "Asad, why were you all crying at the hospital? You scared me for a second. You know, I thought something terrible had happened to Abbu!"

In the velvety dark, he hugged her tighter, pulling up the quilt more snugly around them.

     "I told the girls what happened at the factory—that day, and eighteen years ago." 

Zoya couldn't restrain a tiny gasp.

     "Everything? Even us? But why? Did they have to know about your Abbu or my scar?" 

     "Yes, they had to know." His thumb rubbed circles on her nude back, igniting a slow fire. "If they are to be the masters of their destinies, they need to have all information that affects their lives. No more secrets and protecting people from knowing the truth." 

     "Mistresses," Zoya smirked as she nicked then sucked his nipple.

     "Huh?" Asad asked through a hiss. 

     "Mistresses of their destinies, you mean!" 

     "But mistresses sounds weird ... wrong, somehow." 

     "Exactly! Even our language won't let women be the mistresses of their destinies!" She kissed his shoulder. "But why were you all crying?" 

     "I told them that they needed to become stronger—work, study, do whatever it took. I was thinking of what you said this morning. About ...  watching our daughters if they were at the same crossroad and not being able to do a thing. I couldn't get over how helpless Jeeju felt that day ... And then that word—it was the last straw for you. You're one of the strongest women I know, and yet everything fell away that day ... and in the days after."

     Zoya took his face in her hands and kissed him, "Mr. Khan, you still haven't told me why y'all were crying so hard!"

     Asad sighed. "I told them not to depend on a man, however good he may be."

     "Asad!" she couldn't believe it. "I'm so sorry! You did that because of me, didn't you? Because of what I said!" 

     "No, I meant it! You were right. Look at our mothers—destroyed by men who weren't necessarily bad, just flawed. What's the difference really? My Abbu did it all to save Najma. I said that word to save you. The end result could have been the same." His hand tightened over her stomach. "This child could have grown up without me and hated me for hurting you." 

     "Never!" Zoya cried out. "You wouldn't have let that happen. You fought too hard for us to stay alive, we'd have found a way to be together." 

The silence settled between them. 

But restless energy corroded him.

     "Zoya, I still can't get it out of my mind. If it had really happened ... If Tanveer had succeeded ... and if this baby's a girl, she'd grow up without a father and then get married to a guy who could end up leaving her ... I kept thinking of Najma ... That's why I had to tell them." 

Zoya cried then. Damn, she thought she was done crying! Yes, this had been a big part of her doomed dread during her self-imposed isolation all these days. But she cried more because Asad now plumbed that horror too: to barely recover from the loss of her father who had left her eighteen years ago ... to then have her husband leave her at the same spot eighteen years later ... 

     "I'm sorry," Asad whispered. "I couldn't ever do that to you."

     Zoya kissed his fading bruises after he wiped her tears. "I know that now. And Asad? I'm so sorry for shutting down on you like that for all those days. I know I hurt you terribly. I stole your time away from the baby." She sniffed. "I can't believe I doubted you even for a second. It was that word ... oh god, I hate that word!" She buried her face in his shoulder.

Her hair fanned out over his chest. He stroked her scarred arm. 

     "Shh," Asad planted a kiss on her head and squeezed her to him.

He shuddered again still thinking about her breakdown this morning. Her tortured breathing had made him flashback to that terrible time in Mangalpur when he thought—  

Watching her gasp to draw heaving gulps of air through constricting airways had made him feel the same helplessness all over again. And then Jeeju had told him that when she was a baby she struggled for breath similarly when she was in extreme pain ... 

He hadn't been able to breathe for a second too. 

     Lifting his hand to her lips, Zoya murmured, "and you know what? Maybe I couldn't see things as clearly then, or think straight. But things would have been different this time because you're not your father. I know that word broke me for some time, and I couldn't see past it. But now I know what you believed then"a word wouldn't, couldn't ever tear us apart." 

Zoya knew about his own fears of being his father's son: hurting a woman so terribly that he wouldn't even consider the idea of getting married initially. Asad had already told her about his terror for her: a repeat of Mangalpur ... Then why had she—  

     Asad rolled her on her back to nuzzle her neck. "So, tomorrow's appointment?" 

     "Cancel it," Zoya said slipping her arms around his neck and already sighing and arching as she snuggled into his embrace. "We don't need Maulvi Saheb to tell us whether we're married or not. I loved what you said this morning—nothing could change how married you feel to me." Asad lifted his head and she kissed him full on the mouth and continued, "me neither. Those words were the best renewal of our vows I could ever wish for. Just as powerful as the first time we said Qubool hai'!" 

Asad feathered her lips with his knuckle thinking back to this morning again. Still haunted, she'd told him more about the spiraling terror that had triggered her panic attack. 

     "I kept thinking if you ever got mad at me again and said that word one more time, then it'd be all over between us."

Even then Asad had tried to gently soothe her fears with a little bit of teasing.

     "Let's count how many things are wrong with that idea: one, I think there's an expiry on the word tal—!"

Of course she'd covered his mouth. He had kissed her palm and removed it. 

     "Asad, don't say it!" Zoya had said through fresh tears.

     He'd kissed her thoroughly before continuing: "If you don't say it three times in one sitting, then you probably have to redo the whole thing. You don't continue from the last time, like some episodic TV show, I think."

     "Asad! How can you you be so cavalier about it?" She'd shaken him by his shoulders.

     "Because, it's never going to happen! Besides," he silenced her with a finger to that mouth, unable to resist thumbing her lips. "I'd never be mad enough at you to say that word."

     "But I have made you insanely furious in the past. Remember the meteor shower night? Or when you bailed me out of jail? I've never seen you angrier!" 

His eyes had darkened. He remembered those times all too well. And also when he had struck her thinking she'd been responsible for the attack on Ammi. And he had said terrible things about how she deserved to lose her Ammi. 

Asad had no idea that she had spun so many frantic insecurities in her mind around one word. It killed him that she had weltered in these fears for days. That's why she'd gone silent? Thank god, they'd put it firmly behind them! 

     But she'd still had some residual qualms. "What if I do something stupid and—"

This time he'd covered her mouth to shut her up and to put an end to her self-torment. 

     "I'm no longer that man, Zoya. Anger fueled me in those dark days, no more. You know better; you're the one who changed me. I'm never saying that word. I'd die first."

     "Asad!" she'd hugged him so fiercely that he'd almost staggered back. "That's the other word you have to promise you won't say. Ever!"

 

     "Zoya," he groaned in her ear now. Her knees were already hugging his sides.

His hand moved to stroke and tug under her toes and that familiar current leapt up her jerking body. He flung the covers off their reheated bodies.

     "Oh god, Asad, why did I waste so much time!" 

     "Shh, it's over. But Mrs. Khan, you do owe me big time," Asad breathed against her neck. His tongue and teeth played havoc with her wanton pulse. 

     "I do. Forever," she barely got the vow out, so distracted was she by his seeking fingers.

     "I'm going to collect every debt ... with interest." 

     Zoya pushed him off her to straddle him and slowly kiss Asad down his chest to his six packs, "wanna start collecting now, babe?" 

She slithered lower. 

She licked him and he bucked.

     "Zoya, please!"

"Jo hukum, Jahanpan—!"

His hands fisted in her hair and his back and neck arched.

Dobby meowed somewhere.

Zoya would have giggled but— 

 

     "Remember to come home early," Zoya reminded him for the second time the next morning. 

Asad nodded as he packed his laptop for work. It was time for them to meet his Abbu who was doing much better. In fact Rashid had requested the meeting, and they couldn't wait to see him. 

     "Even though I'm not working right now, I hate Mondays," Zoya pouted. She had begged Asad to work from home today wanting to just feel him next to her, but there were stupid meetings and ridiculous presentations and pitches he couldn't get out of. 

     "Don't remind me," he groaned. "And don't ask me again, I won't be able to go otherwise." Asad almost wished she would ask him to stay back. He resigned himself to going when she didn't. 

He headed for the door. 

     "Asad?"

     He smiled. "Hmm?" 

Zoya was perched on the settee absently stroking Dobby's head. The cat's eyes were squeezed shut in total bliss. The morning sun on his back, Zoya's fingers ruffling his fur—it was Masha' allah! Dobby raised his head to glare at Asad and frown at him—Asad was encroaching on his time with Zoya"you have her for the nights, he seemed to say, during the day she's mine! 

Go to work, already, the cat winked at him. What's the hold up?

     "Did you notice, something?" Zoya spoke softly. When Asad looked blank, Zoya beamed up at him. "The morning sickness stopped!" 

He couldn't restrain himself. So he'd be late by a few minutes! Asad returned to kiss her upturned nose.

     "Perfect!" he drawled as he knelt before her. "Any cravings I can satisfy?"

He shouldn't have asked that. Her eyes dilated and Zoya's lids drooped. Dobby sighed in frustration and huffed off the settee—this would take some time obviously. 

They didn't even miss him! Bipeds were pathetic. 

When Asad rubbed her lips with his thumb she caught it between her teeth and slowly sucked on it. 

His eyes closed as he groaned.

     "I would love to eat you up, Mr. Khan ... " Zoya winked at him. " ... again!" He blushed. "But now that you mention it, I'm so craving—" 

     "Pizza?" Asad asked already knowing the answer.

     "No!'

     "Diet Coke?" 

     "Unn-uh!"   

     "Kachoris?" 

     "No! Jam and bread!" 

Asad laughed at the simplicity of the craving. God knows why his eyes prickled suddenly. Sure, his wife was hormonal, but it didn't explain how he was becoming a nearly-weepy basket case himself. Would he be one of those dorky husbands who also experienced phantom labor pains?

Hell yes! 

Zoya bumped heads with him. 

Asad pulled out his phone.

     "Prasad? I'm running 30 minutes late ... Yes, everything's all right," he added after a minute as he locked eyes with Zoya. Ever since the attack, Prasad had become a clucking mother hen. "I just need to make something special for my wife." 

Tail twitching, Dobby followed them out to the kitchen.

But not before hacking up a hairball near Asad's computer bag.

  


Sipping her tea in the living room, Dilshad smiled looking at Asad trying to make a simple sandwich for Zoya. He had to force her down on the chair each time because she kept leaping up to peep over his shoulder and get in his way. 

He had removed his suit jacket to meticulously drape it over a chair back. Zoya was giggling at the military precsion of the plate and knives—no, the same knife couldn't be used for the butter, and to dip in the jam jar. Were they barbarians?

     "Trim the crusts off, please," Dishad heard Zoya beg Asad.

Of course that required a third knife. Zoya rolled her eyes. 

     Dilshad sniggered when she heard him mutter, "you Americans are so high maintenance. And super wasteful!" Her son had obviously forgotten the days of his high-maintenanceness—or his royal Jahanpanahness, as his wife liked to say.

     "Dobby can eat the crusts! See, Mr. Khan, it's all part of the cosmic food web. It's a glorious circle of life!" Zoya retorted as her arms swung in a graceful arc, painting a rainbow. Dobby danced around her legs in wholehearted agreement. He was behaving himself knowing full well that if he jumped up on the counter he would be spritzed away with a water spray bottle ... another reason he was miffed with Asad. After all he was the one who'd devised this punishment. 

Painting a rainbow ... 

Dilshad couldn't help but remember that miserable afternoon, more than a year ago, when she and Asad had returned home to see the kitchen in utter disarray. In those days, they lived their lives one bleak day to another—always in the shadow of a sunbeam, in the permanent penumbra of hope. Zoya had popped up suddenly from behind the counter and Dilshad had felt the chill fade. A voice with a thousand giggles had announced that she was baking a cake for her beloved Phuphi who seemed to be having an off day. There was some song and dance routine that Zoya had performed as Dilshad had watched, mesmerized and infinitely grateful. 

Her son—who had an off day every day since Ms. Farooqui had entered their lives—had huffed and puffed next to her, stiff with cold annoyance and disapproval, but even then Dilshad's heart had craved this. 

Her heart's desperate craving had perhaps willed this into happening. 

This— 

... Itni shiddat se jo chaaha ... qayanat ne milane ki saazish ki hai ...

She saw Zoya sneak a lick of jam from Asad's finger. He did the chin thing to remind her that Ammi was right there behind them. 

     "So?" Zoya mouthed. "Remember, we're married!"

He looked at her with a lop-sided smile when she wagged her finger and slanted her eyes at him.

Dilshad ducked her head behind the newspaper to hide her smile. This time she didn't rush to protect them from evil nazars. 

Their love was enough for that.

She heard Asad ask her what she'd do today. 

     "Aapko yaad karungi," Zoya replied with unrepressed snickers. 

There was a minute's silence and a knife clattered. Dilshad cleared her throat.

     "Umm ... uske baad?" She could hear the merry trace of a smile in her son's voice. How she had hungered for this!

     Zoya sighed. "I have to finish making that cellphone app I was working on before—" 

They continued to talk softly. Dilshad dropped the newspaper in her lap to steal another look. She just relished watching them from afar. Their growing distance in the past few days had broken her heart. She had bled and prayed for both of them unable to do anything to offer comfort. 

     "She'll come back," Dilshad had whispered in Asad's ear one forlorn evening as she reached up to kiss his forehead and hug him.

     "Take your time. You have every right to heal in your own way," she'd said to Zoya as she had framed her face in her hands. 

Zoya had wept bitter tears and a wintry chill had swept through Dilshad. She knew the baby was all right; they'd just been to the doctor. Then what had come between these two? 

Kiski nazar lag gayee? 

Then yesterday she had heard them shouting at each other and she had finally smiled at the coming thaw.

Yes! It was always the fighting that propelled them into each other's arms—it was the necessary foreplay ... and foundation of their relationship. When she had heard the predictable sighs and moans, a blushing Dilshad had raced to close the door to their room softly behind her. Thank god everyone else was upstairs! 

She had beamed. 

Everything would be M.A. now. 

Thank you, Allah miyan!

She looked across the room to see their heads together as Asad oversaw Zoya's snacking while carefully wiping away stray crumbs from her mouth.

This was so much more than what she could have wished for her son a year ago.

Softly, Dilshad laid her cup down to raise her palms. Soon these palms would be cradling her grandchild; her eyes stung, unable to contain a million fluttering hopes. Because she was no longer afraid of being happy ...

 

Humaira was back at the Khan house when she wasn't by her mother's side at the hospital. Her father knew and understood that she needed to be with Zoya. Because when she wasn't, guilt snuck up on her, making her cry every now and then. 

With Zoya, she smiled and laughed. She could even think of wedding plans and blush at the merciless teasing. 

Thank god for the teasing! 

It meant that everything was as is—nothing had changed between her and her future sisters-in-law. They didn't hold her mother's crimes against her. 

Today was special. She and Aapi were going to be meeting Ayaan's Abbu for the first time since ... that day.

Both the sisters worried about this meeting.

While Zoya didn't want to be the stressor for yet another heart episode, Humaira fretted about going in front of Rashid at all. Ayaan had said that the nikaah was back on, the girls seemed fine too. But what about Shireen, Rashid and Badi Bi? Could they ever look past her mother's actions? She wouldn't blame Rashid Phupha if he lashed out at her and threw her out of the house. Humaira cringed. Her Ammi had actually threatened to kill Najma who was barely a year old?

A sob shook her. Oh god, what if this thing was hereditary? What if she did such things? Why were they accepting her in their homes? Into their hearts? 

     "Humaira?"

She fled to the bathroom at Zoya's voice and locked herself in. 

     "Humaira, don't do this to yourself," Zoya rested her forehead against the door. She could hear her sister trying to muffle her sobs on the other side. "At least let me hold you," Zoya offered. When Humaira still didn't open the door, she slid down on the floor and leaned against it. 

She tried some blackmail.

     "Munna, I'm not leaving here till you come out. And pretty soon, you know, it'll start to get uncomfortable for me. I already feel my back hurting."

She heard a loud sniff from inside and smiled to herself. Come on baby girl, she urged her sister silently.

But Humaira still didn't come out. 

Really?

Zoya smirked and hummed softly. She remembered how Aapi would try to manao her when she got into one of her snits as a kid.

          "Phoolon ka taaron ka, sabka kehna hai,

          Ek hazaaron mein, meri behna hai.

          Saari umar, humein sung rehna hai!" she sang. 

     "Aapi!" Humaira yanked the door open and crashed into Zoya's waiting arms. "I can't go! How will I face them?" she wept.

Zoya let her cry knowing that she needed the release. As Humaira's sobs tapered off she kissed her forehead.

     "Humaira, it's over." She stroked her sister's face. "Let the darkness of the past go. It hurts me to see you torment yourself like this." 

     "But Aapi! How can Phupha even look at me without thinking of what Ammi made him do to you? And Najma? Oh my god! No, I can't go, I won't!" 

     Zoya held her hands. "Did you do any of those things?" 

     "No. But she did it for me didn't she?"

     "That doesn't make you part of what happened." 

     "I wish I had never been born!" 

     "Humaira!" Zoya cried, in tears now herself. She held her tummy, "don't ever say that!" 

Humaira burst into fresh tears when Zoya took her hand and placed it on her stomach.

     "You were just a new-born then." Zoya soothed her. "Who knows, whether it was post-partum depression, or just—"   

     "Don't, Aapi! Don't even try to justify what Ammi did!" 

     "No, I'm not justifying! Just trying to understand why."

Zoya looked away into the distance. 

     "Listen, that day when I heard Mr. Khan say that terrible word—" It was Humaira's turn to grip her sister's hand in comfort. "I ... I don't know if this makes any sense. But I felt so vulnerable and fragile. I'm a strong girl, our love for each other is so strong ... I know he was doing it to save me and the baby. But that day I felt as though that word obliterated me ..."

She wiped her tears and took Humaira's face in her hands.

     "Think of your mom. Whatever that fear was that made her go to such insane lengths ... may be she feared our Abbu would leave her ... I know it doesn't make it right. I know that what she did was still wrong. I wish ... Everyday I wish Ammi was here, with me! But our culture makes it impossible for women to exist without men. Mr. Khan's Ammi was incredibly strong. She also had him, thank god, even though he was just a kid himself! But—"

Humaira hugged her hard and they both cried together. She didn't understand her mother's motives nor condone them. But Aapi's words made a terrible kind of sense too. Their father had to shoulder some of the responsibility in this. 

And a fierce hope blazed through her, setting her aglow. 

Ayaan! 

          "Our parents' wrongs aren't ours," he'd said. 

He had talked of the power of love and now it made perfect sense. Her Ammi and Jeeju's Ammi had stood at that awful crossroad that day, eighteen years ago. Her Ammi had chosen the road to damnation ... but Badi Phuphi had chosen grace and dignity. Had the fathers stood a little bit firmer, their spines been a little steelier, then may be the course of their history would have been different"she could have learned to walk holding Aapi's finger like Ayaan had, holding Jeeju's.

          "Our generation can be smarter and kinder if we believe in the power of love." Ayaan had said.

And Ayaan would never let something like that happen to her. Just like Jeeju would never ever let anything happen to Aapi. He would take a bullet for her, throw himself on a hand grenade if he had to, but he wouldn't let a single hair on Aapi's head be hurt. And that was the difference between the two generations, wasn't it? And if Ayaan and Jeeju could not be their father, if Aapi could forgive their father and her mother, then couldn't she, Humaira, not be her mother either? 

When Zoya raised her head to look at her sister this time, she saw the change. 

     "You believe now, don't you?" she asked Humaira. 

     "Yes. Because you do."

     "So you'll come with us, right?" 

     "Only because you'll be there by my side." 

     "Forever! Are you serious! You're my go-to baby sitter and diaper-changer-in-chief after all! Saari umar, humein sung rehna hai," she re-sang the song clapping her hands.

     "Ek hazaaron mein, meri behna hai," Humaira sang fervently cupping her sister's face. 

     "Please! Ek hazaaron mein tum hogi. I'm ek laakhon mein!' " 

     "Aapi!" a shocked Humaira squeaked. "That's so mean!" 

     "I'm kidding, rondoo kahin ki! Jeez, so sensitive!" She ran away, and Humaira chased after her, laughing for the first time in eons. 

 

Everybody else had gone ahead. Ayaan had insisted on escorting Humaira. He knew she'd be skittish in meeting his Abbu and Ammi. Zoya waited for Asad to get ready so that they could join the party. He'd tried his best to come home early but it hadn't been easy to get away ... 

Tomorrow Omar and Najma would leave for Abu Dhabi and in a few days Jeeju, Feroze and Faiz would be gone too. Another few months and Najma and Nikhat would finally leave for the US. 

She could already feel herself missing all of them. 

Zoya drew in a deep breath of the night Jasmine in the backyard. When Asad came and held her from the back she leaned into his warmth and fragrance. 

     "You look thoughtful," he murmured.

     "I don't want anyone to leave tomorrow, and the day after, or the next!" 

     Asad chuckled. "If it were up to you, you woudn't let me go to work or let anyone else work either!"

     "I'm going to miss Najma so much! I haven't been apart from her for like ... forever!" 

     "Except when we were on our honeymoon," Asad pointed out shaking his head. 

     "Or her honeymoon," Zoya added and he frowned. 

     "I was thinking I would surprise you, but may be this will lift your spirits." Asad showed her two tickets. He knew she was nervous about meeting his Abbu. And that she was nervous for Humaira too. 

     "Air tickets? To where?" She eagerly grabbed them out of his hand to flip them open. 

     "Gwalior?" 

     "To see Jhansi ki rani's shield." Asad told her, hooking a finger under her chin. "And then on to Jhansi of course, to pay tribute to your kickass patron saint and forebear!"

     "Really?" she hopped in excitement. "When?"

     "Next weekend."

     "Asad, can we also go to Ajmer Sharif now that everything's OK?" 

     "Sure, but it'll have to be a quick day trip. I can't get away for too long." Asad said, taking her face in his hands and kissing her. "Ab chalein?" 

 

A hush fell in the room when they entered and Zoya skittered to an uncertain stop.

Asad's supporting hand at her back braced her. 

Shireen was the first one to come up and hug her.

     "How are you?" she asked after kissing Zoya's forehead.

     "I'm fine, Chhoti Ammi." 

     "Come," Shireen took her hand and led her and Asad to an inside room where Rashid was sitting in an armchair with his feet propped up. Badi Bi and Dilshad were there too. Shireen closed the door and came to sit by Dilshad's side.

     Intuitively Zoya glided up to sit by Rashid's knee. "Hi, Abbu!" 

He placed a hand on her head. 

     "Khush raho," he whispered.

     Rashid reached his other hand out to Asad who took it and knelt on his other side. "Abbu, aap theek hain?" 

     "Tum dono ko dekh liya, now, I'm fine." Rashid thought he would cry inconsolably and not be able to look into Zoya's face. But he found that he couldn't look away from her face. 

     He took Zoya's hand in his. "Terrible things happened eighteen years ago. I was responsible for giving you so much pain and taking away so much." He squeezed her hand and looked at Asad to grip his hand firmly too. "But Allah brought you two together for a higher purpose—I'm sure, it was to make everything that we did wrong, right." Rashid's hands slid up to cup their cheeks. "I know that you both have forgiven me even though I am not deserving of it. It'll take me much longer to forgive myself." 

There was a knock on the door and Ayaan breezed in dragging a petrified Humaira behind him by the hand. 

     "Hey guys!" He greeted them all, unable to contain his excitement. 

     Zoya grinned too. "Don't worry Abbu. Take as long as you want. In fact, Humaira would love to give you company. You both can start a club and have annual competitions: Kaun Karega Khud Ko Kum Maaf!" 

Humaira gasped while Ayaan cracked up. Shireen glanced at Rashid nervously as Asad nodded his head in benign approval. 

     Zoya surged up to put her hands on her waist and announce: "And only the loser of this competition gets to hold my baby!" 

     "NO!" Rashid and Humaira shouted in dismay. 

Bad Bi started it all. She laughed and snorted till tears rolled down her face.

There were more tears; but far fewer than they'd all imagined. Because the smiles and laughs had been waiting for far too long to stay dormant any more. They burst through, giddily slicing the layers of regret and gloom. 

Nuzzhat peeped in from the open door to join in the celebration. Her sisters and Jeejus spilled into the room too.

     Omar held up his phone. "So should I call for the ambulance, or pizza?" 

     "Pizza!" Zoya and Ayaan yelled, high-fiving.

The pizzas were promptly ordered despite the moms' threats and pleas not to because there was more than enough homemade food. Badi Bi led Zoya and Asad away to ply her with Zam Zam water after Quran verses were invoked and multiple kala tikas applied to ward off kambakht buri nazars.

     "Ek baar humein woh heartbeat ka audio phirse suna do, please," Rashid begged Asad. He had craved that sound and punished himself all these days feeling undeserving of such benediction.

Humaira looked at Ayaan remembering the last time they'd heard the baby's heartbeat together. They'd fought over their wishes and hopes for the baby. It had been just the night before that grisly"-

He gripped her hand tightly. 

Asad played the audio to a rapt audience as Humaira's other hand crept up to cup her sister's stomach. Zoya's hand came to rest on hers.

Humaira felt invincible ... unstoppable; she had her lifelines with her now.

     Ayaan grinned. "Fine!" he said in her ear. "She'll be an Olympian gold medalist for India! Happy?" 

     She laughed into his face. "Very! Though now I'm certain that after a long career as an Olympian, she could well be the next Pope!"

 

 

 

  


Song in title:

Aaja Nachle (2007): "O Re Piya"


	102. Tu Jo Muskaye, Tu Jo Sharmaye, Jaise Mera Hai Khuda Jhoomta

 

 

Of course it turned into a party once the music started up and the games and dancing began. The sofas and tables were pushed back for an impromptu revival of the sibling dance performances from all the mehendi and sangeet functions of the past. Shoes were kicked up and off, bawdy jokes shared and shushed at. 

The family was in a hurry to stamp out the grief and grab on to the cheer—it could have been Eid, birthdays and the new year's celebration all rolled into one.

     In each other's arms, slow-dancing to "Tujh mein rab dikhta hai," an unembarrassed Asad bent his head to whisper in Zoya's ear: "Jeeju and Abbu are talking. Looks intense."

A year ago, he wouldn't be caught dead slow-dancing with a woman in front of his family. In front of his sisters! The parents? But now? It became harder and harder to pry Zoya out of his arms.

     She swayed lightly with her eyes closed in contentment and arms around his neck. "Let them. It's all good. I'm done worrying about anyone finding out the truth any more." 

     Asad brushed his lips against her forehead. "True." She was right. It was all good.

     She giggled softly and tilted her head back to look into his face, "remember when all this started? You were so serious on our Mehendi night." Zoya put on a mock-serious expression. " 'It's about us. My truth, your truth, our truth!' "

     Asad smiled. "Yeah, I remember. I had talked to Abbu and Jeeju that day and some crazy mind-melt happened as I connected the dots from eighteen years ago. It was too much of a coincidence. And I was terrified of losing you that night." His arms tightened around her.

She grinned up at him.

     "You know, Abbu's right. Allah must have brought us together for a reason. And neither you, nor I could do much to stop the head-on collision that was meant to be! Your fears then, my own fears more recently, must be just a reminder to hold on tight to each other and never let go." 

     Asad looked down into her face. "And never hide our fears from one another." He thumbed her nose, "You know, you can be quite poetic when you're not reciting your world-famous shayari!"

     "Mr. Khan! Don't forget it was my world-famous shayari that got you to fall in love with me!" 

     "Oh really!" he snorted. "Bahut khushfehmi hai aapko. Let me assure you: it definitely wasn't the shayari!"

     Zoya pouted prettily. "Then? It was this dimple, right?"

     A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Getting warmer."

     "My karate then!" 

     Asad laughed and wrapped her tighter in his embrace. "Your grand delusions about your karate, you mean? No, I'm denying it if you tell anyone, but Mrs. Khan, it was that world-class ass."

     Zoya laughed too. "I knew it! Aap shakal se hi lecherous dikhte hain! I totally called it when we met the second time."

     "Third time." 

     She slapped his shoulder. "It was the second time when you ran me over and a cartload of flowers fell on me! Pregnant women lose their memory, not their besotted husbands!" 

     "My memory is razor-sharp no matter how besotted I might be. I meant that I saw you for the third time, then. I'd already seen you at the Dargah, remember."

     "Hmm," Zoya conceded as she rested her head against his shoulder. She loved to re-hear about the first time he'd seen her.

         "Say it Mr. Khan," she'd tease him often. "It was love at first sight."       

          He would always blush at that and then quickly add: "but not at the second, third and fourth sight!"

         That would always earn him an angry, "Allah Miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan!"

         "You are what's wrong with me, Mrs. Khan," he'd murmur and be rewarded with that perfectly smug dimple.

Asad knew she was tiring from staying up on her feet for so long. His crazed siblings had insisted on playing "tuney mari entriyaan" at least three times, and Mrs. Khan had danced breathlessly all those three times. When "Galiyaan" and "Samjhawaan" had come on, she'd dragged him in too.

     "You have to! I love this song!" she'd say with each new song that came on.

He was unable to say no. Why would he? It gave him the perfectly legitimate excuse to hold her.

     Asad bumped his nose against hers, "you know, may be it was that ridiculous pepper spray goddess that I fell for. But everything's all right now, Mrs. Khan. And, Allah Miyan knows it too. Chaliye, let's get you seated and put your feet up." Asad looked down at her feet in high heels—her French-tipped toes twinkled at him. "If we were home, I'd give you a foot rub." 

She dimpled up at him for that. She loved the foot rubs that turned into foreplay very quickly. That first slow pinch of her tootsies and her head would fall back as she'd slowly go melty-crazy. 

     "Why do you even have to wear heels?" Asad muttered not happy with the soreness they led to later. 

     "Because they make my feet look sexy! Jeez, why do you think? Pretty soon my ankles will get fat so there's a very small window of cuteness remaining."

     "Even fat, your feet will be cute," Asad drawled, smitten.

     "Aww, Mr. Khan, you were raised right! But don't ever call me fat again!" 

     His eyes slitted. "Only if you wear these heels when we make love tonight ... and nothing else!"

Zoya hissed. She let her hair fall over her face to hide her blush as Asad led her to one of the sofas on the balcony.

     "That's the only reason I wear them, Mr. Khan," she breathed in his ear.

It was his turn to hiss and make her melt.

  

Anwar and Rashid had met awkwardly tonight. A hand on his mouth to cover up the quivering of his lips, Rashid broke the silence first. He had to clear his throat several times. But looking at Asad and Zoya swaying in each other's arms had given him the much-needed strength.

     "Anwar Saheb, I don't know how you can even bear to be in my house and not want to strangle me for what I did to Zoya. Main ta-umr aapka gunehgaar rahunga." 

Anwar's eyes prickled. Sometimes just one penitent word said with the right inflection washed away years of resentment. They knew all the grisly truths now. All those truths that Zoya had been yearning for all these years ... seeking a desperate connection to her elusive past. 

Thank god, it was all behind them now! 

He too looked at Zoya and Asad in the dimmed lighting and felt at peace. Anwar had seen true grace through these two, and nothing else mattered any more. 

     "Rashid Saheb, I don't know what unspeakable horrors took place here years ago. That day in the factory I could have burned everything down. But when I look at Zoya now and see how happy she is ... when I see how much Asad truly loves her, it makes me want to forget every terrible thing that happened eighteen years ago." 

     Rashid smiled in gratitude. "Zoya is a breath of fresh air we desperately needed because we were slowly suffocating to death. She brought me closer to my son. Thank you for her. And thank you for accepting us despite—" Rashid couldn't stop himself. "That day at the factory I wished I had died when I found out ... I wished I could saw my hands off for what I did to her." 

Anwar placed a hand on his arm to prevent him from further incriminating and torturing himself.

     "No, no, it's OK. But I've never felt so selfish in my life, Anwar Saheb. I still wanted to stay alive to see our grandchild, to hold our grandson or granddaughter in these very hands." He looked down at his hands in revulsion. "These hands that have blood on them."

Anwar patted his shoulder in silence. No words or platitudes could help Rashid right now. He had to find his own peace ... at his own pace. But yes, seeing Zoya and Asad together would get him there sooner. And once the baby came ... there would be no looking back.

 

Asad had taken off his suit jacket for her to shrug into to keep the cold at bay. Feet up on the couch, Zoya watched him and the guys bent over the barbecue grilling food and taking requests. Funny, the smell of fish or frying onions no longer sent her flying to the bathroom to hug her porcelain buddy. 

People were right about the second trimester!

Humaira came and crashed next to her. She massaged Zoya's back knowing that her lower back got a little sore these days. Soon Najma and Nikhat cozied up with them too. Nuzzhat brought over a soft blanket and they all snuggled under it. 

     Najma was similarly enchanted by the sight of the guys at the grill. "Wow, who'd have thought that we'd be sitting and the men would be cooking!"

     "I know," Nikhat mused. "I've never seen Abbu in the kitchen." 

Najma's smile slipped and Zoya held her hand quietly. Humaira was going to agree with Nikhat Baaji, but then she realized how Najma and her Aapi must have felt after hearing that. They didn't have their Abbus living with them, let alone have the luxiry to complain about them being absent from the kitchen.

     "It's our generation, guys! We're faster, better and smarter!" she said fervently. It was true after all, and it was a pleasure to see both Aapi and Najma beam.

Zoya laughed to shake off the momentary gloom.

     "Girls don't get too comfortable with this sight. They really don't cook in the kitchen. It's the occasional outdoor barbecue that makes them crack open the aprons and the grilling tongs! It's manlier!"

     "After the women have spent hours in the kitchen marinating stuff and making the chutneys and chopping up the garnishes, right Bhabhi?" Nuzzhat snorted. 

     "Hey, that's not fair," Anwar interjected as he sat down near them. "Zoya you know I'm handy in the kitchen too!"

     "Sorry, sorry, yes Jeeju you're right. My bad. Girls, some men do work in the kitchen as well! Jeeju's kababs and biryani are the best!"

Anwar beamed.

     "But Jeeju, the mess you leave the kitchen in? Uska kya?"

     "Arre, you have to make them clean that too," Feroze's mom added as she plonked herself down to join in some male-bashing too.

     "Naz aunty, both my Jeejus are excellent at this stuff. You and Hana aunty did good!" Nuzzhat gushed.

     "Oh yes, we had to make sure that our husband's bad training by their moms was not passed on! They don't come out like this from a box! Train karna padta hai! And boys just need to know how to cook. It's the 21st century after all." 

     "Seriously, right! I wish Ammi had done that with Ayaan Bhaijaan." Nuzzhat raised her voice dramatically. "But no, he was only born to eat!"

     "Hey, I heard that!" Ayaan shouted. "And with so many good cooks, you need someone to appreciate all the good food—woh mera kaam hai! You guys should be paying me! After all I'm providing the entertainment!" And he strummed his guitar with a flourish. "Besides, Bhaijaan doesn't cook either!" Ayaan retorted.

Asad slapped him upside his head and pointed to the chicken legs he was grilling.

     Zoya wagged her finger at her favorite devar. "He's making an effort though. Just this morning your Bhaijaan made bread and jam for me!" She didn't miss Asad blush and duck his head. 

     "So Raaburt, looks like you're the only useless male left standing!"

     Nuzzhat clasped Humaira's hand. "Humaira Baaji, you've got your work cut out for you!"

     "But Nuzzhat," Naz winked at the others. The girls giggled. "I've trained both my sons to be experts in cooking and cleaning, not just Feroze!" 

     "That's great aunty!" Nuzzhat was smart enough to re-play this game as a seasoned pro. "Your other bahu will be eternally grateful too! But I'm sure you taught your sons to cook so that your serial wali bahus wouldn't poison you like a typical soap saas deserves!"

     "Nuzzhat!" Nikhat yelped, horrified. "How can you talk like that to Ammi? Say sorry right now!"

But Naz was laughing too hard and waved away all apologies. She loved locking horns with Nuzzhat who gave back as good as she got. Since Feroze's wedding she'd been ribbing the girl non-stop by pairing her up with Faiz at every meeting. The first time Nuzzhat had turned red and run. But ever since, she'd stood her ground, stuck out a hip and sassed her aunty right back.

And Naz loved it!

Nikhat was the sweetest thing, and just the perfect angel for her Feroze. But Nuzzhat"? Nuzzhat was a firecracker. She'd be perfect for her Faiz. If only she could convince this girl though. She was turning out to be a hard nut to crack. But no one could stop Naz from getting what she wanted. It wasn't a matter of 'if,' it was just a matter of 'when.' She would let Nuzzhat and Faiz think that she'd given up on ever seeing them together. And just when they relaxed their guard, Bam! she'd bulldoze her way right through. 

Idiots! Mujh se punga lete hain. 

As Hana joined them all in her shawl, she saw the glint in her sister's eye and sighed. Ya Allah, here we go again!

She grinned up fondly at her son as he brought over a platter of sizzling goodies for everyone to dig into.

     "Yum!" Zoya slurped. "Omar, this is to die for!"

Her cohorts heartily agreed. 

     "Hey girls, go easy will ya!" Omar joked. "We're not robots at an assembly line you know!" 

     "Omar, shut up and get us more chutney," his aunt ordered.

     "Ji Khala!" he answered obediently as the girls giggled. They had never seen anyone shut up Omar so effectively.

Nuzzhat loved Naz aunty—she was so badass! If only she didn't keep bringing up Faiz each time. It was beyond embarrassing. Her Ammi would get starry-eyed and Faiz would wink at her, unashamed. If these guys didn't shape up soon she'd have to sic Asad Bhaijaan on all of them. As it is she was sick of Ammi constantly telling her to go get her brows done or to start wearing contact lenses. Really? When she wanted contacts in the twelfth grade, everyone told her to stick to wearing glasses—don't look too pretty or you'll attract unwanted male attention—was the typical Indian logic. But now that there was an eligible bachelor within a five-mile radius, Bam! everyone was giving her beauty tips!

Incredibly foolish!

  

Dilshad and Zoya cried after seeing Omar and Najma off at the airport the following morning. On the way back Asad tried his best to cheer them up.

     "They'll be back for Ayaan and Humaira's nikaah," he reminded them for the third time. 

     "But Najma will miss out on all the dance practices and shopping!" Zoya pouted tearfully. 

     "I thought you were going to skype her and teach her all the steps." 

     Zoya frowned at him. "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan! Ammi and I want to be miserable right now, so stop trying to cheer us up. We want to wallow and feel sorry for ourselves"it's our party and we'll cry if we want to! Don't rain on our parade, right Ammi?"

     Dilshad smiled. "Yes Asad. I can't be expected to bounce back twenty minutes after my daughter's departure. I need to miss her a little longer." 

     "See?" Zoya stuck her tongue out at Asad. 

He shook his head. This didn't make sense to him at all. All his life he had rushed to make things right for his mother, not letting a single tear of hers fall to the ground. Seeing her wallow in grief was against his life principle. And yet Ammi had actually smiled when Zoya agreed with her about wanting to feel sorry for themselves? What alternative universe was this where you wanted to prolong the gloom?

But looking at Zoya gave him his answer.

She covered his hand on the gearshift. She knew he was thinking of Najma too and her departure for the US much later. She knew too that he was valiantly covering up and trying to get them to smile instead. 

Her Akdu was a total softy! 

     After they'd dropped Dilshad off at home, Zoya leaned over to peck his cheek. "I know you miss her too. It's OK to feel miserable, Mr. Khan," she whispered. 

     "Girls shouldn't get married and move so far away from their families," he muttered mutinously. 

     Zoya's eyes teared up again. "But it's OK if they do and they're deliriously happy, right?" 

     "Aw baby I didn't mean that!" Asad said in belated remorse. She had left her family far behind for him too. He covered her hand this time and lifted it to his lips. "Their husbands better make up for it by keeping them deliriously happy! It's their lifelong responsibility!"

Zoya felt too overwrought to respond with a sassy comeback.

     But she nearly burst into tears when Asad leaned over and whispered, "thank you loving my family even more than me!"

     "My family too, remember?" and he couldn't resist kissing her.

     "Are you ready to go?" He asked with concern a few minutes later.

     Zoya sighed and leaned back in the carseat. "As ready as I'll ever be. Let's do this." 

Asad started the car and pulled out from the driveway.

They were headed to the hospital where the doctors were doing some final tests on Raziya. If she didn't show any response, the family would have to make a painful decision ... 

Both Siddiqui and Humaira had told her to stay away; she didn't need to be here. But Zoya had insisted and Asad hadn't protested the least bit. She wanted to be there for Humaira and her Abbu, and he just wanted to be there for her—it was as simple as that. So what if a meeting had to be rescheduled. This was more important.

Everyone else was here too. Wild horses wouldn't have kept Ayaan away. Nuzzhat and Nikhat were present with Feroze in tow. 

They all talked in scared whispers. 

When the doctor came out of the room they knew that the news wasn't good. Hearts heavy, they streamed into the room to see a distraught Humaira weeping in Ayaan's arms. Slouched in the chair, Siddiqui Saheb looked nerveless and crushed. Zoya dashed to hold him from the back and massage his shoulders. 

     "Abbu!" She pressed her cheek to his head. 

     He rose to hug Zoya and offer her his chair. "Maybe this is the right thing to do," he whispered in her hair. "It'll give us closure. She took away too much. Shayad Allah ko yahi manzoor hai." 

     "No Abbu, don't say that!" Zoya sobbed. "I would never want Humaira to be motherless. And Aunty saved my life many times. I wish we didn't have to do this. I wish we could be as happy as we were before." 

The nurse came in and Humaira fell into Zoya's arms. She thought she'd be ready to let go. My Ammi for yours, she'd pledged to herself. But now her hands shook. She wouldn't be able to do it. She wanted her Ammi to be alive, to see her nikaah.

But suddenly Humaria felt ashamed for being so selfish; she should be lashed for her thought-crimes! Wouldn't Aapi have wanted her Ammi to be at her nikaah? And hadn't her mother deprived Aapi of all those joys ... 

The nurse tried to say something. Asad intercepted and herded her away. Zoya watched him nod grimly as the nurse spoke softly. They heard snatches of abstract words: "hypothermia ... bradycardia ..."

Asad returned to gently disengage Zoya and Humaira, and led them to Raziya's bedside.

     Humaira clung to his arm. "Jeeju, no!" she whimpered. 

     "Shh," he soothed her. "Everything will be OK, trust me," Asad said as he sat her down on the bed. He pulled up Siddiqui Saheb's chair for Zoya to sit on.

     "Humaira, talk to her." Asad urged his sister-law.

Zoya took the cue from him and took Raziya's hand and put it in Humaira's. She covered their joined hands with her own. 

     "Humaira, maybe she needs to hear your voice. She needs to hear you forgive her," Zoya cajoled her.

Ayaan gripped Humaira's other hand and she leaned into him, still weeping.

      Ayaan looked at Zoya, his own eyes moist. "She thinks that by forgiving her Ammi she's being disloyal to you," he interpreted Humaira's distress in a low voice. 

     "No, Humaira!" Zoya gasped. "Oh my god, no! I can't bear to see you tear yourself in two like this. You have to let go. For me, please."

Humaira shook her head and continued to cry. She pulled her hand from her mother's and hid her face in her hands. 

Zoya gripped Raziya's hand tight in both of hers. It felt dry and limp. She massaged it into warmth and placed it on her swelling belly. Siddiqui pressed his hand on her shoulder. 

Asad smiled.

     Zoya's soft voice rose up and charged the room. "Aunty, you saved my baby. Thank you."

Humaira cried out and tried to yank Raziya's hand away from Zoya. But Zoya held firm and grabbed Humaira's hand to cup over her mother's. 

Humaira went still; she stopped struggling. 

     Zoya continued, "Aunty I know you watched over me. Eighteen years ago you did it all for Humaira. But this time you did it for me. I know it." Zoya fingered the taawiz at her throat with her other hand. "You protected me and the baby as if we were your own."

     Humaira was weeping hysterically and slowly slid to the floor by Zoya's knee. "Aapi," she sobbed. 

     Zoya looked down at Humaira through her tears. "I want to forget what happened eighteen years ago. But you're holding on to it too tight. I want to remember your mother's more recent actions—a madwoman would have killed us all, but your mother stepped in front of us like a raging lioness protecting her cubs. She wanted us to tell you the truth, Humaira! But Mr. Khan and I didn't want everyone to know ... we didn't want you to know. She kept telling us that you all needed to know because coming from Tanveer's mouth it would be so much worse. But—" 

She now understood Asad's point about girls knowing their histories to be masters of their destinies. She herself had come to India seeking the truth of her own history. Then why hadn't they told Humai—? 

     "I know we were wrong to keep the truth from you. I wish we had listened to your Ammi then ... She even wanted us to tell the police, to go to jail for her crimes ... But we just wanted to protect you." Zoya tucked a finger under Humaira's chin nudging her to look up at her. "She surrendered you to me saying that you are my baby too. That my blood runs through you now."

Ayaan knelt to hug Humaira who still shook from the sobs.

     Zoya blindly reached for Asad's hand. "Mr. Khan," she whispered. "Play the audio of the baby's heartbeat."

And the baby's heartbeat boomed and bounced in the room. 

It chirruped and chugged. 

It galloped to taunt the artificial beeps from the ECG machine urging them to catch up and beat in sync.

     Zoya cupped Humaira's cheek, "you hear that?" Humaira nodded. "Your mom made that happen. Forgive her." Zoya pleaded.

     "Ammi!" Humaira cried out finally letting her restless demons go. 

     Her hand tightened on Zoya's stomach over her mother's. "Thank you for looking out for Aapi's baby. Thank you for this sound ... Ammi!" Humaira paused, listening intently to the merry rat-tat-tatting of the baby's heart.

Zoya bent to hug her in gratitude as she waited. 

Her face fell and lower lip stuck out when nothing happened. No quickened beeps from the ECG machine, no happy spikes on the monitor ... 

She really wanted to believe in the miracle of forgiveness and the power of the baby's heart rate. Zoya was sure that Asad believed the same and that is why he had engineered this bedside tableau.

The baby's heartbeat faded.

     "Mr. Khan, play it again," Zoya whispered.

She wanted to hear her child's brash hope and embryonic sass once again. 

Zoya closed her eyes to let the buoyant drumbeats percuss through her being as Asad replayed the audio. He held her hand and lifted it to his lips. That's when she felt a fleeting flutter. 

A twitch ... a jerk ... and a spasming on her stomach.

Zoya giggled.

She felt Asad's lips curl knowingly in the palm of her hand. 

 

As they drove back home, Zoya dozed next to him. It was as if performing miracles was too draining for her and the baby. Asad grinned, immensely proud of his tiny family. But if word spread of their healing powers, he'd have to start selling tickets!

     She woke up blearily when he lifted her in his arms to carry her inside. "Mr. Khan, I can walk! And the doctor told you, no heavy lifting!" 

     "I thought you weren't fat," he joked.

     She was drowsy, not dead. Zoya yanked his ear, "I'm not!" 

He shushed her as he rang the doorbell and whisked her to their room once Dilshad let them in.

     Tucking her in, Asad thumbed her lips. "Rest now. When I come back, I might have a surprise for you."

     She resisted the cloak of sleep even as it tried to overpower her. "What? When?"

     "Later. Now get your beauty sleep." 

     "I don't need any beauty sleep," she mumbled even as she turned over and curled up to be more cozy in the bed. Dobby glided up to sniff her nose and give her a onceover, and then went back to dozing, satisfied with his feline diagnosis.

     "Asad?" Zoya called out softly as he was about to leave.

     "Hmm?" 

     "Thank you for taking care of my family." 

     She was already asleep by the time he whispered, "hey, my family too, remember?"

  

     "Did everything go OK? How's Raziya Bi?" Dilshad asked him as Asad closed the bedroom door softly behind him.

     He grinned. "They are doing more brain scans and EEGs but I think she's going to be fine. Has your bahu's jadoo ever failed before?"  

Dilshad laughed in relief and pride.

     She framed his face in her hands. "I've never doubted her for a second! But you on the other hand? Always doubting. Twenty four-seven, you were nothing but rude and Akdu to her! Woh bhi, for months! Pata hai, Zoya used to say, 'Phuphi, Mr. Khan has two factory-installed settings: mujh par dahadte hain, ya gurrate hain.' "

Asad had the grace to blush. He certainly wasn't going to tell his mother that he had already fallen for Phuphi's Ms. Farooqui—hook, line and sinker—and that most of the dahadna and gurrana was just camouflage. 

Though there were those hundreds of times when he was genuinely furious. 

Asad paused, pensive ... Zoya was right. 

He did have a bitterly volatile temper those days. 

And although he hadn't been able to scare or silence her then, it had scared her silent now, after he'd said that terrible word— 

     "Har waqt uss bechari ke peeche pade rehte thay tum!" Dilshad continued to reminisce fondly.

     "Ammi—!"

     "I know, I know," Dilshad smirked knowingly holding up her hands. She repeated his pet phrase from those days: "Woh bechari nahin hain!" Dilshad continued to smile as she walked him out to the main door. "I still remember when both of you came to me individually, to advise me that the other person needed a psychiatrist because of a serious mental disorder! Yaad hai?"

He did remember that.

Asad laughed, not the least bit embarrassed. It was around the same time when Zoya had decided that he was depressed and even barged into his room with therapeutic packets of green tea and dark chocolate. The woman's love for taking on pity projects and "fixing" things was legendary ... and obviously hard-wired into her DNA.

     "Aap ro rahen hain?" she had asked seeing him wipe his face with a towel.

Now which reasonable person would not lose their temper at such insane deductions and interruptions?

Yes, they both needed therapy! Or at least he did, for his anger management. 

He grinned; turns out, Ms. Farooqui was the best therapy the doctor could have ordered!

 

     "Aapi, the doctors are saying that Ammi's showing signs of cognitive recovery. She squeezed my hand like she squeezed yours this afternoon!" Humaira gushed over the phone to Zoya.

     "That's awesome!" Zoya replied. "I'm so happy for you! But it's late. Why haven't you come home as yet?" 

     "That's why I called. I'm spending the night here so Abbu can go home tonight." 

Zoya sighed as she hung up. She was getting bored. Asad was working late again and Najma wasn't here. Dilshad had turned in for the night after an early dinner and so had Jeeju who had work emails to wade through. 

She'd already chatted with Aapi in New York. 

Now what? She didn't feel like working on the college curriculum design or the apps that she was fine-tuning.

     "I'm missing you," Zoya texted Asad. "This is turning out to be a lousy surprise, Mr. Khan!" 

She heard the car in the driveway and ran to get the door. Her complaints died on her lips. She was going to dump her boredom and irritation on him, but Asad looked beat.

     "Hi!" Zoya smiled at him before hugging him. 

     Asad sighed, breathing in her scent. "Mmm" he hummed. "God, I needed this so bad." 

     "So late!" she couldn't resist pouting even as she nuzzled the crook of his neck.

     "I almost got out an hour ago but—" 

     "But stuff came up." 

     "Hmm," he rumbled. 

     "I could give you a massage after dinner?" Zoya suggested as she ran her hands over his shoulders feeling for kinks and knots at the base of his neck. 

     "No, surprise after dinner!" Asad called out over his shoulder as he went to freshen up. 

     "It can wait," his dutiful wife responded primly but he waved her words away. She was dying of curiosity and he knew it.

 

     "Zoya, you didn't have to wait for me! You have to eat at the right time." Asad chided her as they sat down to eat. 

     "I had salad and dal with Ammi and Jeeju. You know I'm not the kind of person to starve myself waiting for her husband!" she joked.  

     "Of course," he muttered. "What was I thinking?"

     "Aha! So you did want me to wait for you and starve myself!" 

Asad slapped his forehead. Damned if you do, and damned if you don't!

     "No, I like your way better. Eat a little with them, and then more with me."

     Zoya beamed at him. "Aww, tell me you'll like my ways even twenty years from now!" 

     "Twenty years from now, I probably won't have anything left to say. I'll be a mute joru ka ghulam ... an aging Doberman on a leash!"

     "Mr. Khan!"

But her eyes glittered and she giggled. 

     "What?" Asad asked warily; his own eyes narrowed. 

     "Nothing. I'm just imagining you in a dog collar and on my leash ... and nothing else!"

     "Zoya!" 

     "Down, boy!"

     "And what are you wearing in this fantasy?" Her joru ka ghulam asked, intrigued by the possibilities of this cosplay. 

     Zoya walked up behind his chair and leaned in to breathe into his ear, "A little leather ... " She nipped his ear before whispering, "and a lotta ... thigh-high ... sky-high ... fuck-me boots!" 

He spluttered and groaned, but then Asad's eyes popped wide open in alarm.

     "And where are the kids during all this?" 

     Zoya frowned at him for ruining the moment. "They're either away at college, or in the US with their Najma Phuphi, sheesh!"

  

Asad had coaxed her to sit in the backyard to await her surprise. She was bursting at the seams imagining all kinds of spicy and saucy delights. But her face creased into a smile when Asad tapped her shoulder and slid in a plate under her nose.

     "Blueberry cheesecake!" Zoya yelped in delight. 

     She couldn't resist: "Arz kiya hai!"

A year ago, any time he heard this preface to her disastrous shayari, he would groan and roll his eyes or grind his teeth. 

Funny, how now it no longer grated on his nerves. In fact, a part of him was always curious to find out how she would mangle good poetry this time around. 

She didn't disappoint him!

          "Kabhi shola, kabhi shabnam, 

          Kabhi real, kabhi fake!

          Kabhi hasaayen, kabhi rulayen, 

          Aur kabhi khilayen yeh blueberry cheesecake!"

     "Babe, nothing's fake, it's all real! But I know you were craving cheesecake since last week, so I thought I'd surprise you."

     Mouth full, eyes big as saucers, Zoya stared at him. She swallowed audibly. "This is the surprise?"

     Asad cocked his head to the side, "you don't like it?" 

Her gaze lowered. She took another bite of the cheesecake.

     "I love it." Zoya said softly. 

     "But you thought there'd be something more, something grander, possibly more dramatic and filmy?" 

     "Umm ... voh ... actually ..." At his suppressed snort she retorted, "well yeah, kinda!" 

     "I think I've spoiled you too much," Asad muttered with his arms crossed across his chest. 

     Zoya put the plate down on a side table and her fists on her waist, "yes Mr. Khan, it looks like you might have!"

He glared at her.

     "Aww, poor baby." She pulled his arm loose and pushed Asad down on the couch. Climbing into his lap, she spooned a bite of the cheesecake into his reluctant mouth. 

     "No matter how small or big your surprises, I'll always love them. But I will admit it, I was a teeny-weeny bit disappointed. You really have spoiled me rotten, you know? It's all your fault!"

Before he could open his mouth and utter another word, she dipped a finger in the cheesecake and popped the sinful confectionery into his mouth. He sucked her finger and she felt a mighty, melty tug and clench between her legs. Zoya returned the favor with a slow kiss guaranteed to burn him up.

When he could catch his breath Asad pressed his forehead against hers.

     He smiled and nodded when she asked: "please tell me there's more where this cheesecake came from so that we can role-play tonight?"

     Asad kissed her nose. "What are we playing tonight?"

     "The pastry chef and customer get locked in the bakery overnight."

     He waggled his brows, "so, creampie tonight?"

     She gasped. "Asad you are so bad!" Zoya covered her flaming face, ready to flee inside.

     Laughing, he tugged her hands off. "Look at me." 

She shook her head no.

     "Please," he begged and when she raised her eyes to his, Zoya's jaw dropped. 

Asad was on his knee, sporting a cheeky smile and holding up a ring.

     "You couldn't possibly think that it'd just be the cheesecake! I have a reputation to uphold after all!"

     "But, what is this? Why?" Zoya asked through suddenly prickling eyes. So not fair! He could make her blush like a schoolgirl one second and turn her into a soppy mess the other. 

     Asad took her hand in his and kissed her bare ring finger. "No way are you wandering around without my ring on your finger! You're mine, and I want the world to know it too."

     "Your bun in the oven doesn't count?" Zoya sassed. 

Asad gazed long at her through hooded eyes and she blushed again at the sexed-up, mixed-up bakery metaphors. 

He ran a knuckle along her cheek and jaw.

     "Mrs. Khan, I can't believe that blueberry cheesecake would have you blushing like a bride. I should bring some home more often!"

     "Maybe you should," she said softly, her eyes luminous.

He showed her the inscription on the ring: Qubool hai. The two "o's" intertwined like wedding rings. 

     "Asad," Zoya sighed and melted into him. "You're going to make me cry all over again!" 

     He lifted her face to suck her tears away, "since you're already crying, how about I sneak in wish #4 on that husband's to-do list of yours?" 

Asad turned her around and covered her eyes.

She looked up at the sky when he removed his hand. 

It was good enough for her that he remembered the wish list. But of course, her Jahanpanah didn't do things half-way. He had to top his own reputation of being the Jahanpanah of surprises!

     "I was a silly girl who knew nothing when I made that list. Who needs the moon, I got you!" Zoya sniffed when he slipped the ring on her finger. "Because when it was dark, you always carried the sun in your hand for me' "

He lifted her up and carried her to their room.

 

     Later that night, smack dab in the middle of their bakery tryst, when love-suffused sugared fantasies were being fulfilled and passion-whipped caramelized promises being kept, Asad yanked her head back by her hair to breathe roughly into her ear: "no way are the kids going to the US without us!"

His tongue swirled her glazed skin.

     "Asaaddd!" she clamped tightly around him and came.

 

 

Song in Title:

Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi (2008): "Tujh Mein Rab Dikhta Hai"


	103. Chand Chhupa Badal Mein, Sharma Ke Meri Jaana, Seene Se Lag Ja Tu, Bal Kha Ke Meri Jaana

 

  

     "You know, they call it the honeymoon trimester," Zoya said as she traced circles on his chest.

     "Why? Because the nausea stopped?" Asad wondered as his thumb explored the small of her back.

     "That, and because ... umm ... I could be more sensitive in just the right places so ... sex'll more fun!"

     "More sensitive than usual?" he leered. 

     She blushed but retorted: "and more fun than usual!" 

     "Perfect!" Asad rolled her on her back and kissed her rounding stomach. "Do you feel any flutters? The book said the kicks might come around the fifth month. I can't wait."

     "Me neither!"

     He continued to rain soft kisses on her stomach. "It's not fair," he grumbled. Asad spoke directly to her stomach. "Why can't dads-to-be get to feel the baby grow and move too?"

     "Aw, honey ... as much as I'd like that, I love these 7 packs too much!" 

     Asad blew a raspberry on her stomach and she giggled at the tickle. "You, Mrs. Khan, are incorrigible! Mad-hatter, hard-core, super-bad, incorrigible!" 

     "And you love me more for it!"

     "True," Asad sighed in surrender.

Zoya couldn't resist running her fingers over the ring again or recall how he'd punked her just a little while ago.

     "Asad, when did you get this?" she asked, more serious now. 

     "I got it the day after ... you know, when we came back home from the hospital""

     "Asad, I'm so sorry!" she gasped, feeling terrible once again for shutting down on him for so many dark days. 

     He kissed her. "Don't be. I didn't understand the depths of your fears then. That's why I got the inscription done later. After we'd made up. Do you like it?"

     "I love it, it's beautiful!" She held her hand away to admire the ring. "And the inscription is M.A. Just perfect! You're getting really good at this surprise thingy, you know?"

     Asad kissed her finger over the ring. "I didn't want to give you the same ring that she'd ruined. I wanted this one to be a new start ... to mean something more special." 

     "To be our forever ring?" 

     Asad smiled in the dark as he settled back against his pillow. "Yes ... our forever ring ..."

     "With blueberries on top?"

He didn't say anything. 

     "Asad?" she whispered.

     No answering "hmm," just a soft and even breathing.

Aw! He'd fallen asleep, so knackered out was he from a long day of being her super hero—carrying the sun and getting the moon for her. She'd at least had an afternoon nap, which is why she was wide awake. 

Zoya slid out of bed, dressed, and softly crept to the living room with the iPad tucked under the arm. 

     "Shh, Daddy's sleeping" she shushed Dobby when he stretched and meowed in protest for being left behind.

She'd brought along the baby book that Aapi had sent and flipped through it now after fixing a cup of hot chocolate for herself. Dobby begged for some too so he got some warm milk—minus the chocolate. 

     "No chocolate for you, Mister!" she mock-scolded him. Zoya rapped his nose playfully, "it'll kill ya, ya know?" 

But Asad would kill her instead—she'd let the little furry moocher jump up on the counter—something she did on a regular basis behind the Jahanpanah's back. 

The baby book had got her started on her new project—or set of new projects. The pages on "All About Mom and Dad" had been fun to fill out with Asad in the quiet evenings after dinner. 

She ran her hand over his handwriting in the section describing her. 

She loved re-reading this part. 

     "Your Ammi will be your biggest fan, accomplice, co-conspirator, therapist, cheerleader and advocate. I'm jealous that you'll love her more than me because she is fun, spontaneous, and the goddess of eternal mischief. She'll make you laugh and smile for no reason ... I'm sure you both will conspire against me and break all the rules I set. You'll eat junk food and sneak in food on the bed. There'll be crumbs ... and then the ants will come ... and I'll yell. And you both will roll your eyes behind my back.

     "But I'm also sure that your friends will find her really 'cool' and 'chill' and will want to hang out at our house for just that reason. Why not? Our house will also be the headquarters of junk food and bad music.

     "P.S. Beware her shayari! (May be that'll keep your friends away.)

     "P.P.S. No matter what she says, she really does not know any karate. (Her so-called battle moves are a mish-mash of terrible action films.)

     "P.P.P.S. No jumping in the bed."

Zoya laughed. Like he'd ever be able to enforce that last one! 

She flipped through the book browsing through Asad's letters to the baby that she'd tucked in here. She re-read what she'd written about Asad under "All About Dad."  

     "Your Abbu is M.A.! I know he'll be your hero (he's mine too!). He's spoilt me rotten and I worry how terribly he may spoil you. You may turn out to be Akdu Ahmed Khan ka baap! I can't wait to meet you in person. We'll have so much fun even though your Abbu will try his best to be all stern and strict and do his military commander on crack routine. 

     "But the trick with him is to flash your dimple at him—he caves in like melted butter. You will have dimples, won't you? 

     "You better!

     "He'll teach you how to play cricket and the guitar, and paint your toenails if you're a girl—he makes the best pony tails already—you can thank me later! He'll make sure you eat healthy to make up for all the junk food I'll ply you with. But he'll make pizza for us for Sehri and crustless bread and jam sandwiches! Of course they'll be perfect.

     "Your Abbu will beat up all bad guys who try to hurt you—your Chachu calls him Mukka Ahmed Khan!' He'll chase away all monsters and nightmares, and read bedtime stories each night. He'll pluck the stars and the moon and the sun for you—he's had good practice. Again, you can thank me later. 

     "P.S. You'll break your Abbu's rules for sure—there'll be curfews and you'll be given time-outs and grounded for all kinds of offenses. But no matter what stunts you pull, or what trouble you get into, we will always, ALWAYS be there for you."

They both had teared up slightly as Zoya had written this. One day, maybe, they'd have some difficult conversations with their children about their own childhoods and those crushed feelings of growing up with absent fathers ... 

But for now it was enough to know that they could redo a fantasy childhood through their baby. 

Yes, this baby would be spoilt rotten, and not just by the multiple sets of doting grandparents. No, this child would be spoiled by parents craving to wipe out the daily childhood tears shed into forlorn pillows as their lips had moved soundlessly—begging for answers ... praying for impossible reunions. 

     "P.P.S. I hope you won't ever be afraid to confide in us. I can't wait to meet you!!! And hold you in my arms. I'm dying to see your tiny fist curled tight around your Abbu's finger," she'd added at the bottom of the page. 

Because she had run out of room on the page, Zoya had tucked in pieces of paper with additional notes. So ironic! Asad's side of the page looked so messy and hers so pristine ... 

She ran her hand over her stomach protectively as she read one of those notes now: 

     "P.P.S. Part II: We listen to your heartbeat everyday, whenever, and as often as we can. Your Dadu says that hearing it makes his world pure, and whole ... and right. Your Anwar Nanu says your heartbeat is our family's lifeblood ... the artery that squeezes America and India a little tighter together. Your Dadis and Nanis don't say much when they hear your heartbeat. But they just get this happy glimmer in their wet eyes as they hug themselves tight and I know they can't wait to get their hands on you."

Zoya yawned. It was contagious; Dobby joined in too.

When she crawled back into bed she snuggled up against her husband's back. She didn't know whose heartbeat she could hear pumping in her ears, but the steady rhythm lulled her into a deep sleep. 

She dreamt of a tiny dimpled fist clutched in Asad's firm hand. 

 

     "Tada!" With a flourish, Ayaan uncovered the dish he was holding.

The girls peered over his shoulders to see what all the fuss was about. 

All day long there had been a lot of harum-scarum boasts of a super surprise and how, once and for all, Ayaan, the master chef, was going to shut up all his critics. He still hadn't forgotten, nor forgiven, the estrogen-laced attack on him from a few nights ago. 

There was flurried back and forth between the kitchen and living room and the main door swung on its hinges each time servants were dispatched to the market for mysterious ingredients. 

     "Do we have nutmeg?" he yelled from the kitchen an hour ago. 

     "What's nutmeg?" Shireen wanted to know from the girls.

     Zoya tapped on her iPad. "umm, something called 'jaiphal' in Hindi."

     "Oh, voh! Second drawer mein rakha hai beta, next to the zafraan," a doting mom assisted from the sidelines.

Everyone was barred from entering the kitchen at Rashid's house and asked to assemble in the living room instead. Zoya and Humaira had been invited as guests of honor.

With every clatter and crash, Shireen had jumped up and down like a rewound Jack in the box.

     With every groan and curse she'd called out, "Ya Allahs," and "hayee mera bachcha" only a thousand times by now. 

Dadi sat placidly clicking and sliding prayer beads between her restless fingers. She wanted front row seats to the show that was unfolding—this was so much better than those soap operas on TV. But all the helter-skelter was also making her head spin a bit. 

Rashid watched too—soaking up the beams of merriment and balm of cheer. He wouldn't mind giving up another twenty years of his life ... for this.

     "Wow, Bhaijaan," Nuzzhat remarked as she looked over his shoulder. "That looks half-decent. What is it though? And is it supposed to crater in the middle like that?" 

     "Shut up, oye!" Ayaan barked. "Bandar kya jaane adrak ka swaad!"

     "Ayaan," Rashid scolded half-heartedly. "Stop calling your sister a bandar."

     "Sorry Abbu, I meant bandariya. My bad!"

     Nuzzhat elbowed him. "Yeah Abbu, only bandar Bhaijaan knows this adrak ka swaad, I bet," she snorted.

     "Nuzzhat!" Shireen scolded. "Stop bugging him. Bechara, my Ayaan!"

     "Please Ammi, khuda ke vaste, you know woh bechare nahin hain!" 

     "Chuppp!" Shireen's eyes blazed in her son's defense. "My baby, he worked so hard and you girls are being like some picky judges on a top chef show!" She looked at the dish from many angles. "But Ayaan, beta what is that?" 

     "Ammi, it's an apple pie! Mona Darling, I heard you say you were craving some."

     "Umm, yeah I did say that," she looked at the thing suspiciously and sniffed the air doing a mental facepalm. "It smells pretty good, Raabert. Though it looks kinda beat up. But I'm sure it tastes M.A.!" She announced with fake bravado when she saw his face fall.

     "Here then, have some!" Ayaan shoved a spoon into her hand.

Zoya speared the crust with a silent prayer and tried to scoop out the filling. It was just a little bit runny. She took a tentative bite. 

     "Hey! Not bad. Not bad at all!" 

Ayaan beamed.

The girls pounced on it too. But after their first bites they made faces.

     "Is this the famed apple pie that Americans go on about," Nikhat asked with dismay. 

     "Why's it so soupy?" Humaira asked. 

     "And lumpy!" Nuzzhat added.

Shireen frowned but wasn't brave enough to taste the pie herself.

     "Girls!" Zoya frowned too. "Stop being so judgemental OK? God, you guys are so mean!" 

Shireen nodded her head in vigorous agreement.

     "Ye—s, the filling is supposed to be firmer, but I love the crust! And Raabert you did awesome! The crust is the hardest thing to get so flaky. Thank you so much for doing this for me! You're the sweetest bandar I know. Even the bandar that kicked you in Agra would approve!" 

Everyone laughed.

Everyone knew that story as if they had been there themselves, such visual details had Zoya and Najma provided in the repeated retellings. Zoya still loved looking at the pictures Dilshad had taken right after that moment. It was that perfect moment permanently frozen in time when both she and Asad had forgotten their pain for a fraction of a second, and laughed, dil khol ke, at Ayaan's expense. 

Thank you, Raabert! 

Zoya took the pan from Ayaan's hands and plonked herself down on the dining table to satisfy her cravings for long-missed American food. When the other girls tried to get another bite she fended them off with her elbows.

     "Hey, I thought you guys didn't like it!" 

     "Zoya Bhabhi, if I'm to go to America in a few months, I need to understand the local cuisine. Feroze keeps sighing about pumpkin and apple pie too. Maybe after a few bites I'll develop a taste." 

     "Good answer," Zoya pronounced as she allowed Nikhat to share. But she glared at Nuzzhat and Humaira and wagged her fork at them for not being believers. 

     "Actually, the crust is pretty good ..." Nikhat said between bites.

Ayaan glowed and sat himself down to tuck into the pie too. Humaira and Nuzzhat's sheepish hands were slapped away. Though finally the chef of the day did relent to let them pick off his plate.

     " ... I'm not crazy about the goopy stuff though." Nikhat added and Ayaan tossed his hair back in annoyance.

     "Guys, you know what makes apple pie really good?" Zoya interrupted before any sibling battles could flare up. "A la mode! Raabert, please tell me you stocked up on vanilla ice cream!" 

And Wajid was dispatched yet again to the supermarket.

 

     "Humaira?"

Her voice was still weak.

Raziya had woken up expecting to battle live demons. Her memory had come gushing and spurting back and so had the horror and guilt. She had expected to open her eyes in some seedy jail hospital ward and find herself handcuffed to a battered bedrail. 

She did not expect to see Humaira by her side.

     "Ammi! How're you feeling?" Humaira feathered the hair away from her mother's face.

Raziya started to cry. Maybe she had passed on to an alternate world where she had committed no crimes ... Humaira still loved her ... and called her Ammi, instead of names.

     "Zoya?" Raziya seized her daughter's hand in terror. "Is Zoya OK?" 

     "Yes, thanks to you," Humaira said brightly. "She just left. Aapi got you those flowers. The balloons are for me. She brings new ones everyday even though I told her not to. But she says she likes to do it. And that it helps out the girl that she buys them from." 

She knew she was babbling. 

Humaira felt awkward. She knew she'd forgiven her Ammi. 

Mostly.

But a part of her still felt disloyal to Aapi. 

Only Ayaan could help her sort out this muddy muddledness. 

     "Maybe that's a good thing," he's said last evening before kissing her good night. "Maybe both you and your Ammi have to carry that guilt around with you—and that is to be your redemption." He'd taken her face in his hands. "And that's what makes me fall in love with you a little more every day. If you didn't feel just a pinch of guilt for what happened, even though you had nothing to do with it, you wouldn't have been you. You wouldn't have been Mona Darling's sister."

     Humaira's eyes had dripped. "Who are you, Ayaan? When did you become so deep and intense?"

     He'd grinned a lop-sided grin and kissed each quivering eyelid. "Maybe I grew up," he replied. 

     "Don't grow up too much, OK, " she beseeched. "I don't know how you can make something so terrible, sound so right. But at this point I'll take anything! Thank you for making it right," she's said impulsively before dragging his face down to kiss him. 

     "Humaira, I'm so sorry," Raziya whispered, breaking her daughter's reverie. 

     "Ammi, it's OK. Aapi told me everything and I'm slowly getting close to being at peace with it all. But it'll still take some time."

But it wasn't enough for Raziya. And she knew it too.

Her husband and daughter, and even Rashid, had each gone through a period of acute shame and guilty introspection, followed by hesitant self-forgiveness ... However Raziya's choices eighteen years ago had doomed her journey to be much longer.

And more painful.

She knew that she had done only part of the penance; and also that Zoya, Asad, and Dilshad had forgiven her too easily. But what about Ra—?

     "And Rashid? Tell me he's OK too?" she cried out. 

Her poor baby. Rashid, Badi Bi and Ayaan would probably never accept Humaira any more.

In the end, she had effectively ruined Humaira's life. 

     "Rashid Phupha is absolutely fine! He's at home now, recovering. I just saw him and he was trying his best to avoid eating the apple pie Ayaan made."

She smiled at the memory as her mind darted back to the afternoon's mirth. 

     "It must be all the medicines I'm taking," Phupha had guiltily apologized to an indignant Shireen. "That's why I've lost my sense of taste." 

     "You just met them?" Raziya begged for clarity and mercy. "They ... they are fine with you? They don't hate—?" 

     "No, they don't hate me, Ammi. I don't know what magic or miracle is at play here, but they've all accepted me even though everyone knows the truth about what happened when we were all kids ..."

Humaira paused. 

     A faraway look softened her eyes. "Ayaan says it's the power of our generation. The millenials rule, says Aapi ... and that as if in dying, Tanveer sucked away all the evil and bad that could have destroyed our families ..." 

Zoya had many pet theories and by now the girls just rolled their eyes and gripped their foreheads when she started off on her speculations—punctuated with newly-minted sound effects and fight scenarios.

     "Guys, it's like she had opened a portal to hell," she said one day about Tanveer. "And then when she died, Whoozzzt! Like a giant vacumn cleaner, all the negative stuff she brought with her got sucked away too. Awesome, no? And then the portal closed behind her, forever! KLANNNGGGT!"

Many a day she'd pout and huff in dismay and then clamber up on the bed to mime the battle moves she would have used.

     "If I hadn't been tied up that day, I'd have kicked her in the face. And then when she was moaning in pain I'd jump up and POW! Jam my elbow right up her fat nose. She'd be writhing in pain on the ground, and then like Akshay Kumar, I'd fold my knee behind me, power through another high kick, and KABLAAMMM! Crack her back. Her spine would be severed in two. She'd be the one in a wheelchair!"

     "Aapi! Stop it will you?" Humaira had to chime in one day. "The baby can hear everything, and you're having a little too much fun relishing this imaginary violence. If Jeeju hears you talk like this, he'll ban you from watching all your favorite action films!"

     "Nev—ver! What if the baby is like that Abhishek guy in the Hindu epic who couldn't fight back because he didn't hear the whole story?"

Nuzzhat had really slapped her own head then.

     "You mean Abhimanyu from the Mahabharat! Really, Zoya Bhabhi, and which mega-battle is your baby going to fight in?"

Fists on her waist, Zoya had glared at her sister and nanads as they all'd cracked up at that.

Humaira giggled behind her hand now. Aapi was too much!

     "Humaira?" Raziya called out. "Why are you zoning out like that, beta? Is everything really OK? Are you hiding something from me?"

     She gripped her mother's hand. "No Ammi, everything really IS all right. ... and you helped with that. Maybe that's why everybody still loves me ... " she whispered through stinging eyes.

     "Ya Allah! I wish I had died." Raziya cried. She didn't know that she she very nearly had. The diabetes, potential drug interactions, and ensuing complications hadn't helped with the healing process.

     "Ammi! Please don't say that. You saved Aapi's baby. Don't you want to see him or her?"

     "I do, so much! ... But I wish I wasn't such a burden on your conscience and happiness ... I have so many regrets ... I'll always regret that I robbed you and Zoya. You could have grown up together ..."

     Siddiqui walked in carrying food from home. "Raziya!" 

     "I want to meet Zoya," Raziya stated firmly, looking from one to the other. "Please? Would she want to see me? How's she doing?"

 

     "Are you going to have a sweet tooth?" Zoya entered today's events in her baby journal that night. "I'm craving pies and cakes all of a sudden. Your Abbu got me blueberry cheesecake the other day as a surprise, and then today your Ayaan Chachu made me an apple pie! From scratch! So cool, na? But back to the sweet tooth. If you get cavities, then your Abbu will kill me."

When Asad leaned over to read what she'd written, he shook his head.

     "Stop making me sound like a serial killer. And yes, I will not pay for any fillings, so you better get the kids to brush and floss regularly." 

     "Oh really?" a horrified Zoya argued. "It's my job to oversee brushing and flossing? Because I'm the mom? Mr Khan, you better be a hands-on dad. Or else!" 

     "Or else what?" He taunted, brows waggling.

     "Or else ..." She smashed a pillow on his head when she couldn't think of a single retaliatory remark.

Asad dodged the second blow and she got madder.

     "Or else you're going on a lambi judaai sex fast! Yes! No sugar or pastry chef for you!"

She squealed in delight when he lunged to grab her in order to change her mind. Zoya gasped for breath when he tucked her under him to kiss all the fight out of her. 

     "Or else, no 'cream fillings' for you!" she breathed. She didn't even know when her arms had twined around his neck.

Asad groaned in protest and surrender. He couldn't look away from her heaving chest.

     "Or, any grinding and drilling," she added, tongue firmly in cheek as she rolled her hips against him.

     "So I guess we're playing Dentist-Dentist tonight?" he asked after a keen and thorough exam of some soft and sexy body parts.

     "What fine teeth you have Mr. Khan!" she gasped.

     "The better to taste and bite you with, Mrs. Khan."

     "Oh, so we're mixing it up with Red Riding Hood?" 

     "Want to ride my hood Mrs. Red?"

She would have laughed her head off but Dr. Wolf Ahmed Khan, DDS, had other plans for her.

     "Open wide. Like this. Have you been flossing regularly Mrs. Khan? Maintaining good oral health?"

     She giggled. "Like this?" 

He groaned.

 

Tonight was the third night in a row she couldn't sleep. Was insomnia one of the side effects of pregnancy? She felt too lazy to research it though, or to drag herself out of bed for some hot chocolate. 

Dobby lifted his eager head from his cozy perch ... hoping ...

He sighed in disapproval when Zoya didn't budge.

Through the starlight streaming in from the arched window Zoya watched Asad's chest rise and fall with each breath. 

She smiled. That sight was her preferred drug of choice.

When they were first married, she'd wake up in the middle of the night, lean over, and hold her finger under his nose to check if he was breathing. Or place her hand on his chest to feel it move under her palm. Then she would scold herself for being so paranoid. 

Let me always find him by my side each night, she'd pray. 

Like this. 

     Asad sleepily reached out to pull her to him. "Sleep," he ordered softly. 

     "I can't," she whispered back.

His palm cupped her stomach and stroked it in calming circles. When it stopped, Zoya laced her fingers through his. 

As Asad slept, her mind floated and flitted. 

She smiled dreamily. 

Even Raziya Aunty had regained consciousness. Her Abbu had called earlier, wondering if she could stop by. 

Of course, she could!

Raziya had burst into tears as soon as she saw Zoya enter the room. And so had Zoya. 

     "It's over, Aunty. It's all over," she'd said after the first storm of grief had passed. That grief had been edged and streaked with relief. "We can finally breathe and not constantly look over our shoulders any more."

Raziya had held up her arm to beckon her closer. Before that macabre day she'd always been scared to touch Zoya. What if Zoya felt repulsed? These hands had taken her mother's life after all. But now it was as if she couldn't draw another breath before she felt the warmth of Zoya's body.

Blindly, she reached for Zoya.

... touching the face of god ...

A marooned survivor finally rescued, Raziya's hands traced the contours of Zoya's face and wiped her falling tears away. Raziya's fingertips feathered across those eyes and cheeks as if refamiliarizing herself with a cherished but once-lost heirloom. 

     "You must have got these from your Ammi," she murmured to herself as her thumbs brushed across Zoya's dimples. 

Raziya kissed Zoya's forehead. 

With quivering fingers pounding with her lifeblood, she slowly and hungrily re-traced the outline of Zoya's face ... her eyes ... her cheeks ... 

——and a flash of a long-forgotten memory crackled through her body——once ship-wrecked, that memory now surged up breaking through the surface of Zoya's consciousness. 

Her eyes squeezed close.

... a soft, too-familiar voice had floated in her ears. She could feel a soft finger tracing her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks ...

     " ...This is Zoya's face ..." that faraway voice sing-songed. 

     "... these are Zoya's starry eyes ... this is Zoya's naughty nosie ... these are Zoya's cheeky cheeks ... these are Zoya's rosy lips ..."

     " ... and these? What are these?" her Ammi would ask as she dug her fingers into her cheeks.

     "These are Zoya's magic DIMM--PIES!" Zoya would squeal as a child as Ammi would proceed to tickle her. 

Her eyes popped wide open.

Zoya remembered suddenly, as if it had happened less than an hour ago. She remembered. Starkly. All too clearly in fact: that is how Ammi would wake her up every morning when she was a kid.

Zoya sobbed in Raziya's arms.

     "Ammi!" she called out.

Raziya'd wept too. And so did Siddiqui and Humaira.

     "All the time when I was slipping away, this face kept pulling me back in." Raziya said through broken sobs. "A part of me wanted to die ... for it all to be over. I deserved it after all. But a part of me wanted to stay on. To see you." She took Zoya's hands in hers and kissed their tops. "Many may think that Allah keeps me alive to punish me for my sins. But I will thank Allah everyday for giving me a second chance. To see you, my rahbar ... my rahnuma ..." she kissed her face again. "Thank you for coming back into my wretched life ... for giving me a new lease on life." 

     Zoya smiled. "Are those nice things? What do those words mean, Aunty?"

And Raziya laughed at the innocent curiosity.

     When Siddiqui tried to explain their meaning, she held her hand up to stop him. "They mean you," Raziya stated, simply ... fervently.

 

Zoya sighed as she turned and tossed in bed. Thank god, Allah Miyan! Everything would be OK now. She couldn't wait for Humaira and Ayaan's nikaah. She'd better try on her lehengas to see which ones would fit. And she better get on their case to set a date fast. Or she'd grow even bigger with each delay. 

Which lehenga would she wear? Maybe a saree? And then maybe she could lure her husband away for another tryst ... 

Asad stirred and pressed himself against her; her breath caught. When his hand moved up to cup her breast under the thin silk, her blood heated.

     Zoya turned in his arms to hug him. "Oh thank god, Asad! I wanted you so bad."

     "I heard your blood calling, babe. Even before you knew it," he breathed before letting his hand drift south. His lips nuzzled her neck. "You're so wet for me ... so perfect ..." He parted and stroked her and she jerked uncontrollably. "So swollen for me ... so damn perfect ... ahh, Zoya, you burn me up!"

She tugged his mouth to her greedy breast. A powerful swirl and suck had her arching in mind-bendng pleasure. She wanted him to linger ... but she also wanted him moving inside her ... hard--and fast. 

Now!

     "Please ... please," Zoya whimpered. 

     "Please, what?" he teased and tarried. Like always. And she went crazier with need.

     "Do things to me, pleeease!" she begged gripping his shoulders.

     "What things?" he asked as he continued to slowly torture her with his tormenting mouth and hands. He knew what things. He just loved to hear her tell him about them as her breath hitched and body twitched. 

     "Nasty things—aahh, Asad!" she moaned as he redoubled the assault. " ... heavenly things ..." she murmured as her spasming fingers dug into his biceps. Her hips bucked and begged. " ... things to make my eyes roll back in my head!" 

When had their clothes melted away?

He chuckled softly and rose to do her bidding. Zoya protested only slightly when Asad pulled her to her edge of the bed. Feet braced on the floor, he raised her legs to rest against his chest and entered her in one swift, sweet ambush. 

She cried and moaned in the back of her throat, both at once. Her neck arched and fingers struggled to catch a grip on the twisting, sliding sheets under her as he dictated a relentless rhythm. 

He paused. Asad let one of her legs slide down ... 

She protested, impatient.

But when he pivoted sideways, still inside her, and lifted his leg to place his foot by her undulating hips, she felt the penetration spear through her at an alien angle.

Shock and pleasure rippled through to drag a mini-scream from her startled lungs.

     "Nasty things like this?" Asad taunted, harsh breaths sawing through his gritted teeth.

     "Oh god, yes! Ye ... es ... yes ..." Zoya continued to mewl. Her nails pierced and raked his raised thigh with each deliberate and glorious thrust. 

     "Asad!" she panted and writhed, half-crazed with a looming orgasm.

     "Look at me!" he commanded.

She watched, entranced, as he sucked two fingers and let them swirl over and knead her throbbing bud. 

Her thighs clenched in grateful and greedy anticipation. The sensations thrashing through her wouldn't let her eyes stay open any more.

     "Oh god Asad, you're so thick in me tonight!" she cried through crescendoing moans.

     Asad jerked, at breaking point. "Am I hurting you?"

     "No! ... no ... I love it! More ... please, mooore!"

She keened harshly as she came undone. 

He saw her body churning and crashing, awash in the starlight ... aglow, and he couldn't help himself.

     "ZoYAAA!"

 

     "Please!" Zoya repeated a couple of days later in Jhansi. She batted her lashes at him and flashed her killer dimple. Asad shoved his hands in his pockets, immune to her charms. "OK, last one. I promise!"

Their little weekend getaway had been a dream. Just as perfect as her Jahanpanah had intended.

But Asad kept resisting the millions of selfies she'd planned and posed all through the trip. He had made the mistake of buying her a selfie stick—and it had been a sure-shot way to shoot himself in the foot.  

     He had weakened of course. Because the blackmail and pouting had been endless: "I'll get fat pretty soon. I'll be running away from cameras then, Mr. Khan. Please!"

Dimples had flashed and he'd given in. Like she knew he would. 

One more selfie couldn't hurt. 

But getting her the Go Pro had been a bigger mistake. Asad shuddered to think of what new videos she'd make of them. If the kids ever got their hands on— 

He nearly passed out from the horror.

Granted, he knew that his wife wasn't into jewelry. She wore his ring all the time and her Ammi's earrings most of the time. The rest of the exquisite pieces he'd gifted her in the early days of their marriage were tucked away in a home safe that she barely glanced at. The heavier, 'sethani' pieces as she called them, huddled, unworn, in a bank locker. And Zoya probably had no clue where the locker key was. She had to be reminded to put on the real stuff at a function or event. 

It was a given: gifts of jewelry were a no-go; they'd be wasted on his begum. 

So lately Asad had begun compensating with gifts of technology: he'd bought her enhancements and upgrades; heaped her with the top of the line gadgets and apps that drew appreciative squeals from her. At least she'd use his gifts this way. 

Thanks to him, she had the latest gizmos and games. He'd bought her registration and unlimited online access to the annual CES conferences. She was now a lifetime member of various techie portals thanks to an over-indulgent husband and had even wormed her way to snag guest blogs on CNET and The Verge.

At home, the home theater and security systems had been pimped out and souped up. Who knew how many remotes there were in the house and which devices they controlled, or even how. Well, Zoya knew.

 

     "Did you always have a royalty fetish or did that happen after I named you Jahanpanah?" she asked as she oohed and aahed over the artifacts, architecture and decor at the many museums and palaces they'd visited. She had pressed her nose close to the glass to peer at Laxmi Bai's shield and chain armor in Gwalior.

     "After you, obviously," Asad stated what she'd always known. "And I do not have a royalty fetish! I wasn't the one drooling over the queen's room at Scindia Palace." 

     "Oh my god, that was so adorbs!" Zoya gushed.

Which girl would not fall in love with the tiny, four-feet tall Maharani Chinko Raje Scindia's room? Everything in there was built to scale for her size: the miniature four poster bed decked in the finest brocades and silks, the desk set and chairs in the rarest mahogany, ebony and teak, and richly upholstered sofas and jeweled armoires would be any girl's dream--whether she was 9, or 90. It was the perfect dollhouse for a life-sized doll. 

The room was beyond charming! 

But she frowned when she saw a speculative light in his eye.

     "Asad? What're you thinking?"

     "Would a girl really like that kind of a room?" he asked in all seriousness. 

     "Of course! Why not—?" She watched him look ultra-pleased with himself. "No! Are you thinking that if we have a girl, you'll build a room like that for her? Oh. My. God." 

     "Why would that be a bad thing? I thought you'd love the idea," Asad was not pleased with her lack of enthusiasm. "I could recreate it exactly, have everything custom-ordered and made ..."

     "Mr. Khan! News flash: You're not a maharaja! I just call you Jahanpanah, you're not one for real, remember? Good god, I've created a monster."

Genius. Hundred years from now, people would be marching through their house to see the room Jahanpanah Asad Ahmed Khan had built for his daughter.

     "And if it's a boy," Asad continued to muse, ignoring her reality checks. "I'd love to recreate that train set ... We could make that life-size too, winding around and inside the house ..."

He was referring to the famed silver train set in the Jai Vilas Mahal's Darbar Hall which ran on a track on the large dining table, serving drinks and food in its various compartments. Zoya slapped her head. She really shouldn't have given him that book, "Freedom at Midnight." Its one chapter on the description of India's eccentric maharajas and nawabs had obviously gone to his head. 

Zoya watched him mutter to himself about measurements and variables, logistics and whatnots. 

She smiled. 

Aw, it wasn't that he was pretending to be a Jahanpanah. No, in his own way, his daddy-instinct was kicking in and he was nesting. Pregnant women did that didn't they? Making preparations for the coming baby. Then why couldn't fathers-to-be? 

Zoya took his fingers in hers and squeezed. She'd let him plan and prepare the nest for their baby and not rain on his parade. She joined him in his princess room-designing and train-building ideas, asking questions, suggesting maternal modifications (could he really bear to have train tracks running through the house, and how safe would it really be?) and potential hi-tech alternatives. 

     "I can put it on a smart grid. It'll be accessed remotely. No! Voice-activated! We can even do a robot—like R2D2 from Star Wars! You know at CES this year, they unveiled ..."

They spun golden and silicon fantasies for their kids ... weaving in their own childhood yearnings and desires.

This time around, together, they'd do childhood right.

She'd already told him about that newly-retrieved memory of her Ammi's touch on her face every morning. Zoya had used her index fingers to do the same to Asad's face as she told him how Ammi would wake her: Zoya gently traced the outline of his face, and using the pads to caress his eyes, stroked his nose down from the bridge to its tip, circling around his cheeks and feathering over his lips before kissing him. 

     "That's beautiful," he whispered. 

     "I know. I can't believe I'd forgotten how cherished I felt when Ammi did that. How happy I was ..."

Tenderly, he repeated the ritual on her face. 

Tears slid down through her closed eyes when he touched her eyelids. Asad bent his head to suck them away. 

    "Asad!" Her voice cracked.

     "Shh, I know baby," he soothed. "I love you," he said, gathering her to him. "And we'll make new, happier memories with our kids." 

And she could die right now and be the happiest girl in the world.

     But it was a good thing that her husband had better plans for her. "What do you want to do for our anniversary?" Asad tried to distract her. 

It was easy. 

Plans for parties and fun never failed to bring her bouncing back.

     "Am I bipolar," she'd asked him once because of the mood swings and highs and lows.

     "No," Asad'd said as he tucked her hair behind an ear. "You're just you—too complex to be defined by any pop psychobabble. Too precious to be measured by any clinical diagnosis."

Zoya giggled and sniffed now. 

She was back.

     "An anniversary date? I know! How bout we go back to Apna Dhaba?"

     "What?" Asad yelped. "Are you out of your mind? Never! Not in a billion years." 

     "Are you chicken, Mr. Khan?"  

     "No, just smart, Mrs. Khan."

 

A few days later, they still hadn't decided on a plan of action or destination for their upcoming anniversary. But thanks to Ayaan's manic nagging and Nuzzhat's emotional blackmail ("Feroze Jeeju will be leaving soon, please!"), the family had agreed to a grand road trip to Pachmarhi, a small hill station about three hours away. Rashid was doing much better, almost good as new, and Raziya too had been given the greenlight by her doctors. Being accepted by the others, no questions asked, had helped accelerate her recovery. 

Siddiqui had resisted initially. Even though all was fine now, it may still be uncomfortable for the others to be around him and Raziya. That too in such close quarters. 

But he'd been charmed and cajoled into going by his daughters. 

     "Abbu imagine, the whole family together! Just think, it'll be like having a pre-wedding party. No! A wedding shower! It'll be such fun! You have to come, please." Zoya couldn't stop gushing.

     "Haan Abbu," Humaira had her own blackmail techniques. "I'll get married soon and move away. I'll miss you and Ammi ..." 

It was bound to work. How could Siddiqui withstand this double assault or the vision of promised family fun?

     "Abbu! Humaira! I have a great idea. At nights in the hotel, Abbu can read us bedtime stories!" 

Humaira had jumped in glee and Siddiqui had laughed.

     "Fine! We'll go. But only if you girls behave!" 

     "Mischief managed," his daughters vowed in naughty conspiracy, fingers crossed behind their backs.

 

Ayaan was particularly exhilarated. Though traveling in a luxury bus and not taking his bike was a bore, it wasn't so bad with all the singing and games, teasing and chitchat.

     "It'll be my bachelor party," he'd exulted and gloated to Humaira earlier.

     She'd harrumphed in dismissal. "LOL! With your Abbu and my Abbu there, it's not going to be the bachelor party of your dreams—you may instead end up playing chess or listening to old time shayari. And then with Feroze Jeeju and my Jeeju to keep you in check, I might end up having a raunchier bachelorette party!" 

Ayaan's panicky eyes would have put a deer in the headlights to shame. This was a serious dash mein bumboo.

     "What? No, no, no, no!" He raked his unruly hair.

She was right. Bhaijaan would be a super spoilsport, and egged on by Abbu and Humaira's dad to keep it quiet and respectable, Bhai would be worse than Killjoy Akdu Ahmed Khan. Unfortunately Omar wasn't around to keep things chill and Feroze was the most seedha-sada guy he'd ever seen—so basically he was useless. Only Faiz could be trusted to shake things up. 

A wicked gleam lit up his eyes.

     "Then I'm crashing your bachelorette party. No ifs, ands, or buts about it!"

     "Now that's what I'm talking about," Humaira retorted smugly as she pivoted on her heel. He'd just been pwned, as Aapi would say, and he didn't even know it yet.

 

Thank god, only another hour more to go! Her back was feeling just a little tender and she was trying her best to clamp down on the rising nausea. Zoya didn't want to have to stop the bus so she could throw up. Everyone would see. So gross and embarrassing. And then Asad wouldn't let her have any fun with all his fussing and bossing her around. 

She sighed. Forty eight minutes more. 

Zoya's ears pricked at the discussion behind her. 

She'd been dozing in the front of the bus and heard Dilshad in the back telling Dadi and Raziya about some family court child custody battle she'd helped arbitrate more than a year ago.

Wait, more than a year ago? How did she not know about this till today? She'd already been in India at that time, then where was she when Ammi did this? Why didn't Ammi tell them all about this detail of her life?

Zoya leaned in to listen more intently. 

     "It was a nasty case," Dilshad went on. "Terribly tragic. The little boy's father was bad to the bone and wanted custody only to harass his ex-wife, but the court wanted to be fair. It was a small town, pretty close from this point. Just about twenty minutes away from here." 

     "Ammi, when was this?" Zoya couldn't restrain herself. Curiosity was killing her.

She looked down at Dobby's crate guiltily. Poor bugger. He was on a time out thanks to Asad. The first hour he'd behaved himself but soon he was bored and had started yowling and scratching at the seats. So the Jahanpanah had ordered umr qaid (temporarily) and the offended cat was sulking in his traveling case.

     "Arre beta, it was around the same time you and Asad were at Mangalpur for that wedding, remember?" 

Zoya's eyes bugged.

Oh boy, did she remember!

Dilshad gazed out of the tinted windows.

     "I wonder if on our way back we can do a quick little detour and check on my cousin's family. Tumko bahut mazaa ayega." 

Zoya had just tilted her head back to gulp down some ice-cold water. Hearing Dilshad's wistful words, she choked and spluttered all over herself. The repetitive and tortured coughing fit brought Asad running to check on her from the back of the bus.

     "What happened?" he asked after he'd stroked her back in comfort and offered his handkerchief to wipe her streaming eyes. He was just getting ready to yell at her for being her usual careless self.

Dilshad and the others had gone back to chatting among themselves once they saw Asad take over.

Zoya flashed her eyes at him and held up a hand not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

     "Get this," she hissed. "On our way back, Ammi wants to stop over at Mangalpur which is like twenty minutes away from here! Can you believe that?" 

     "Wha—?" Before he could respond or throw a fit to nix such terrible ideas, the bus jerked. 

Zoya tumbled into his arms as the bus shuddered to an abrupt stop. 

Annoyed shrieks erupted all over.

     "Hey, what happened?" Ayaan and Faiz yelled from the back.

     "Ya Allah, sambhal ke," called out a shaken-up Dadi.

     "Take it easy, man," Faiz muttered.

They all heard fists pound on the door and then frantic, frightened voices.

     "Please, we need your help! They'll kill us. Bacha lijiye humein, please!" 

Everyone in the bus froze as the armed guard ushered in a young, distraught couple. The girl was weeping and the boy kept murmuring assurances of how he'd take care of everything and wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. 

The passengers looked on, enthralled. 

     "It's no use," she sobbed. "You won't be able to do a thing. They'll kill us both!"

Zoya's eyes shone; her backache and nausea evaporated. She clasped her hands together with devilish purpose.

Freshly invigorated, she struggled against Asad to free herself. 

His eyes narrowed. 

He could already see the gears in her head grinding: play supergirl or fairy godmother? In her head she was already donning the mantle of a pyaar ka farishta hell-bent on assisting with the course of true love. 

Asad groaned.

Great. Just bloody great! Mangalpur and Zoya were never a good combination.

This felt like a bad case of deja vu all over again.

 

 

 

Song in title:

Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (1999): "Chand Chhupa Badal Mein"


	104. Jaane Tujhe, Denge Nahin ... Chaahe Tujhko Rab Bula Le, Hum Na Rab Se Darne Waale

 

  


One look, and Asad had known: the terrified faces of the lovebirds, the girl's tear-streaked face, the boy's desperate clutching on to her hand ... 

He added two and two, and the answer wasn't pretty.

Asad urged the bus driver to go faster and quietly told the guard to be on full alert. Thank god, they'd agreed to take an armed guard with them. But would just one be enough? His mind raced, making lists, doing safety checks and planning for a siege or ambush that was sure to come. 

The panicked lovers peering anxiously through the rear windows and ducking when a car or jeep went by, could mean only one thing. The demonic Mangalpur Panchayat, or something pretty similar, was at its old game: the self-appointed moral caretakers were back to hunting and lynching rebels who dared to cross caste or community barriers.

He felt sick to the gut. 

Slowly, Asad cast his eye around the bus. This was his family and they could all be hurtling toward sure disaster and danger.

Oblivious, he cracked his knuckles. 

Asad watched as Zoya and the others fussed over the girl who was still heaving dry sobs. He knew that Zoya had understood the situation perfectly well too. She listened to the questions Dilshad and Shireen asked the girl and kept glancing toward him anxiously.

He watched Ayaan and Feroze and the dads question the boy.

Asad looked back at Zoya and caught her eye. With the barest of nods he signaled her over.

     "You're thinking what I'm thinking, right?" she asked as she came over. 

     "Manglapur, Part 2?" Asad frowned crossing his arms over his chest—it was tight with fury and anxiety. Had he been in a better mood he'd have teased her that she had jinxed it by mentioning Apna Dhaba the other day. 

But this was serious. Serious like a heart attack.

     "Oh god Asad, don't even say that!" Zoya gripped his forearm. "I'm terrified for them. Remember the last time we were here, there was some news of an honor killing? What if—?"

He nodded grimly and wiped his brow. Asad's mind had flashbacked to that same incident. 

Before leaving for Maryam's ill-fated wedding in Mangalpur, he'd seen a breaking news story on TV of a fugitive pair of lovers being hunted and tortured in the area. Later, during their own escape from the blood-thirsty Panchayat, Asad had found evidence of a buried corpse. And then when he'd turned around to warn Zoya, he'd seen her unconscious on the ground. Trying to get to safety had been futile. Within minutes, they'd been surrounded and cornered by the Sarpanch's rabid militia in the middle of nowhere.

That's when Asad had known that they had been set up by that fake rescuer who had shot off their handcuffs as he pretended to help them. 

Zoya had even warned him not to trust the guy. Turned out, she was right. Wasn't she always?

It was a trap: that impostor had been sent to lull them into a false sense of security and drug them so they could be easily disposed of. The water bottle the man had given them must have been laced with some drug. A careless Zoya, in typical Zoya fashion, has drained the water, not saving any for Asad. 

And that had nearly been the beginning of the end for them

Asad sighed, restless and on edge.

     "I was thinking the same," he told Zoya. "These two look like they've eloped. What did she tell you all?" 

     "There's something fishy. She says her name is Babli and the guy's name is Bunty. That sounds made up to me. They're hiding their real names. Why?"

     "Because they aren't from the same caste or community," Asad speculated.

     "You mean this could be an inter-religious thing? Oh my god!" Zoya's hands flew to cover her mouth. 

By now even she knew how dangerous inter-faith relationships could be in some parts of the Indian hinterland. She'd read and watched with horror enough news stories about public hangings of lovers, caste wars and communal riots. 

And here, in the outskirts of Mangalpur, they already knew the worst about the Sarpanch and his brigade of vicious outlaws from personal experience. No wonder the two runaways were terrified. 

Zoya looked around the bus. Naz and Hana aunty huddled with Dadi whispering animatedly. The men, old and young, clustered around "Bunty" pumping him for information and reassuring him. 

She looked back at Asad's face. It was ashen, the skin was pulled taut across his cheekbones and jaw.

     Zoya rubbed Asad's arm. "Asad, look!" She pointed at their family. "This time it'll be different. We aren't alone any more. We have an entire regiment here!" 

     "And they have rifles, swords, chains, machetes, drugs ... and no souls." 

Her eyes stung. He'd gone into lockdown Jahanpanah-at-jung mode—Humaira's General Jeeju had made a comeback. He'd be a prickly bear now and impossible to reach out to.

Fine, if he was going to be like that, and she didn't blame him one bit, then she'd be his trusted lieutenant. Just this once, Zoya Farooqui would force herself to take a backseat and refrain from too much backseat driving—if Allah Miyan could help her behave, that is. 

     "Asad, breathe ..." Zoya urged, clutching his fist. "Call Rakesh and arrange for back-up. Should we turn around and go back home?"

Asad exhaled. The veins in his forehead pulsed. 

     She glared at him. "I know your instinct is to go into hyper-protective and silent mode and block us all out. Don't! Trust us, please." 

     "Fine," Asad sighed. "You talk to Rakesh and I'll call the Police Commissioner back home to alert them in case we need official help. God knows that the local police here is in the Panchayat's pocket. You're right. This time around we know what they're capable of and we're more of us. But Zoya?" 

She looked up at him.

     "No being a superhero, OK?" he wagged his finger at her. "You will not leap before you look. You will not go off half-cocked, OK? If you want me to share my plans and ideas with you then you'll have to promise to do the same! Or I will seriously handcuff you to this seat right here!"

     "Really? And where would you find handcuffs here?"

She blushed when he raised an eyebrow. Fine, so he knew she'd packed her pink fuzzy handcuffs. Damn him for knowing her so well! 

She made a face.

     "Zoya!" 

     "Fine, jeez! Jo hukum, Jahanpanah! Happy now?"

     "Umm hmm," he grunted in dissatisfaction not trusting her one bit.

He was about to turn away to make the calls but Zoya held him back.

     "Asad, nobody knows what we know. How do we ... Should we tell them about how lawless they are and how vicious these people can be?" 

     "Let's wait and see on that." 

     "Need-to-know basis. Got it," she said in complete seriousness. 

If he wasn't out of his mind crazed with worry he may have actually laughed at her American crime drama lingo—her default setting in times of crisis. But he'd rather have her excited about an adventure than paralyzed with fear.

Asad couldn't help run his knuckle across her cheek. "Babe, it'll be fine. It'll all be fine. I just need you to behave though." 

But Zoya's head was already miles ahead. "I know what we'll do! If we do have to tell the family then I can say that I read about some evil Panchayat in the area or watched a program on it on the news or something. They don't have to know that we have first-hand experience with these gundas. Didn't at least some of those jungli jackasses go to jail? Haha, did you see what I just did? Jungli jackasses go to jail'!" She laughed at her alliterative sass and general brilliance.

Asad squeezed the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. 

Deep breaths ... he coached himself. It'll be OK ... he lied to himself.

Other women would be terrified, but no, not his wife. Their time together from their last Mangalpur escapade came flooding back; so did the dread. 

Running from the Panchayat to the police station had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. But the police had been no help. They had turned out to be on the Panchayat's payroll. And soon they had been imprisoned and handcuffed: the crusaders seeking justice had become common criminals about to be executed in some kind of fake encounter. 

And Zoya had continued to chatter and protest non-stop. 

Then he had dismissed her as annoying, not even letting her tell him about Miriam's real reason for not wanting to marry the boy her father had chosen for her.

Asad couldn't help thinking about Zoya's fierce belief in justice. She had been mad at first at how corrupt the police were and disgusted at the misogyny of the Panchayat's men.

And later she had fought by his side so that Yash and Aarti could escape to freedom to rescue their kidnapped son.

Her instincts had been right all the time and he had ignored or scoffed at her for her ideas and theories. This time around though, he wouldn't make the same mistake. But still, she needed reining in, or god knows what fresh trouble they could get into. 

Zoya was already on her phone with a plan buzzing in her head. Finding stories of rogue Panchayats and vigilante mobs would be easy, she convinced herself. And may be that information would be good enough to put the family on guard and take the potential threat seriously. And then they could get started on the next phase of the plan. 

It was a good thing she didn't see Asad shake his head or roll his eyes heavenward.

Together they came up with a plausible patched-up story, just in case the family asked questions. The only person who may be able to see through that story was Dilshad. They debated whether to tell her the whole truth.

     "Too complicated. Let it be," Asad decided. 

     "But ... what if she suggests that we call that uncle of yours, Maryam's dad, for help? How are we going to deflect her questions?" Dilshad knew only part of the Mangalpur story: Maryam's wedding had been called off because she'd run away to escape a forced marriage. 

     "I don't know," Asad scrubbed his face. "Let's just concentrate on one thing at a time." 

Asad and Zoya walked back to the women who continued to console and comfort the young girl. He knelt before her. 

She flinched in fear.

     "Please don't be scared of us. We'll try our best to help you. But we need some details. Who is after you? Your family?" 

She nodded her head.

     "Anyone else?" She nodded more vigorously. 

     "How many people? Are they armed?"

     She burst into tears. "His family too. And the Panchayat ..." she hiccupped.

Restless energy pulsed through Zoya.

This was so wrong. True love was a once-in-a-lifetime blessing: so hard to find and keep. Then why did people have to stand in its way instead of helping remove its obstacles? If she was the president or the prime minister, she would have these pyaar ka dushmans pepper sprayed and handcuffed to each other for life!

And a brilliant idea came flaring up.

Zoya grabbed her phone and backed away into an empty corner. 

Asad looked down at the sobbing girl. It didn't matter what their real names were, or which one was Hindu or Muslim if that really was the case. Ammi and Chhoti Ammi had been able to wrangle some more details out of her: her family was forcing her to marry an old widower from their community. The two lovers had fled and spent the night in the forest hiding from the mob. 

But this detail was most important: were they from different faiths? Because if they were, then the situation was much, much grimmer. 

Asad's heart hammered.

Were they headed into the eye of the storm: a communal conflagration? Everything could go up in flames if that was so. He needed to know. And only Zoya could worm that information out of this girl. He looked around for her and frowned when he saw her in an intense exchange on the phone. He raised his brows when their eyes met and she held up a hand before ending the call. She waved him over.

     "OK here's the sitrep—" 

     "What's a sitrep?" Asad couldn't help but be momentarily distracted by this new language. He was doomed. With a brother who was a self-proclaimed expert in P language and a wife who spoke Americanese, how was he supposed to function?

     "Situation report! Mr. Khan you gotta keep up. I called Maryam in Dubai," Zoya spoke in a rush. "I told her about what's happening here and asked her to call someone trusty in her village to find out more about the situation. May be someone will know. She'll call back as soon as she has something. She also told me that she and her brother know of an organization that has safe houses for such runaways."

Asad nodded in admiration. "Good girl! Zoya, talk to this Babli in private and find out if this is an inter-religious thing. If it is, this could get really messy." 

     She held his hand, "Asad? Umm, I don't know if you're going to like this idea" Just listen," she pleaded as she saw his eyes shutter. "Remember Agra? When you were fighting those guys, an uncle ji came up and told all the spectators to contact news shows and agencies? And then Bam! The media was there! Should we try something like that? I can get the girls and aunts working on it."

She watched Asad rest his elbows on his knees and drop his head in his hands. 

Shit! Shit! Shit! This was going to be bad. 

     "OK. Do it," Asad told her before he rose to go talk to the men. If it was the same Panchayat, then the locals would be of no help. And in order to level the playing field he had to make sure that they had enough outside resources so that there would be no repeat of the past this time.

Zoya signaled Humaira, Nikhat and Nuzzhat over and began explaining her plan. She would rope in Naz and Hana aunty next.

Asad asked to talk to the young man alone. He looked terrified and Asad's heart melted.

     "Don't worry, we'll help you two get to safety. But I need details to protect my family. Something tells me that you're using fake names. I don't want to know your real name or hers--that was a great idea to choose religion-neutral names. But I do want to know if you both are from different religious communities."

The young man looked torn, his eyes fell, and Asad knew his hunch was right. 

Damn! Damn! Damn!

     "OK, forget about it. Do you have relatives or friends you trust whom we can contact? We can give you a phone ..."

     "I don't know," Bunty whispered. "What if I call and those people betray us to the Panchayat?"

     "You're right, I understand," Asad patted his shoulder. 

     "Bhai!" Ayaan shouted and Asad looked up.

     "There's some kind of a checkpost coming up. There's a huge mess of traffic up ahead." 

Terror flashed through the young man's eyes. He gripped Asad's arm.

     "This isn't a legitimate check point. It's got to be them. Please, help us. If they catch us—" 

     "We'll protect you both. Don't worry."

     "Mr. Khan!" Zoya called him over. Maryam had called back with an update. "She talked to her cousin. You were right. Her name is Sadia and she's from their village. And he's Hindu, but from a neighboring village."

     Asad slowly nodded his head. "I've called Rakesh and he's sent a team but it could take more than an hour or two for them to get here. Did you do the media thing?"

     "Yeah, the girls are at it. I think we need the guys to do it too. More coverage, more urgency!" Zoya leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Asad, I have another ace up my sleeve."

     "Is it safe?" he asked.

     "Totally!" 

     "And legal?" 

Her lips thinned in mutiny.

     "Do it!" He said as he went to the front of the bus to make an announcement. He trusted her. And at least she'd asked him this time instead of dumping any surprises on him. Because the old Zoya was a do-first-and-apologize-later kinda gal, as she loved to say. 

Zoya called Faiz and Feroze over and together they got busy. She hoped and prayed that the phone reception and strong signals would continue. If they lost that, then they were doomed.

  


     "Listen up, everyone," Asad drew their attention. 

     "We may have some trouble up ahead, so we need to be very careful. Looks like these two are being pursued by some dangerous people. The local police isn't going to be any help. This area has a long history of lawlessness. If some armed people enter the bus, be quiet and calm. Don't engage with them at all. Ayaan, that especially means you! Meanwhile, we need ideas for how to disguise these two if someone comes to check." 

     "Jeeju!" Humaira piped up. "Dadi has a burqa. We can put it on Bunty."

Everyone looked at Dadi. They couldn't remember ever seeing her in a burqa. 

     "What? I keep it for emergencies," she protested. "Aur phir, you kids turn the AC on full blast, a burqa comes in handy." 

They younger generation shook their heads in disbelief, the older generation, in complete understanding. 

Yeah, the kids did blast the AC too high.

     "Babli can cover her head and face with a dupatta," Humaira returned to the original discussion.

     "No," Asad said. "They would expect something like that and could force the women to show their faces. 

     "The only way to make them pass muster is to dress up Bunty as a girl ... maybe," Nuzzhat said.

Everyone looked at the young man who would have blushed had he not been so terrified. He had a day-old stubble and mustache. 

     "I'll get my electric shaver," Faiz suggested.

     "I'll get my make-up kit and a suit," offered Nuzzhat.

     "What about Babli?" someone asked.

     "I can dress her in my jeans. We'll need a loose Tshirt from one of you guys," Zoya added. 

     Nikhat looked at Babli. "I can cut her hair."

     "OK, do it!" Asad announced, mentally crossing his fingers. "We may have about 10-15 minutes before someone comes to check our bus."

 

And the makeovers were under way. If it hadn't been a life and death situation, this could have been a lot of fun.

Bunty was dressed up in the pinkest salwar kameez, while Babli was poured into Zoya's jeans and a Goth Tshirt and plain white shirt from Ayaan. It was a good thing she was slender and thank god she didn't have any nail polish on. Her nails were trimmed, jewelry removed, and the lightest stubble and mustache were drawn on; they thickened her eyebrows with an eye pencil. 

The young girl cried when Nikhat cut her long braid off. That took the longest: the nail scissors were too tiny. 

Bunty needed more work. 

After a good scrub with the electric razor, the girls applied a film of foundation and other goopy stuff to even out his skin tone. A tweezer shaped his brows, as blush, eye shadow and mascara were slapped on, along with lipstick that matched the suit to a T. Everything looked perfect except for his hair. They had covered his head with a dupatta but something was missing ... 

Humaira grabbed Babli's lopped-off braid. Multiple hair bands and safety pins secured it to the back of his pink kurta. 

He looked beautiful.

Zoya grabbed Nuzzhat's glasses off her face and shoved them on Bunty's nose. Not to be outdone, Humaira gathered his discarded shirt and pant and bundled them up under the kurta. There, now he also looked very pregnant.

Zoya giggled.

They all cleaned up hurriedly. When three masked men armed with rifles entered the bus, the passengers were playing antakshari. 

They stopped when a man pointed a muzzle in their general direction. 

     "Sit quietly," he yelled. "You'll be free to go after we've checked the bus for fugitives. Have you seen a young boy and girl? He's wearing a blue shirt and she's wearing a yellow suit." 

Everyone murmured no as the other two men went down the aisle examining everyone's faces closely. 

     Dadi made loud annoyed noises. "Hurry up, bathroom jaana hai humko! Kya musibat hai yeh! Why have you stopped us?"

     "Badi Bi, shaant ho jayiye. Just a little longer," Raziya and Hana soothed her.

Asad had been tense all the while. He hoped that the men who boarded their bus wouldn't be the same ones who had captured them the last time. There would be hell to pay if either he or Zoya were recognized. Zoya had done something different to her hair and put on her sunglasses so that helped, and he had borrowed Faiz's baseball cap.

He prayed. Asad didn't know that he was holding his breath till it expelled forcefully when the last man exited the bus not having found anything suspicious.

But there had been one hairy moment that had nearly made him keel over from a heart attack. 

One of the men had peered intently at Bunty and he'd begun to squirm. If he played so nervously with the end of the braid, it might have just come loose and plop down at his feet. 

Raziya shifted to hold his hand and made soothing sounds.

     "Don't worry, beti. Sab theek ho jayega. Take deep breaths." She glared at the gunman, partially blocking Bunty from view, "please stop scaring my bahu! Bechari buri tarah se darr gayee hai!"

     "Faiz, I think your begum is feeling nauseous," Nuzzhat had chirped.

Faiz had nearly fallen off the seat.

     "Huh?" he'd bleated.

What? Why did he always have to be the husband on call for fake pregnant women? The sooner he got out of India and back to sanity and non-pregnant fake wives, the better. Nuzzhat glared at him and jerked her chin. He got up to sidle next to Bunty to play the dutiful husband. 

He patted Bunty's knee awkwardly. 

     "Go get some lemonade for my begum," Faiz told Nuzzhat crossly. "Since you have such experience being pregnant!"

Asad's face had begun to steam. What the hell were these two playing at? He looked at Feroze who was trying his best to stop grinning. Feroze looked at his mom—Naz looked like a Cheshire cat, supremely pleased with the banter between Nuzzhat and Faiz. If—no cross that, when she had her way, Nuzzhat would be Faiz's pregnant begum in the future. For real.

When the other gunman paused before Babli, Ayaan pretended to teach her how to play a chord on his guitar. His head too partially blocked the girl's face from view; the guitar pretty much hid Babli's upper body. When he raised his head however, he wasn't sure why Humaira was glaring at him so much. 

They all sighed in relief when the three intruders left. 

  


But that relief was short-lived.

It was as if fate was disappointed and reluctant to let the family get off that easy.

They were supposed to have reached the scenic hill station by late lunch. But thanks to the delay that plan was shot. 

The next thing to give out was the bus. 

Children up ahead on the road were playing with firecrackers. One rocket went awry, the kids fled in different directions, and the bus driver had to swerve to avoid hitting one. An uneven curb loomed, or was it a pothole? 

The bus groaned as the axle gave out. 

New parts were needed. And of course these new parts weren't available locally. It would take hours. They would have to spend the evening, if not the night, in Mangalpur.

The dominoes were falling. 

Fate cackled in malicious glee.

 

Asad's nervous system was fried.

To the rest of the family this seemed like a grand adventure. Even the parents weren't too worried. Only he and Zoya knew that under the charminig facade of an idyllic town lurked violence and mayhem. He had tried to get them out of here. He'd called Prasad to arrange for another bus to be despatched from Bhopal that could pick them up and take them to Panchmarhi. 

Asad didn't care how much it'd cost. 

But that too would take time to make it here.

Meanwhile they needed to get to a rest stop for food and amenities. On this stretch of the highway they were able to flag down four cycle-rickshaws for the parents. The rest of them had to trudge up a mile to get to Mangalpur which also seemed like fun to most of them. Ayaan and Faiz yukked it up, entertaining the others while the girls giggled in encouragement.

But Bunty and Babli had balked at going back to the small town. And rightly so. Someone could recognize them.

An encampment of construction laborers on the outskirts of Mangalpur seemed to be the perfect temporary refuge for them. Asad had bribed an old woman and her daughter to look after a pregnant woman and her devar—the story they'd come up with to camouflage the lovers' identity. He'd promised to return with food and reinforcements.

 

A half hour later, Asad had snorted in impatience when he saw Apna Dhaba in its washed out, miserable glory.

Deja vu sure was a bitch.

He glared at Zoya now. 

You did this, he silently accused. 

Did not! Her eyes flashed in justified temper. 

You are a musibat magnet, he seemed to say as he shook his head in incredulity and defeat.

You are judgemental and paranoid, she retorted through slitted eyes.

 

After setting up the family in the cramped inn, Asad left to drop off food and supplies for Bunty and Babli. Zoya refused to be left behind.

     "It'll be fun! For old times' sake! Pleeeaase!" 

Like an idiot he'd given in even after hollering about the mess of trouble they'd gotten into the last time. But he was feeling less edgy now. Rakesh's team would be here soon as would the new bus. 

     "No jeans, then. At least change into a suit to fit in with the locals."

Within minutes, she had.

     "Aw, Mr. Khan, you just like to pretend that you're Akdu. But I know you're a total softy. It's so sweet of you to worry about those two!"

 

Fate cackled and clapped even louder. 

Asad and Zoya. 

By themselves. 

In Mangalpur. 

Being crusaders.

C'mon! What could go wrong?

 

Zoya covered her face with her dupatta hurriedly when a jeep braked hard next to them.

And Asad kicked himself for not wearing the borrowed baseball cap and for giving in to his musibat memsahib.

     "Chehra dikhao," the armed jeep driver barked.

Zoya let the dupatta fall away slightly.

     "Have you seen a young couple around here? The girl is in a yellow suit and the boy's wearing a blue shirt?" The other gunman demanded when they seemed satisfied with their appearances.

Both Asad and Zoya shook their heads no. 

They exhaled in sync when the jeep drove off. 

But the jeep braked again a few feet away. And it backed up next to them.

     "What are you doing in this area?" The driver asked again.

Asad explained about their bus breaking down, waiting for it to be repaired.

     "Have you been here before? Why do you look so familiar?"

The other man jumped off the jeep and grabbed Asad's throat. 

Asad pulled Zoya behind him to shield her as he twisted the man's hand off with his other hand. The man flinched in pain and fell away. 

The driver leaped off to tackle Asad from behind. 

Zoya screamed as Asad kicked out the man's foot from under him and threw him to the ground over his shoulder. Feet braced, knees bent, Asad held up his fists in readiness for the next attack making sure to keep Zoya behind him all the time.

She watched him spin and fly in front of her. 

Zoya saw Asad blurred and defined only by slashing elbows, fists, knees and feet. 

She couldn't even see his face. 

It could have been a thrilling fight sequence from one of her many favorite action films. But fear for him squeezed her heart.

The dull thuds of body hits and slams sickened her. She would have aimed her pepper spray at one of the assailants but she worried that it may get into Asad's eyes and disable him. Zoya stood still, arms over her tummy not making a sound. She tried to slowly back away from the churning limbs and grunts. 

This was making her sick. She wanted it to stop. 

Zoya stumbled to her knees. 

Asad wiped his face on his torn sleeve as he watched one of the men collapse on the ground in a dead stupor and the other stagger down, winded and groaning in pain. Nearly blinded by the blood and sweat on his face, Asad lifted his shirtfront to wipe his eyes and saw Zoya sprawled in a heap.

     "Zoyaa!" 

She raised her head to look at him and stood up. He rushed to pull her in his arms but her arm blocked him. 

Asad fell back, stunned.

Tears fell down her cheeks.

Asad began to panic.

     "Zoya, baby, what is it? Are you hurt?"

     "Yes, I'm hurt goddammit!" she lashed out at him and stabbed his chest with her finger. "You did this super macho Salman-Khan-style fight sequence to protect me and the baby right now. But the last time, you left me here to die, Mr. Khan! Why? Did you hate me so much then?"

And sobbing, she tried to run away from him.

     "Zoya? ZoyAAA!" Asad grabbed her wrist. She struggled to free herself. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the assailants stirring. Zoya saw it too and already angry, she blasted the man with the pepper spray in her hand. 

He yelled and swore.

Swift as lightning, Asad lifted Zoya to dump her in the jeep's driver's seat as he climbed in the back.

     "Drive!" he commanded. Thank god, the driver had left the key in the ignition.

Momentarily disoriented, she did as he told her.

In the next twenty minutes, Bunty and Babli, minus their disguises, were speeding away toward Bhopal in the same jeep with extra cash and Asad's phone. He had called Prasad who was already en route in the new bus. Prasad would meet them, get them a new phone and escort them back to the city where they could get help from some NGOs. 

  


But all the way back Zoya still refused to listen to reason.

She totally knew she was being a drama queen, but a small part of her was reliving the horror of their first Mangalpur misadventure that she'd buried deep down till now. She had been unconscious through the worst of it and only had Asad's word for the trauma of her emtombment. 

But suddenly now she could taste the dust and ashes in her mouth. And it all came rushing back.

For days after that incident she had coughed up dirt and dust and wondered at her return from the dead. Then, Aarti's words kept bouncing around in her head. 

But now only one question bounced back and forth in her head: why did he leave her to die? 

Back in the room she helped bandage and ice his injuries but she wouldn't look at, let alone talk to him. Asad cajoled and begged. She cried silently. He tried to hug and kiss her but she went limp in his arms.

She put on a fake smile when Ayaan and Humaira dragged them out for dinner and a bonfire. They sat on the same steps they had so long ago.

They'd been reluctantly handcuffed to each other then but were hyper aware of one another. They had watched two married people in love then, unaware that their own unfolding destiny would mirror Yash and Aarti's love. Aarti had been pregnant too then.

But this time they were bound closer than ever and yet miserably apart.

Zoya disappeared soon after to be with Humaira and her Abbu.

Asad paced in their room. The same room that they'd been in more than a year ago. Earlier in the day, today, she had laughed at the familiarity of the room as he had grumbled.

     "Look at the curtains! I don't remember them being so purple or the walls being so blue," Zoya had exclaimed. "If you squint your eyes enough, you can pretend it's a stretch of the Mediterrenean Sea!"

     "Look at the sheets. They probably haven't changed them since the last time we were here," he had grouched in dismay and disgust.

     "Mr. Khan, you're such a fusspot. Always the glass-half-empty kinda guy!" She'd nuzzled closer to him. "Like last time, we could almost sleep on the floor!"

Zoya had continued to laugh at him when he had called the manager and staff to demand a thorough cleaning, new sheets and fresh towels. He had stood guard over the cleaners and dusters and pointed out spots they'd missed. They marched to his orders in fear but beamed when he slipped in extra bakshish for each of them.

 

The room felt forlorn without her.

Asad couldn't stand it any more. He strode up to Siddiqui's room and rapped on the door. When Humaira opened the door, he barged in and grabbed Zoya's hand. 

Raziya and Humaira sniggered. 

     "Say goodnight," he commanded his pouting wife. "Time for bed and we need to talk."

     "Jao, beta," Siddiqui made a kissing noise and patted Zoya's head.

He knew something had upset her. The dimples had gone into sullen hiding ever since they'd returned from checking on Bunty and Babli. Her mind wasn't in the story tonight. It must have been some fight between her and Asad. And only his son-in-law could fix it and return that dimple to its original depth and glory. 

Siddiqui shook his head in wonder.

This new generation was much bolder and better problem-solvers than they had ever been. He would have never had the guts to burst into his father-in-law's room and drag his wife away. 

Asad dragged her into their room and bolted the door close behind. He yanked her to him before she could lock herself in the bathroom. 

     He held her by her arms, "do you think I haven't kicked myself for leaving you everyday since?"

     Zoya began to weep. "You hated me," she sobbed. "That's why you left me. You were so mad even when I got here." 

Asad flinched in guilt. Yes, he had been spiteful and had wasted no chance in letting her know how much he hated her.

     "I thought I hated you. But you had already gotten under my skin. I couldn't just leave you there to die. I ran all the way back, my heart in my mouth worried that I might be too late. It still kills me to think that each step away from you that day robbed a breath from your body."

He knew for a minute he'd become selfish—and that had always haunted him too. The Sarpanch's henchmen had guns and swords and wouldn't hesitate to kill him if he resisted too much. 

Ammi and Najma's faces had swam before his blurring eyes.

If something happened to him, what would happen to them? That had been a recurrent thought that day and his only miserable excuse.

But he was scared to say this in front of Zoya now.

And somehow, suddenly, she seemed to understand his decision from back then. In those dark days of unrequieted love, hadn't she refused to forgive herself for being so irresponsible as to put him into danger? Hadn't she berated herself a thousand times for the same reason? If something happened to Mr. Khan because of her, what would happen to Phuphi and Tamatar? They had no one else. 

Then why was she mad at him for choosing them instead of her at that moment? She meant nothing to him at that time. She was just a musibat and a mehmaan then. 

Zoya burst into tears.

     "I thought I'd lost you!" Asad said, gathering her in his arms. "I couldn't breathe either!" Asad whispered into her hair. "I breathed only when you opened your eyes. I'm sorry! I would have killed myself if something happened to you." 

And she would have died too if something happened to him. 

How would Ammi and Tamatar gone on without him? She would never have been able to forgive herself if the Panchayat had hurt Asad. 

Zoya clung to him now, in thanks and remorse. Maybe he had taken the right decision. 

And despite his anger or hate toward her in those days, he had still come back for her, revived her. She remembered him taking care of her before, and then especially afterwards. He'd been exquisitely tender and each time it had brought her to tears.

Even then he had been fighting his attraction for her. The crackle of the chemistry between them was undeniable. And even he'd felt it—she just knew it. No, it wasn't hate. In fact, however reluctant, he had rescued her and helped her escape right from the start hadn't he?  

     "Thank god, I was unconscious at that time," Zoya sniffed into his shirt. But his desertion still hurt a little bit though. "Or otherwise I would've felt so alone and scared. It would have broken me. What if I was conscious? What would they have done to me? Would they have rap—?"

     "Shut up Zoya! Don't even think it!"

     "You had family. I had no one then. I was just a detested guest," she pouted, still milking the pity card.

     "You always had me," Asad hugged her fiercely, eyes closed in prayer and gratitude.

Ammi had always been right. "Zoya tumhe poora karti hai," she'd said long ago.

     "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine life without you, or life without a smile from you," Asad rained soft kisses on her face before tilting it up to mock-scold her. "And what have I said about your tears? They remind me too much of my pain. I can't bear them. Don't, please!"

He kissed her again undoing the grief and unraveling the hurt. Zoya kissed him back with equal gusto: a smitten collaborator and hungry humsafar. The fight and heartache needed to be erased after all, scrubbed clean and made anti-septic. 

She wanted to feel his arms around her to wipe out those terrifying memories and desolate moments. And she had got her wish: they were spending the night at Apna Dhaba after all. Then why not make the best of it? And brand new memories in the process!

Zoya giggled suddenly.

     "What?" Asad asked, unable to keep up with her on this emotional roller-coaster.

     "Aarti and Yash thought that we were in love then and married. Do you remember how embarrassing it was when they asked when we were planning a family?" 

     "Who knew they were psychic!" Asad bent his head to suck her lower lip and they both groaned at the knock on the door.

     "Asad? Zoya? Open up!" It was Dilshad.

They broke apart to let her in. 

Fists on her waist, Dilshad glared at them.

     "I only want to know the truth. What happened the last time you both were here?" 

They both protested loudly that she was over-reacting and misreading things.

Dilshad held up a finger. 

     "Don't! Don't even try to fool me. In the bus, I wondered why Zoya had changed her hairstyle and was suddenly wearing sunglasses." She rounded on her son, "and I've never in my whole life seen you wear a baseball cap. Obviously you both feared being recognized. And obviously you've been in some kind of a fight since you got back. Speak." 

After one last sheepish look between themselves, they obeyed her. 

They told her all. 

Except for the burial and final rescue. She didn't need to know about that. 

     "Ya Allah!" Dilshad slumped on the bed, her head in her hands. "If something had happened to either of you, I'd have clawed Dilawar's eyes out! How dare he? Aur tum dono!" She still wasn't completely done with them. "Why do you have to hide these things from me? Why do you think I'm so fragile that I have to be protected from bad news?" 

     "We're sorry, Ammi," Zoya spoke up. "We didn't want to worry you." 

     Dilshad beckoned her to her side and hugged Zoya. "Idiots!" she muttered. "Pehle Tom and Jerry, phir Batman and Robin bante hain dono!" 

     Zoya giggled. "Ammi, I don't think Mr. Khan would like the role of Robin!"

     Asad snorted, "please! Ammi obviously meant that I was Batman."

     "Oh really? Then I'm Wonder Woman!" 

Dilshad tsked and showed herself out. Thank god, she didn't see the glint in her son's eye at the mention of Wonder Woman. Because suddenly he was imagining his Wonder Woman in her sexy All-American red, white and blue get-up. 

When Zoya leaped into his arms, Asad misbalanced and crashed on the bed with her on top. 

A loud groaning sound was followed by a louder crash. 

Zoya started laughing first.

     "Nice job, Jahanpanah. Now we really will have to sleep on the floor because it seems Batman and Wonder Woman just broke the bed!" 

     Asad laughed too. "Mangalpur, Part 3! The curse that keeps on giving!"

     "Hey," she smacked his shoulder. "I could turn the curse into a gift!" 

     "How, Mrs. Khan? What magic tricks do you have up your sleeve now?" 

     He grinned when she whispered in his ear. "So what? We'll improvise. Forget the costumes, it'll just be superhero capes for when Batman mounts Wonder Woman after beating up the bad guys. You better have red and black dupattas."

     "Oh Mr. Batman," She wiggled suggestively on top of him. "You don't know what things I carry with me for exactly these kinds of sexual emergencies!" 

 

And even this would have lasted if their bus driver left with the disabled bus, hadn't blabbed.

He had found company at a local chaiwala. And found some country liquor too. And it had loosened his tongue as the night deepened. 

And an equally drunk but rapt audience listened to a filmy recap of fleeing lovers, generous benefactors, makeovers and disguises ...

Mangalpur wasn't done with them as yet.

 

 

  


Song in Title:

3 Idiots (2009): "Jaane Nahin Denge Tujhe"


	105. Yahin Marna Aur Jeena, Yahin Mandir Aur Medina

 

     "My silly Wonder Woman," Asad teased her late into the night. "If you hadn't been so mad at me, I could have at least held you when they lit the bonfire. I knew it scared you." 

     "It did," Zoya admitted. "And I missed you holding me." She had kept her eyes averted most of the time, tapping away uselessly on her iPad. Abbu had held her hand and she'd found that incredibly comforting. She didn't want to freak out too much and bring everyone down with memories of Tanveer's reign of terror they'd just barely overcome. 

That evening Asad had seen her stiffen when the lit fire leaped and arced; he watched her flinch and look away. He knew she was putting up a brave front when every nerve and cell in her body was screaming at her to bolt and hide. He had smiled at her spunk and shook his head at her stubbornness. Always Jhansi ki Rani, even when battling her own fears. Asad knew she was still upset with him about the fight and wouldn't let him comfort her. He remembered when she'd run away from a similar fire in the backyard. It was then that she'd told him about her fear of fire ... and her quest for a lost father.

She didn't run away this time. And her father was by her side. 

The scars were healing ... 

The fires were receding ...

Asad had stood up in front of her to block Zoya's view of the flames.

And gratefully he'd noticed Raziya stop Ayaan from adding more logs to the fire.

     "Bahut dhuaan hoga beta and it's not good to breathe in all this smoke."  

     "I was kicking myself for having picked a fight with you, you know. Such bad timing! And you, Mr. Khan? Couldn't you just drag me into your arms and hold me tight? I kept hoping you'd be my superhero. But no! You had to be super Akdu!" 

     "In front of everybody?" Asad asked, shocked. He stroked her back. "If I had, then everyone would have remembered your fear and the whole factory episode." 

     She harrumphed in the dark. "Always Mr. Practical! You don't have a single spontaneous bone in your body, you know," Zoya complained. 

     "Babe, I thought I just showed you the single-most spontaneous bone in my body!" Asad teased as he pinched her butt to remind her that she'd ridden that bone not so long ago, and how he'd had to cover her mouth to silence those throaty moans. Who knew how thin these walls were in Apna Dhaba?

     "Mr. Khan!" Zoya squealed and giggled.

Her husband's besharam sense of humor was becoming more and more Masha'allah. She couldn't believe that this was the same "voh ... actually ... main" guy who accidentally recorded his "mat jao Zoya" message in a video she may have never seen, took months to say I love you, and that too when she was this close to leaving—again. 

Jeez, thanks for all the heartache, Mr. Khan!

And no, she hadn't forgotten the recent ride on the bat mobile either. Wonder Woman's butt would show bruises tomorrow where Batman had kneaded her flesh as he'd helped her take him in deeper, stretching her tight. The muscles in his arms had bunched as he braced her on top of him hotly sliding her up and down and pumping deep into her.

     "I love you, Batman Ahmed Khan," she whispered into his shoulder. "Thanks for shielding me from the bonfire, by the way. You were being my super hero after all! I noticed." 

     "I love you too, my All-American Bhopal ki Wonder Woman! And I'll always be your super hero. I thought you said it was in the fine print in the nikaahnama!"

There! That's exactly why I love your Abbu so much, she told the baby as Zoya ran a palm over her stomach. It's not just because he's our super hero. It's also because he listens and remembers what I may have said months ago. 

     "Asad?"

     "Hmm?"

     "I was thinking ..."

     "Umm-hmm ..."

     "Our last time in Mangalpur ... I don't think you hated me."

     "I didn't? Even though earlier today you were convinced otherwise?"

     "I was being hormonal, I guess."

Asad chuckled. Didn't he know it too! These days, baby in her belly, his Jhansi ki Rani waved her hormones around like a warrior's shield—and often clocked him with it too.

     "But admit it, Mr. Khan. You were falling for me and just being major Akdu about it. You know what I really think?"

     "What?" He continued to smile in the dark. 

     "You kept pushing me away during those days. You lost no chance to be angry with me, or to yell at me ... when you were really angry at yourself. It was all cos you were slowly and irrevocably falling in love with your Ms. Farooqui, right?" 

     "My musibat mehmaan, you mean!"

     "Admit it. Everytime you yelled at me it, basically it was your way of saying 'I love you'!"

     "Really?" Asad taunted. 

     "Say it!"

     "Say what, Mrs. Musibat?" 

     "Asad!"

He rolled on his side to trace the outline of her face with his finger, gently drawing on her eyes, nose and lips like her mother used to do, years ago.  

     "You challenged everything I believed in, everything I stood for. Yes, I was mad at myself for falling for you. How could I be falling for a woman who wore jeans, repeatedly told me that I belonged in the 17th century and was loud and messy as hell? Any other girl, and she'd have backed off and disappeared. But not you. You stood your ground. Well, when you weren't falling into my arms every other minute, that is!"

     "Please!" She swatted his chest before kissing him. "Count your blessings! Aise takratey aur girtey naubat yahan tak pahunchi ki nikaah hua hum dono ka!"

     "You know, I've been around hundreds of guys," she continued and didn't see Asad frown. "But I've never fallen so much, or as often as I did into your arms. Either it was some inner ear imbalance thing that you, and only you brought on. Or it must have been Allah's way of bringing us together because god knows, you were being too damn stubborn!" 

     "So out of those hundreds of guys, you didn't fall into a single guy's arms except mine?"

He still gently traced her face.     

     "Not a single other guy." 

     "Good. Let's keep it that way." 

     "And look, now that we're together, the imbalance thingie, magically cured!" 

Zoya sighed in bliss. This new epiphany exhilarated her. In all those initial months of fighting with him she had always wondered at the unresolved contrast. He was a sexist bear to her, no doubt—constantly looking down his nose at her to judge her brashness and yelling at her for her supposed lack of tehzeeb. But when she saw him with his mom and sister, he was a teddy bear—tender, indulgent and infinitely patient. 

In her own stereotyping of him in those early days, she used to think he'd be one of those typical Indian husbands who treated their wives like second-class citizens: "yahan mat jao," "yeh mat karo," "chup raho," types. 

Asad circled the tip of her nose before kissing it; it broke her reverie.

     "No matter how hard I tried to stay away from you, this nose kept sticking itself where it didn't belong. And this mouth!" Asad kissed the corner of her lips. "This mouth kept sassing me and mouthing off like nobody's business. You drove me mad, you know! And when you still weren't satisfied with messing up my mind and heart, you branded me." Asad held out his palm and she licked her initial on it. 

     "So yes, I was fighting you, but mostly myself."

     "Good Jahanpanah," she kissed him as a reward for giving her the perfectly right answer and then pinched his cheek. "Silly Mr. Khan. You should have just listened to your favorite poet, Rumi: 'Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it'."

     "That was beautiful," Asad breathed. "And true. So you're finally training in fine verse and shayari Mrs. Khan? I'm impressed."

     "Jeeju says one should never stop learning. And after listening to you recite such poetic verses, I thought I'd look into Rumi and some Ghalib. Just for you Mr. Khan! I also came across Pablo Neruda's poems. They're gorgeous! You have to read his love sonnets." 

     "I could. But I'd rather you recited them for me," Asad ran the tip of his nose against the shell of her ear.

She shivered deliciously. 

Thank you Allah Miyan that she was totally wrong about him in the beginning! And Allah Miyan knew it too: she was falling in love with him as well. Right here, in Mangalpur ... when he had fed her ... saved her. 

He may have huffed and puffed and tried his damnedest to blow her house down.

But under that granite exterior that never failed to roar at her, there beat the squishiest, sweetest and gooeyest of lionhearts. 

A part of her wished that their child would be a girl who'd have her daddy wrapped around her tiny finger. He would be toast ... or putty ... or both. But then she also wanted a boy: a mini-Akdu version of Asad might not be so bad.

Zoya sighed, content as a cat as she wiggled around to find the best sleeping position. Asad peppered her bare shoulder with velvety kisses.

On some nights she just loved to sleep in the nude. Because she loved to be woken up by his rough stubble at her cheek or neck as he moved deep inside her. "Good morning," he'd whisper as she sighed awake, already dimpling though still half-asleep. Some mornings he'd surprise her with toe-curling, hot honey licks and lusciously scorching nips that had her melting from the inside out, shimmering and shattering from the silken heat. 

     He'd chuckle at her readiness for him, ripe for the taking. "Too easy," he'd tease her, and she'd be too far gone to sass him back.

They laughed languidly when they heard a thump and an angry meow. Dobby had comandeered the broken bed as his new scratching post and throne. But the sagging bed was putting up a valiant fight in its last throes of insurgency.

As Zoya dozed lightly, she plotted how she'd wake up her Jahanpanah tomorrow morning. She'd forbidden him to slip into his night clothes for just that reason. She dreamt of how his Kaneez would tease and taste him awake, feel him full and deep in her, and then mount him in nasty, randy conquest. She half-giggled to herself at the unmentioned stealth competition between them: who'd wake up first and wake up the other for morning sex games.

Zoya felt his fingers feather between her legs and quivered. He traced more intimate outlines now, painting her steamy wet. Hot damn, her super hero also had mind-reading powers. 

     "Again?" Zoya sighed, not the least bit reluctantly.

     "Again. For Mangalpur. For being alive, together, stuck here once again and rebranding hot new memories." 

And Batman swooped down on her, restless ... hard.

He needed his super powers recharged. 

Gotham's welfare depended on it. 

 

And Mangalpur was sure living up to its Gotham potential.

The family was looking forward to the tranquil lakes and waterfalls of Panchmarhi, unfolding scenic vistas ... and of course, the luxurious hotel amenities.

Breakfast of steaming dhaba tea and piping hot pakoras, some spicy bantering and jokes, and soon they'd be off. The additional armed bodyguards Rakesh had sent had reached last evening. The new bus was here.

What could go wrong?

Asad was feeling lucky. 

But the morning brought other surprises—roadblocks, rather.

Thanks to a chatty bus driver from last night, word of helping the fugitives escape had spread in the area and the local militia had started gathering outside the inn. The rumblings of disapproval grew louder and more aggressive just as the family was readying for departure. 

One of the bodyguards knocked on their door to inform Asad. 

And in a split second, the inscrutable mask slipped back on. Asad was transformed into what Zoya had playfully anointed him last night: full on Batman-mode—hooded, on alert, and badass. 

He was pissed off. This morning his teeth weren't clenched in dread for the family; they were gritted in hard-core fury. Yesterday he had feared a siege; today, icy defiance surged through him. 

Enough!

The oncoming siege had them scrambling to launch pre-emptive strikes. 

This time it wasn't just him and Zoya. This time they had the whole family on their side. General Jeeju and Jhansi ki Rani had their troops by their side. And the troops, thanks to Tanveer's megalomania, had already been trained and prepped for just such a situation. 

And this time they'd get it right, right from the start.

Bring it, his steely jaw challenged.

 

Asad texted Ayaan and Feroze to keep the moms and girls indoors asking them to barricade the doors with whatever furniture they could find in the room, and then join him on the balcony outside. Inside the room, pepper sprays and penknives were at the ready--their safety drills from the past few months auto-kicked into gear.

Zoya and Faiz had leaped into action just as swiftly. 

Yesterday they had lined the ducks in a row by calling the American consulates in New Delhi, Mumbai and Hyderabad to report harassment and threats to their safety. The consulates had contacted the police in Bhopal and Indore to demand protection. Back in the US, Anwar (who'd left a week ago), and Feroze's and Omar's dads blitzed the Indian Embassy with distress calls about family members in danger in India.

With the help of the girls, Zoya also posted the Go-Pro video of yesterday's blockade and bus raid on numerous news sites. While the makeovers of Bunty and Babli were underway, Faiz had installed the camera in the back of the bus to capture the moments perfectly: the gunmen's masked faces and rifles were clearly visible, their barked orders equally audible. 

And now Faiz was wearing the Go-Pro to record and later transmit the current crisis: the camera continued to capture the angry shouts and cries by scores of masked men, astride bikes and jeeps, brazenly waving swords, machetes and rifles. 

The morning sun glinted harshly off rifle muzzles and raw sword blades.

The others too were taking video clips on their phones and sending them back to the girls to flood news sites with minute-by-minute developments. Everyone's facebook and twitter and whatsapp and instagram friends and followers had taken up the calls for help and appeals for protection. 

The information loop was widening; the public gaze on Mangalpur was sharpening: the sleepy, obscure township was slowly morphing into ground zero of terror and gunda-raj. 

     "Hamari izzat ka sawal hai," the Mangalpur desperadoes yelled, unaware that viewers around the state could see them.

     "Izzat ke badlay khoon," they chanted, naked bloodlust writ across pumping fists and partially covered faces, unaware of how menacing and medieval they looked. Their wild cries were punctuated with crashing bottles and fired airshots.

Soon the calls and comments to news stations started pouring in, just as the social media, dominated by a more progressive youth, erupted. 

The media hadn't taken the bait yesterday. Not dramatic enough.

But today, outraged public uproar and new footage of a continued filmy siege that could boost network ratings had the media scrambling to out-scoop each other.

The narrative was perfect for breaking news: inter-religious lovers fleeing from the danger of sure death and honor killing, being assisted by urban professionals and good Samaritans who were now being persecuted by regressive local thugs and mobs.

And having some Americans caught up in the midst of this blood drama was just pure ratings gold. 

Reporters across multiple channels were sending in footage of themselves racing to Mangalpur in their news vans to cover the unfolding events live. They were interviewing locals along the way to fill airtime and feed the frenzy. 

The networks had also managed to unearth stories and statistics of rural rampages around the country of warring communities entagled over inter-caste and inter-faith alliances which led to public bloodbaths: lovers being lynched, or burned, or buried alive.

Panels and debates were quickly patched together to compare India vs. Bharat, growing cosmopolitanism butting up against seething old-world class and caste wars. Old cases were drummed up, statistics parroted, experts, activists and government officials cited in animated or somber sound bytes.

 

The mob was getting antsier by the minute and tried to bust through the doors of some rooms, but the beefy guards armed with better weapons than themselves were holding them off.

Someone threw a homemade bottle bomb into one of the rooms through a window.

Zoya gasped in terror as the curtains lit up.

Dobby yowled and jumped into her arms. Raziya had dived to pull them down and stomp out the flames. Humaira, in the meantime, unhooked the curtain rod to use as a staff in case anyone broke through the door. 

Everything in the room was fair game. 

They'd taken the lamp bases apart to use as clubs, broken up the bulbs and vases, and along with drawer knobs and screws put them in pillow cases to swing against an attacker if need be. 

     "Zoya, are you OK?" Asad yelled from outside as they heard the smashing glass. "ZOYA? Ammi?" he yelled when he got no answer.

     "I'm fine, we're all fine," Zoya called out after taking a deep shuddering breath and hugging Dobby for comfort. She didn't need Asad distracted and worried for them. Get a grip, Zoya, she scolded herself. With so many people who loved her and leaped up to shield her from fires, she needed to stop being so phobic. And by god, if they got out of here safe, she'd even look into doing something about this fear of hers. No way was she going to let fires paralyze her or get the better of her.

Na-ah.

Some of the younger men in the mob were becoming restless and pushed closer; the battle cries grew louder and more savage. Ayaan and Feroze too had unhooked several curtain rods from the other rooms to use as weapons, but these wouldn't be much help if they got rushed.

     "Mr. Khan, please," Zoya called out from the room, "guys, please come inside! It won't do us any good if you get hurt."

The moms too repeated frantic pleas for the men to come inside and not expose themselves to the deranged outlaws whose rumblings were rising. 

     "Mr. Khan! I swear to god, I'll kill you myself if you don't come in this instant!" Zoya was really getting pissy now.

Asad rolled his eyes and expelled his breath. He could imagine her behind the door with her fists digging into her hips and a pout and scowl marring her face.

     "If you don't come in, I'm coming out!" his wife threatened.

He heard the door unlatching.

Asad groaned.

     "Fine, fine, we're coming in."

With the guards posted outside, the guys hustled in. Together they hefted the bed and dresser in front of the door to reinforce it. One of the guards had slipped a gun into Asad's hands.

     "If they do break in, all the ladies need to barricade themselves in the bathroom," Asad commanded. He glared at Zoya, "without a single argument or blackmailed threat!" 

She made a face but remained silent. When the time came she'd do what she felt was needed.

And he knew it too.

Asad's eyes narrowed and his chin jerked to subtly threaten her into submission. 

Zoya turned her back on him and he could have sworn he heard a barely repressed snort.

His head fell back.

Damn, damn, damn.

Outside, the drama was intensifying: former collaborators were being forced to choose sides. The reluctant local police was feeling the official pressure to protect the outsiders against a mob—nay, a brotherhood—they knew so intimately.

With Asad's call to the Police Commissioner and the renewed demands from American consulates and the Indian foreign service wanting to avoid an international incident, the local police could not afford to aid and abet their old buddy, the Sarpanch. More forces and police in riot gear were coming from Bhopal and Indore—the inspector and his cohorts needed to put up a show of doing the right thing.

As the Manglapur police chief dithered, unwilling to anger the Sarpanch yet scared for his job security in the face of escalating media scrutiny, the girls and parents began calling local and national news agencies to provide live interviews of hapless tourists caught up in a rural gangwar nightmare. They told of being barricaded in a poorly defended room, scared for their lives in the face of barely unleashed violence. 

They had an elderly woman in their midst.

The family answered questions about how they were feeling (Aapko kaisa lag raha hai? Aap kya mehsoos kar rahein hain?), how many hooligans were assembled, how menacing they looked, and what precautions they had taken.

But the family refused to answer questions about the lovers or reveal their names, real or fake.

Siddiqui and Rashid contacted local politicians, district and state representatives to loudly complain of being harassed in their constituency. With the media already on its way and airing the footage and the on-air interviews with the family on an endless loop, the politicians were compelled to despatch negotiators and bahubalis to control the situation and manage the public relations nightmare that could rock their political careers.

     Already some reporters were knocking on political doors and demanding uncomfortable answers: "aap apne ilaake mein kanooni vyavastha ke liye kya kadam utha rahein hain?"

 

Meanwhile the angry rhetoric outside Apna Dhaba ran high.

The Sarpanch and his henchmen continued to denounce shehri outsiders who interfered with hallowed local customs and centuries-old riti rivaaz. They made a lot of noise about pardesis kidnapping and trafficking a girl from their community. They pitched more Molotov cocktails toward the room. 

Glass smashed, warning shots by the guards tore the air. 

Asad's heart sank when he heard the nearing battle cries and the volley of shots as the door began to splinter.

Everyone pressed against the walls and crouched on the floor.

They heard more powerful shots: the guards were returning fire. But how long could six men hold off a lawless army? 

Asad looked around him and saw Zoya and the girls huddled in a corner working furiously. A pungent smell invaded his nostrils and his hackles shot up.

     "What are you girls doing?" Ayaan asked, equally curious. Asad crawled over to see for himself. "Are you mad?" he yelled as he sprang up. "Where did you get this? Don't you know, one misplaced shot and the whole room could go up in flames?" 

He was nearly hyperventilating with fury and rocking on the balls of his feet in utter outrage: shockwaves rippled through him. Asad shoved the gun in the back of his waistband and blasted Zoya, wanting to shake her till her teeth rattled.

     "You! It has to be you! Always coming up with crazy ass insane ideas! Aaarrggh!" he grunted in frustration as he punched the wall.

Zoya ignored him even though Nikhat quivered next to her at her Bhaijaan's rocketfire temper. 

     "Feroze, Faiz, take over from them please, before I shoot myself to end this torture!" Asad called out. 

He couldn't believe it. 

Where had they acquired a kerosene can and so many soda bottles from? And how the hell did they even know how to make Molotov cocktails?

Asad seethed. 

Of course only one person could have come up with this genius idea. 

And this idea? It was so brilliant, so genius, and so goddamn foolish at the same time that he could bang his head on the wall till his brain was pulp.

Why, why, why, did she do these things? And why the hell hadn't he thought of it first instead of glaring at Mangalpur's finest gundas from the balcony for half an hour?

Idiot!

     "Zoya," he yelled. "Where did you get these supplies? They could not have been just lying around in the room," he almost pleaded with her to make him understand.

The guys were now helping, and the bottle bomb production picked up pace looking like a well-oiled assembly line. 

The girls had ripped the curtains and sheets into shreds to use as wicks.

Finally Zoya looked at him. He had calmed down a smidge and was possibly ready to listen to reason. 

     "Umm, I phoned Chhotu and asked him to bring us this stuff through the window. Cool no? Poor thing had to smuggle them in a gunny bag." 

Asad squinched his eyes in confusion. Who the hell was Chhotu? 

     "Who the hell is Chhotu?" 

     "Mr. Khan!" his wife scolded him. Being Batman was fine and all, but he really shouldn't be blind as a bat either. "Don't you remember that sweet guy at breakfast who served us tea and got us extra spicy chutney?"

     Dilshad rubbed his shoulder to calm him down. "Be grateful she just phoned him and convinced him to help us. Some bribery was involved and he now has a brand new Nikon camera. But your madam was ready to wear Ammi's burqa and step out herself."

Asad simmered. A fine sweat broke across his forehead. If he ground his teeth anymore he'd soon have to be fitted with dentures.

     "I think Chhotu has a crush on Aapi," Humaira giggled. Siddiqui made a sound in the back of his throat.

     "Oh totally!" piped Nuzzhat as if stating the obvious.

Asad slapped his forehead. 

He glared at Zoya murderously as he did a quick mental check for where she'd stashed her pink furry handcuffs. They must be in her backpack.

That's it. 

He'd have to invest in a real, heavy-duty pair of handcuffs and keep them on him 24/7 for such wifely emergencies. This was getting ridiculous. God knows what was in the water in Mangalpur that made this woman pull insane stunts like this. Why—   

     "Genius, just bloody genius," Ayaan muttered. 

     "Now what?" Asad asked, briefly distracted. His jaw ached from gritting his teeth so tight.

     "Mona Darling thought of everything except matches or a lighter without which these little shit-throwing machines are useless!" 

     "Ayaan!" Rashid hollered. 

Everyone looked at Zoya.

     "Sorry, sorry," she said, pulling out her phone to call Chhotu again.

Asad glared at her. What else could he do? But at least now he had some ammunition to burst her ego balloon when she ever decided to gloat about her genius in the future.

Chhotu answered his phone eagerly. 

This was the most fun he was having in his life.

A super-expensive camera, a new best friend who was cute as heck? What else could a guy ask for? When he strutted up to the back window with the matchboxes, he had raised his collar and fluffed up his hair in jaunty anticipation. 

He knocked on the window and when Zoya opened it a peep, he beamed at her. 

     "Thank you Chhotu, you're so sweet!" Zoya gushed.

He blushed with smug pleasure. Chhotu swayed in giddy delight when Zoya held out her palm to take the matches from him. 

     "Nooo," he drawled in self-importance. "Not so soon. Pehle ek thank you kiss dena padeg— 

Poor Chhotu. 

He didn't see it coming. 

In the next second he was yanked and slammed hard into the iron bars by that same upturned collar. When he opened his eyes he had to blink multiple times because his vision had blurred. When it cleared, Chhotu squeaked and flinched in terror: he was millimeters away from a powerful fist. 

     "Mr. Khan, no!" someone screamed. 

     "Kiss chahiye? Thank you, kiss? Main deta hoon kiss!" 

Asad remembered Chhotu perfectly well now. He was the same annoying pipsqueak who had been pumping him at breakfast for tips on how to sculpt his doughy body. And only his zany wife would bother to find out every helper's name and history. She probably also knew how many siblings the little creep had and what medicines his mother took.

     "Want to know how I got this body?" Asad hollered in the bleating Chhotu's face.

An anxious Zoya was pulling on his arm to possibly spare the idiot's life. Reluctantly Asad uncurled his fist.

     He held out his palm. "Matches!" he snapped.

Chhotu scuttled away in fright after flinging the matchboxes in his hand.

Asad would have bellowed at Zoya if they hadn't heard renewed yells and shots from outside. But he did glare at her to let her know that he wasn't done with her as yet. 

     "As if!" she muttered under her breath before tossing her hair. 

     Ayaan grabbed the matches from his brother's hand while Asad yanked Zoya's arm to whisper in her ear, "I'll kill that Chhotu! And how dare you get so pally with his type?"

     "Mr. Khan," she hissed. "Stop behaving as if I've been flirting with the help! And I got him to help us didn't I? Then what's your problem?" 

The racket of the mob clashing with the guards was getting louder.

     "I'll deal with you later and show you what's my problem," Asad wagged his finger at her as he charged to man his post at the door. 

The women had really been busy while the hooligans were amassing outside. Naz had showed the guys another homemade weapon they'd put together. If any of the gundas did break through the door they would be greeted with a dupatta full of red chilli powder thrown into their faces. 

     "Where did you get all this chilli powder?" Faiz was curious. Did all women in India carry red pepper around with them for protection, he wondered.

     "Chhotu!" the girls had chorused and Asad had rolled his eyes again.

     "Good job, guys!" Faiz congratulated the women. This was way cool.

He sure was revising his impression of Indian women in this trip.

 

It was bound to happen. 

For how long could six armed guards and three reluctant policemen hold off more than twenty-thirty armed men. Asad just hoped that none of Rakesh's men were too badly injured. And luckily the guards and their powerful rifles had done fair damage to the Sarpanch's army. The flaming Molotov cocktails lobbed from the windows by Ayaan and Faiz had helped slow the assault and take down some more thugs.

But some of the battered hoodlums still broke through the rickety ramparts that the family had erected. 

The first batch was downed by the mirchi grenade launcher. But a couple of others still staggered through to only be taken down by Faiz and Feroze armed with curtain rods. Asad had already herded the women into the bathroom and latched the door after them.

He gave them strict instructions to latch it from the inside.

     "Ammi," he had whispered to Dilshad prior to locking them in. "Just keep an eye on her and don't let her get into too much trouble." 

She patted his cheek.

     His eyes met Raziya's. "Aunty!" Watch out for her please, he entreated silently, like you did before.

Raziya's eyes stung. It was the first time he'd called her aunty. She nodded her head vigorously in assurance because words failed her.

     "I will. With my life," she breathed. She didn't know if Asad heard her or not.

     "Mr. Khan," Zoya groused. "I'm right here! Stop giving everyone instructions on how to guard the crown jewel!"

     A murderous howl erupted from him. "At least the crown jewel shuts up and stays put! You—!"

     "Stop it you two!" Dilshad scolded. "This is neither the time nor the place for your Tom and Jerry act. Asad, go!" she shooed him out missing the worried look that zinged between husband and wife. Both knew that the act was a partial cover-up for the real terror they felt for each other. 

He had seen the sheen of tears in Zoya's eyes as she hugged herself. I'll be fine, his chin-tilt reassured her, just please be good—for me. 

The moms didn't see it, but he'd pressed the gun into Zoya's hand. And her heart had squeezed in foreboding, soaked in dread. He was going to bare-knuckle it out there and was silently telling her to use the gun if anyone got through the door. 

She nearly crumpled to her knees. 

Zoya nodded to him in promise as she tucked the firearm in her waistband in the back.

I'll be good, just please take care of yourself, she begged too.

Shireen sobbed as Hana comforted her. Nikhat looked as though she might burst into tears any minute herself. She was terrified for Feroze and her Abbu and brothers. 

But like her sister she was mad too. 

All their Taekwondo training was flooding back along with the justified anger.

     Humaira had taken charge and pushed Zoya to the back of the room glaring at her for resisting. "Aapi behave, or I'll seriously call Jeeju!" 

Outside, Faiz and Feroze were the first line of defense against the attack. When they fell back fighting and tumbling with some of the more able-bodied henchmen who'd broken through, Asad and Ayaan tackled the new entrants. They blocked blows with their forearms delivering swift cuts and punches. High kicks, upper cuts, and a well-aimed knee or a chokehold were effective in keeping the wolves at bay. 

For some time.

Rashid and Siddiqui were pitching the remaining fireballs to stem the speed of the invasion.

As both pairs of brothers thrashed and battled against at least six or seven men, the Sarpanch's right-hand man sneaked in.

He knew there were women in the group.

He also guessed that they must be in the bathroom. The only way to gain any advantage over these shehri fighting machines was to hold their women hostage. The intruder kicked at the door and with a few body slams and hits with his shoulder was able to break through it.

The women inside screamed as he barged in. 

He leered at them getting ready to laugh like a filmy villain. 

But when the first mist of pepper spray hit him square in the eye, the hapless man screamed and fell to his knees covering his eyes. They were on fire. A curtain rod rained down on his head to wallop him and he fell sideways clutching his bleeding head now.

The Sarpanch rushed in springing over the man's prone body. He'd managed to evade the flailing and flying limbs of these women's menfolk. But just barely. Asad had tried to grab him by the scruff of his neck. But another man had him pinned down in a headlock.

Seeing the bathroom door splinter and hearing the women's screams had re-galvanized the guys. Feroze's knees, elbows and knifehands inflicted some ferocious harm on the assailants. Faiz was sweeping up with the spinning curtain rod.

Groans and cries filled the room as blood spilled.

With the looming threat of Tanveer's attack and in the face of the girls taking Taekwondo classes, Ayaan had stealthily trained at Krav Maga classes that no one knew about. Because of the high-octane emotional overload at the gudia factory, his counter-attacks were unfocused and not nearly as efficient. 

But not now. 

Now these aggressive Israeli street-fighting maneuvers and strategies were kicking serious butt. Ayaan was in the zone. He felt no pain and registered no injuries. His arms flew and heels danced as the opponents' necks and noses crumpled, eyes were gouged out, spleens ruptured and ribs cracked.

Asad would have been proud but he had no time. 

His heart was in the other room and his head not yet in the game. Someone was choking him from behind. Asad jammed his elbow in the attacker's solar plexis and pivoted to slam his foot in the man's upper thigh. He heard something snap as the explosive kick landed. A swift chop to the side and the man screamed in pain as he free fell. 

But just as soon, another man was on him. 

Luckily Asad had seen him from the corner of his eye and was ready for him. When the base of his palm connected with the thug's nose, blood spurted all over him.

     Ready to hammer in the kill shot, Asad swiveled his head in alarm when he heard Zoya yell from the bathroom: "Humaira, SING! S I N G!"

Asad froze. What? Why was Zoya yelling at Humaira to sing?

He breathed easier when he heard Dobby yowl in anger and a man scream. Good boy.

There was a clatter from the bathroom and the next instant Asad heard a man grunt and cuss in pain.

     "Good girl!" he heard Zoya cheer.

Asad wiped his face and looked at the carnage around him. Thank god everyone was fine and still standing.

Groaning and writhing bodies lay scattered around them.

But before they could draw another breath, three more intruders burst in. Ayaan and Feroze surged forward, ready to make mincemeat out of them.

In the melee, they heard a gunshot from the bathroom and went deathly still.

     "Zoya, are you OK?" Asad yelled even as he struggled against a new attacker. He punched him square in the face waiting for Zoya's reply.

Another gunshot boomed in the small room followed by a piercing scream.

     "Z O Y A !"

     "Mr. Khan, stop yelling. I'm fine. But Mr. Panch here ain't going nowhere anytime soon. Shit! I think I may have blown his little sarpanches off!"

     "ZOYA!" Several voices yelled in unison to shush her.

The 21st century Jhansi ki Rani sure had a mouth on her.

  

It must have been a slow news day because national stations picked up the developing story of a gun battle. 

The girls had probably left their phones on during all this mayhem and the media was salivating, having smelled blood.

All this set off churning ripples that were bound to reach and rock Mangalpur.

  


The entire stand-off must have lasted well over an hour. Thank god the pre-emptive strikes they'd launched rode in to the rescue just as more attackers tried to break through the back window of their room.

The riot police and ambulances got there minutes ahead of the media.

All channels regretfully aired the chaotic aftermath and final round up of the bloodied and roughed-up village goons. 

This was a total bummer. This whole shebang was soon turning into a non-story.

The reporters wished they'd been here for when the battle was at its full-blown climax. This was no fun because the family had barricaded themselves in one of the rooms to clean up and reboot—so live interviews with the triumphant survivors were out.

The media's attempts to further drum up fresh news masala were frustrated too when half an hour later, the family, with their faces covered, was escorted to their bus under heavy police protection. The tinted and locked bus windows afforded no views, this driver was too tight-lipped as were the injured guards.

The bus roared off and so did any hope for additional media hype.

The only thing left to salvage their credibility and fill airtime was to interview locals and eager witnesses lining up for their 15 minutes of fame.

Chhotu stepped up to the plate telling tales of being a loyal ally and daring benefactor of the now departed family.

The reporters pumped him for names and background, none of which he knew. He puffed up his chest and refused to give away his friends' identities. No, no bribes would work on him, he was that loyal. He showed them the fresh bruises on his face. He got them when he had tried to protect one of the women by stepping in to save her from a vicious attacker.

 

In the bus, everyone slept.

The adrenaline had worn off, and they had come crashing down from its high. The men were sprawled across the double seats, ice bags on their hands and heads. 

But Zoya was still buzzed, still too wired to close her eyes for even a second. She toyed with the charms on her bracelet, and grinned at the latest addition: the Manglapur trophy. 

After they'd made up yesterday, Asad had dropped a tiny jewelry box in her palm. 

     "Mr. Khan, you know I don't wear much jewelry!"

     "Just open it. This is something different."

     She had started laughing when she popped it open. "Oh. My. God. This is so unbelievably cute and just too perfect!"

Their Mangler saga from over a year ago was even more dramatic because they'd been handcuffed to each other for most of their escape from the police and the panchayat.

     "How and where did you even dream this up?" Zoya asked as she touched the miniature handcuffs.

     "The anniversary of our Mangalpur adventure just went by so I had this specially made for your bracelet. I was going to give it to you our first night at the hotel in Panchmarhi. Who knew that I'd give it to you in Mangalpur in the middle of Mangalpur madness!"

     "Oh, so I wasn't that one who jinxed us. It was you!" Zoya had accused him, her eyes bright with delight.  

     Asad had grinned. "Must be some cosmic conspiracy that brought us back here. I thought lightning never struck the same place twice." 

     "I guess it does Mr. Khan, specially when it's you and me! Here, help me clip it on." 

Zoya sighed as she touched the tiny cuffs. Who knew married life would bring such wonderful treats and treasures ... and trophies.

     Humaira peeked over her shoulder and grabbed her wrist. "Ooh Aapi! New charm? Handcuffs? From Jeeju, right? Haaw! Do I even want to know what they signify?" She hissed playfully. 

     No, you don't! Zoya thought as she rapped her sister on the knee. "Umm, Humairoo, Mr. Khan gave them to me as a joke. For that time I went to jail, remember? And he had to bail me out." 

     "Aww, how cute! You both are so adorable, you know?"

     "Please, your Jeeju would be maha offended if he heard you call him adorable."

     "He'll survive, I'm sure," Humaira butted her shoulder with hers. 

     "He better!"

Raziya watched from the back as the sisters leaned their heads against one another and talked in whispers.

She went back to her nap, a satisfied smile on her face.

 

     "Aannhh!" Zoya squeaked a half hour later and Asad dove to her side sliding on a bent knee.

     "Zoya, are you OK? What happened?" He was already imagining the worst.

They should have never even thought about going to Panchmarhi. He'd have the bus turn around this insant and go back home. Never again would they set foot within a 50-mile radius of Mangalpur. 

Ever.

     "Mr. Khan! The baby!" Zoya yelped, in tears.

So intent was he on his revenge fantasy against Manglapur that he didn't see her dimples. Asad would have probably shredded the bus seats apart with his bare hands but she tugged him back down by his hand and placed it on her tummy.

     "Did you feel it? The baby kicked!"

 

Song in Title:

Ek Villain (2014): "Galiyaan"


	106. Ban Ke Maala Prem Ki, Tere Tan Pe Jhar Jhar Jaaoon

 

  

     "You know, Bunty and Babli sure lived up to their filmy names!" Zoya mused much later in the hotel room as they got ready for dinner.

     "What do you mean?" Asad asked. 

     "There's a movie by that name. And a song. It goes something like 'unki jodi shaamat aur qayamat.' They sure brought shaamat and qayamat with their entrance and exit." 

     "Hmm ... though by now, isn't our jodi more shaamat aur qayamat?" 

     "Totally!" Zoya grinned cheekily. "And I love how Ammi calls us Tom and Jerry. Of course I'm Jerry—the cute and smart one!" 

     "Speaking of smart—why in god's name, in the middle of all that shaamat and qayamat, were you yelling at Humaira to sing?" Asad asked. He knew his wife was zany, but this thing sounded too bizarre even for her.

Zoya laughed richly.

     "Aww Mr. Khan, you're so cute! I wasn't asking her to sing, I was telling her to S-I-N-G—which is an acronym for kicking butt. I taught it to all the girls. It's one of my signature battle moves—also from a movie!" 

Oh yes, he'd forgotten about those famous "battle moves."

     "Really?" he indulged, smoothing his collar. 

     "Oh, you don't believe me? Here, I'll show you!"

And Zoya hopped up on the bed to demonstrate—still just clad in her underwear. His eyes hooded as they took in her perfectly rounded breasts firmly encased in black lace revealing a mouth-watering cleavage. 

And that luscious butt!

     "See, the 'S' is for ramming the elbow in the solar plexus if a guy's holding you from the back. 'I' for stomping on his instep with your heel. 'N's' for smashing his nose, and do I really have to tell you what the 'G' is for? And I'm thinking of making the acronym Indian. More desi: S-I-N-G-H, you know, like Singh is King? The H will be for bashing the head with both fists clenched together! Yes!" 

Asad's eyebrows had shot up in admiration during the demo as desire took a backseat. He clearly had no idea what Singh is King thing she was talking about, but the action replay was sure one helluva sight. And the unadulaterated enthusiasm was the cherry on top. He clapped for her and Zoya beamed, chin in air. 

Dragging her into his arms and setting her down on the floor, Asad hugged her. 

     "Those were superwoman moves indeed, and I'll never doubt you, not even for a second." 

     "Good!" she retorted rubbing her cheek against his. "Humaira's gotten really good at it you know—you should've seen her this morning. Out—standing!" 

But she fell silent as Asad's hand crept down to cup her stomach. She hadn't felt the baby move again since that time in the bus. All evening Asad had kept his ear and face glued to her belly, but to no avail. He was disappointed. And jealous as hell. Zoya laughed to see him pout. 

     "Poor Jahanpanah, Baby Ahmed Khan isn't respecting your shahi hukum, hmm? It could be prophetic you know," she teased him. "A sign of things to come—when your Shehzada or Shehzadi Ahmed Khan won't obey a single rule of yours! It happened to the real Jahanpanah too, you know!"

She couldn't resist re-daydreaming about him as the uptight Jahanpanah. 

Too bad the baby would never get to see its Abbu in that avatar. Good thing though. 

The now mellow Jahanpanah glared at Zoya balefully.

Asad bent to pick up a discarded cushion from the floor.

     "It's all your fault. Of course the baby's going to be disobedient! Look at its mother. Refuses to listen. Does as she pleases," he muttered under his breath as he punched the pillow, firmly punctuating each sentence.

She grabbed his face to kiss him heartily.

     "And you love baby's mother the more for it! Admit it, Mr. Khan! Could you have actually fallen for a girl who 'obeyed' you, who wasn't badtameez?"

He grunted and she pretended that it was in agreement. 

Because it was.

 

That evening during dinner, the family couldn't resist rehashing their Mangalpur caper and doing a verbal victory lap.

The men were still sore from the hand-to-hand combat though their hard-earned success had helped relieve some of the aches and pains. All the men and girls had been put on a hot haldi milk regimen the minute they'd stepped foot in the hotel. It was the strangest en masse room service order the hotel had received in its history.

Over Facetime, Ayaan and Faiz jointly narrated the events to an envious Omar and wide-eyed Najma. They cut each other off, trumping and trumpeting their triumphs. 

     "Dude, it was so cool! You shoulda seen us""

     "It was like a fight scene from an action film! It must have lasted for like half an hour, right?"

     "Please!" Naz butted in. "It was our hard work that made you guys look like heroes. Omar you should have seen us—your mom and me were like Charlie's Angels, except better. If only we had guns! Zoya where did you get that gun? If I had a gun I'd have—" 

Hana had her face buried in her hands. She should have known her sister would hog the limelight and be the noisiest one to gloat. Though she did move pretty lightning fast with a can of pepper spray and a belt. Maybe watching too much TV did have some benefits after all.

But if you believed Naz, then she learned to pop open a can of whoopass by watching TV because women in soaps were so lame. She wrote better scripts and feminist action scenes in her head and that's what must have made her a slicing, dicing, ass-kicking mama!

Hana shuddered. If their husbands found out about the guns and swords, and gundas and panchayats, then they'd never be able to come back to India unescorted by an anxious male.

Then there was Dadi. 

She was grousing that her fighting wings had been clipped by overprotective kids and grandkids. She was not happy to be made to sit on the closed toilet seat for her safety. She could have done some serious damage with a curtain rod or a pillowcase full of shrapnel, couldn't she? Her knitting needles could have taken out an eye ... or four. 

Najma couldn't take it anymore.

She called her mother on her cell to demand clearer details instead of swagger. She had a million questions and worries.

     "Are you all OK? Bhaijaan? Zoya and the baby? Abbu? How did this even happen, Ammi?" 

Dilshad's quiet answers and gentle serenity slowly helped to calm her down. 

     "The baby kicked today!" She told her daughter. 

Najma burst into tears. 

When Zoya had squealed out loud in the bus, several alarmed mom hands had rushed to check her forehead, test her pulse at the wrist and throat, and offer her water. But when she announced the baby's first kick, cheers and tears had erupted all over.

It was the best news that the triumphant yet battered family could have got today. So many fervent hands had cradled and heaped her tummy with fluttering duas and pledges. The baby was their lucky mascot after all—a talisman of hope and heavenly grace. 

Najma was so missing being a part of it all. She felt so jealous when Ammi told her how Humaira had bent to kiss her sister's stomach. 

She wanted to do the same! 

After they'd talked to everyone in the family she rounded on her husband, fists on hips.

     "Apple better be developing some magic app so that I can touch and feel my family through Facetime!"

And then she'd promptly burst into fresh tears.

     "Aww honey, c'mere! You'll see them all this weekend." Omar soothed. But he knew why she was really crying. She was crying for when he would leave for the US again while she'd have to stay back awaiting her visa. And then when that came through and she joined him in the US, she'd be separated from her family by a much longer distance, and, for a much longer time. 

     "Maybe you should've just married a nice guy from India," he half-teased.

     "Stop it!" she sniffed into his shirt. 

     "No, seriously, that way you could've been closer to your family instead of being thousands of miles away from them because of me."

     "Shut up, Omar!" 

     "Make me!"

He should have known better. His amorous teasing was rewarded with a swift kick to the shins.

     "Hey watch it! Any higher and you won't be able to have babies of your own!"

     "OMAR!" 

But it got him the desired result: she laughed as she fell into his arms.

 

The girls chattered away rehashing their own glories.

To celebrate their teamwork of spraying and pounding the bad guys with curtain rods and weaponized pillowcases, they had all decided to dress in girly pink and wear frou-frou gajras in their hair and at their wrists.

     "Celebrating girl power," Nuzzhat said.

     "Nuh-ah, Goddess power!" Zoya had amended, pumping her fists. Dadi had agreed and joined the gang too in wearing flowers. In fact, the once-exclusive Zingo Hotties club had grown to include many new warriors now. 

Humaira proudly showed off a nail she'd chipped during her SING-ing and Nuzzhat showed them a darkening bruise on her knuckle. More war stories were traded and relived, cuts and bruises matched and compared.

And then in the middle of all this post-Mangalpur analysis and commentary, Zoya spluttered on her fourth sip of the Coke she'd stolen from Humaira. 

     "Wha—?" 

     "It's kicking again!" she interrupted Asad's worried question as she grabbed his hand. 

This time when he put his palm on her stomach he felt it too. The warmest smile broke across his face. It was a smile his mother hadn't ever seen and her eyes misted. She turned her palms upward under the table to give thanks. If all her sorrow, all these years were for this smile of innocent wonder and pride, then she'd go through it all over again. 

Dadi walked over to kiss and bump their heads together. She draped a flower lei over them in blessing. She pressed some money into Zoya's hand after intoning "khush raho" and blowing the air over their heads.

     "Bhai, jaldi-jaldi aur nikaah and bachche karo," Dadi announced looking around the table at Shireen and Raziya. "I want more babies kicking!"

Humaira ducked her head, blushing furiously but disagreeing—no way Dadi! No kicking babies for me right now. I want to practice my own kicking and flying first.

Asad's hand was still on Zoya's stomach under the table, warm and proud.

     She snuck another sip of her sister's Coke and nearly jumped out of her chair. "Oh my god, the baby's really loving Panchmarhi I think! 

Asad grabbed the Coke glass out of her hand and glared at her.

     "It's not Panchmarhi it loves. It's all the sugar in that Coke that's making my baby go psycho in there!" 

     "Mr. Khan!" she scolded, outraged. "Really?" she wondered a second later. "It's the sugar?"

     "Yes, Mrs. Khan, it's the sugar. Enough pretending that you're not drinking from Humaira's glass!" Asad ordered his sister-in-law to keep her glass away from Zoya.

     "Bechari," Raziya clucked, feeling bad for Zoya when she saw her pout. She was thrilled to see Zoya wearing the pearl ring she'd given her.

     "Aunty, woh bechari nahin hain," Asad responded—on auto pilot.

     "Humaira, beta you shouldn't drink too much Coke either. It's not good for your teeth or health. Chhod do isko." And Raziya asked the waiter to remove her daughter's glass from the table. 

     Humaira's mouth fell open. She turned to glare at her sister. "Thanks a lot, Aapi! You know, I just got one sip from it!" 

     Zoya giggled. "Hey, deal with it—this is what it means to have a big sister! I've got birth-order rights, you know! And my baby will have it over yours too!" She wagged her thumb at her sister before leaning over to high-five their Abbu.

     "But Humaira's Jeeju will make sure that no one tramples on her rights," Asad settled all debate between the sisters. "And a girl who SINGs so well deserves a special treat." He called the waiter over to order more Coke for her and leaned over Zoya to high-five his favorite saali.

Raziya laughed outright at this banter and one-upmanship. 

Yes, Badi Bi was right. Babies. They needed lots of babies. 

She beamed at Shireen, silently echoing Badi Bi's hopes: Jaldi karo! Line lagao!

The moms were already knitting booties and caps and tiny sweaters for Asad and Zoya's baby. These tiny treasures could be handed down to the next baby, and then the next one … and— 

Raziya gripped Shireen's hand in glee.

Naz was their ringleader; she belonged to a knitting circle in the US and was teaching them some nifty patterns—because with 5-month long winters in the Northeast US, what else was she going to do besides watch TV and knit?

 

But Shireen had bigger worries. 

Ayaan and Humaira's wedding was set for next weekend. Shireen now fretted if her boy's bruises and shiners would have healed by then. How would it look if the Dulha looked beaten up? For his own nikaah? Bandages instead of sehra? What would people say? 

Ya Allah, yeh ladka!

     "Chhoti Ammi, don't worry when Zoya Farooqui's here! Aap ko pata hai na, Zoya Farooqui kuchh bhi kar sakti hai!" 

     "Yes, Chhoti Ammi, Zoya will do her voodoo and Ayaan'll be good as new in 2-3 days," Asad reassured Shireen by backing Zoya's boast.

     "What voodoo," Ayaan asked suspiciously. He sprang back in alarm when a terrible idea struck him. "You won't put make-up on my face, right Mona Darling? You wouldn't do that to me!" 

     "Ha ha, the dulha will need tons more make-up than the dulhan, then!" Nuzzhat joked.

Zoya ignored them as she prepped her supplies after dinner. Once again, strange room service orders were placed. It added fresh masala to the employees' ongoing speculations about the big party that had recently arrived from Bhopal.

     "Ayaan, relax," Asad assured him. "It's not make-up. She does something with tea bags, parsley and cabbage leaves, and ... cold and hot compresses. Maybe some vinegar's involved too. And definitely haldi. I don't know what the process is, but it'll bring the swelling down and reduce the inflammation—I promise. You'll be a sundar dulha in no time at all!" 

     "Chaand jaisa dulha!" Nuzzhat giggled and it riled Ayaan to no end. "Chaand with lots of daags!" 

     "Nuzzhat!" Several voices scolded her for having too much fun at her brother's expense.

Ayaan ignored her. He was more intrigued by something completely alien.

     "Wow Bhaijaan, you're suddenly a believer in Mona Darling's home-made remedies? Unbelievable! You aren't the same Mukka Ahmed Khan I used to know. Now you're all into gharelu nuskhas and girly nakhras! Do you do facials and pedicures too now?" 

He had to duck because the Mukka had come pretty close to smashing his already bruised face. 

But Asad blushed at Ayaan's teasing. 

Because suddenly he'd remembered his wife's fussing and TLC during their honeymoon when he'd been similarly bruised from that fight at Taj Mahal. Initially he'd protested at her ministrations, but giving into her had been remarkably easy ... and exceptionally rewarding. She'd bustled about patting his face gently and dropping soft kisses on his eyes or nose. Her soft fingertips had fluttered over his face, infinitely tender as they stroked and massaged.

     "Ayaan miyan, just a few more days and soon you'll be swearing by girly nuskhas and nakhras too—just wait. They can be surprisingly effective." 

And sexy as hell. 

     More than a couple of times he'd interrupted her routine to demand different ministrations further south as she slapped his hands away with shy cries of "Mr. Khan behave, will you!"

     "Really?" Ayaan frowned. He peered at his brother's face—not as blue and black or swollen as his own. Either Bhai was way better at protecting his face than he was, or Mona Darling had already worked her magic on it. 

Maybe it was worth a try. 

Not that he minded the bruises—they were a kind of badge of honor. But for Ammi's sake and Humaira's, and the many wedding videos and photographs that would record the moment for posterity, he might as well surrender to some coddling and conditioning. 

But only if his Ammi and Bhai insisted.

Ayaan spun on his heel.

     "But how do you even know about her voodoo? How many scrapes and fights have you been in since you guys have been together?"

Asad started laughing. 

How many scrapes and fights had he been in since Ms. Farooqui walked into his life?

Please!

His brother wouldn't even be able to count them on the fingers of both hands.

Because come to think of it, although she had knighted him as Batman only recently, he'd been on Batman-duty pretty much since the first day she'd waltzed into his life. It wasn't just love at first sight for them; no, more like love at first fight. The haldi paste she'd researched on the net on their return from Mangalpur over a year ago, was just the beginning of her growing expertise on home-made remedies—just for him and his war wounds ... his post-Zoya battle scars.

Asad continued to chuckle and Zoya knew what he was thinking.

Some team they made! Definitely more shaamat and qayamat than any Bunty and Babli, filmy or not! 

 

     "You were thinking about it, right?" she asked later in their room. 

     "Thinking about what?" Asad was distracted by the perfumed gajra in her hair as he held Zoya from the back, palms on her stomach.

     "About how many scrapes and fights we've been in together."

Her body bowed back as he ran his hands down her arms: a maestro tuning his instrument. Asad raised one of her hands to sniff at the creamy flowers at her wrist. 

     "God, you smell so good!" He nipped her ear and she sighed. "No, I was thinking about how you'd already worked your spell on me this afternoon—my face was the least swollen and bruised compared to the others. But yes, afterwards, I was thinking of the number of jams and pickles you and I seem to get ourselves into. What's the average by now, one a month?"

     Zoya gasped. "Am I bad luck or something?" 

     "Never! You're just a cosmic tornado that tosses my world upside down every now and then." Asad nuzzled her neck. The garland that Dadi had placed over their heads earlier rose and fell on her swelling chest. She'd worn it for the rest of the evening. It had rippled and rolled each time she moved and all evening he'd imagined what he'd do with it later. 

     "So what you're really saying is, I am a musibat magnet!" 

An impatient Asad removed the garland from her neck to temporarily don it himself. Next he raised her kurti by its hem to yank it off her head. Before she could splutter in indignation he'd tossed her bra away too.

     "You are that," Asad murmured as he peppered her with kisses. He returned the garland to drape it over her neck and kissed her along its fragrant edges. She quivered. "Who knew that a musibat magnet was the best thing to happen to me!" 

     "I knew!" Zoya giggled as she wiggled out of her jeans. 

Her stomach growled. 

Zoya's laugh interrupted their sexual feast.

     "Oh god Asad, may be you shouldn't have mentioned jams and pickles!" 

He picked her up to set her on the bed before peeling off his own clothes.

     "I'll call room service later for all the jams and pickles in the world."

     "But love service right now?" she breathed, already arching and writhing in rosy expectancy as he joined her. 

     "Served hot ... in bed," he promised through hungry love bites. "I was hard for you all evening," Asad murmured in her hair, effectively nixing all wordplay.

     "I was wet for you all evening." 

He groaned at her revenge. 

     "And bread too?" Her fragrant wrists wrapped around his neck.  

     "And bread and everything else on the menu." Of course he knew that half her mind was still on food. 

Asad bent his head to empty her truant mind of diversions. His mouth detoured from her lips to the shell of her ear. A suck at her ready throat and he was almost there. She moaned in that familiar frenzy. 

He turned his head to lick her wrist and nip it. 

A sigh hissed out. Zoya nipped his neck too, slowly running her tongue over the bite. 

He ran his fingers down her spine to cup her butt and then feather them over her inner thigh. 

She was toast.

He chuckled in confident supremacy.

     "Touch me," her siren song called. "Baby, see how wet I am for you," she seduced him into smitten surrender; he bucked wildly. 

     "Oh god Zoya!" 

Zoya brought his face close to hers and draped the other half of the garland over his head as he entered her, hilt-deep. 

Her knees hugged his hips.

     "Watch me fly apart into a million pieces," she demanded as her own eyes whispered close. Her fingers curved around his head; his hair curled around her fingers. 

His breath caught. 

The string around their necks caught too, and the gentle yoke broke—it snowed mogra debris over them as her head whipped and fell back. 

She spilled. 

And the dizzying aftershocks conspired in wiping out her mind.

But she didn't forget to have him order pizza for her later.

 

The next night Zoya was restless and wide-eyed as ever. 

A day's worth of trekking and picnicking by the waterfalls and she was still too wired to sleep. So she did what she'd been doing recently when spells of insomnia hit.

     She had brought the baby book and journal with them despite Asad's growls of protest—"Do we have to take everything with us on a three-day trip?"

     "Yes, Mr. Khan, we do. Because this will be the perfect opportunity to have my Abbu and your Abbu fill out the family tree pages. How cool for the baby to have its history in one place! The names of grandparents and great grandparents! If only I could get photographs! You know, Abbu is going to go through old albums with me and tell me everything about"" 

Asad's heart had knocked in his chest at her words as she gushed on, eternally upbeat, ever fiesty.

Family history—that's what she'd yearned for all her life, hadn't she? He, on the other hand, had spurned his family history for more than half his life. 

He had wanted to bury his family past, pave it over ... like his Abbu had tried to bury her mother in an anonymous grave. But Zoya—the warrior archaeologist, the hopeful historian—was hell-bent on excavating the past from its dusty, caked-on layers—to give it a decent send-off ... just like they'd properly laid her mother to rest in her final resting place.

Abbu had been right all along: he and Zoya must have been brought together to right the arc of their tangled family histories. 

Yes, no matter how stained or snarled, family history was one of the best gifts they could give to their child.

A somber Asad bent to kiss her cheek.

     "What was that for, Jahanpanah?" she'd dimpled, still immersed in her discoveries and plans for the baby book.

     "For being you, for doing what you do—for being the glass half-full kind of girl." 

     "Umm, so Jahanpanah is happy with his kaneez?" 

     "Very. Kaneez keeps him honest and grounded," he answered with brooding intensity.

With another kiss on her bent head, he left her to change into his nightclothes. 

  

Zoya was making new discoveries about herself in the process of filling out the pages in the baby book. One of the detours this mini-project had spurred was that she getting in touch with her Ammi's relatives over facebook and whatsapp and finding out more about her. Now that she had come to terms with her past, Zeenat had become more forthcoming about putting her in touch with long-lost relatives. Some of those relatives had shared old photographs of her Ammi as a child and young girl. 

New discoveries may lead her down untraveled paths, but how could she resist re-visiting the old and familiar ... The baby book was becoming a treasure trove of well-thumbed history ...

As she flipped through the pages, re-reading here and correcting there, she did a double take. 

Aw, Asad had crossed out something on the Mommy page. 

     "P.P.S. No matter what she says, she really does not know any karate. (Her so-called battle moves are a mish-mash of terrible action films.)" 

She laughed in delight. A straight line now ran across this tongue-in-cheek declaration.

When did he even do it? 

     He'd now carefully re-written in the margin: "P.P.S. While she has no formal training in martial arts, your Ammi is self-taught in a million different ways. She can take pretty good care of herself and everyone around her. That scar on her arm is a mark of how strong she is. I hope you'll be more like her. 

     P.P.P.S. Tell her to teach you how to SING. No, how to SINGH. And then, girl or boy, I'll train you on my punching bag to be an expert hitter." 

She loved it! Zoya didn't realize that her eyes had pricked as she hugged the book to her. He must have done this when they got to the hotel. Or when she was getting ready for dinner? Or maybe during her nap?

 

Zoya didn't know it, but when Asad was reading his initial comment he had suddenly flashbacked to one Mangalpur moment from a year ago. 

And he'd laughed out loud. It was a classic Zoya moment after all—a perfect snapshot of everything ridiculously and gloriously Zoya.

     "Humne kafi decent fight ki, hai na, Mr. Khan?"

And that memory had made him re-do the baby book comment about her unparalleled spirit. She was right: he was Akdu. So many times he'd tried to burst her rosy bubble, delighting in being snide and snapping at her.

In fact that punching bag comment reminded him of the last time he'd been so mad at her for ruining his CD. 

But the true warrior that she was, she soldiered on, supremely confident, wildly audacious. A slugger to the last breath. 

It never ceased to amaze him; it stunned him.

Nikhat and Nuzzhat were right.

A year ago in Mangalpur—the crucible of their destiny—he'd been annoyed at her bounce-backability, her recover-in-a-nanosecond attitude. 

Her brattitude. 

Here they were, in the middle of god-knows where, handcuffed to each other, being hunted by lawless lunatics, and there she was, boasting about her karate and how her hand was so strong that when she saluted "main khud behosh ho jati hoon!"

Please.

Then there were her endless boasts of being an eternal problem-solver. The woman seriously lacked any sense of irony! 

And then, the grandiose pretensions of being a self-styled shayar. There was something about being a Shayara Bano!

As Akdu, he'd stewed and huffed; as Zoya, she'd giggled and slayed. 

Dimpling shamelessly and always in-your-face; always digging her bratty heels in; always going up toe to sassy t o e ... 

And always that fighter's stance ... something he'd recognized instinctively; something he knew intimately from his own punching-bag and life's self-training.

Never backing down; never taking no for an answer; never taking any prisoners—that was his Zoya! A scorched-earth policy that had zapped him straight and sent him tumbling straight into her arms. He may have made fun of her for being clumsy, but turns out, he was the clumsy one: slow to trust his unfurling destiny, slower to confess unless under the influence of bhaang pakoras or lying about coin tosses!

Zoya didn't know this, but as he'd finished correcting the page in the baby book Asad had squeezed his eyes shut in fresh embarrassment: another memory had assailed him. He'd blushed at his own incredible foolishness from those volatile days. 

He'd recalled the fire and ice of their first meeting.

     Had he really said something so pompous as: " 'Agar ladkiyan apni nazrein neechi rakhkar chalein toh unhe aur kissi ki hifazat ki zaroorat nahi padegi! Aur ghar se aise tamasha bankar niklengi toh sab aise hi dekhenge. Jisse aap pabandi keh rahin hain usse hum tehzeeb kehte hain. Numaish paschim ki ada hai, sharam purab ka gehna. Iss mulk mein auratein issi gehne se sajti hain?' "

Jeez! Yeah, he did sound like some over-starched, prickly Nawab from the 19th century. A tight-ass who'd been taught his lesson now, thank you, Allah miyan!

Grinning, Asad had even covered his face. He dropped his head in his hands remembering his parting shot from that first meeting when he thought he'd met the girl he'd fallen for. He couldn't believe it then. Wasn't this the same girl from the Dargah? Had Allah really listened to his unspoken minnat that day?

     "Toh yahin poori meri Eid ki mannat hogi," the qawwali singer had crooned earlier at the Dargah. 

Worried that she was hurt, Asad had leapt to help her up.

     "Are you OK?" he had asked with concern.

And then that girl had turned around and bitten his head off. The tehzeeb-e-afta girl of his dreams had morphed into a fire-breathing dragon. Before his very eyes.

     "Isse achha main New York mein hi thi!"

     "Agar aapko iss mulk se itni problem hai toh wapas New York kyun nahi chali jaati? Bada ehsaan hoga aapka iss mulk par!" 

     And only a few months later he'd be (not) recording a video message for her, begging her not to leave for New York: "Mat jao Zoya!"

Idiot! Serves you right. What he should have said instead was: Mat jao Zoya. Bada ehsaan hoga aapka iss Akdu Jahanpanah par.

 

     "Don't be ridiculous!" He growled a few days later, back home.

Zoya glowed, very pleased with his response. She knew he'd say something like that. But hey, a girl likes to hear it out loud once in a while too.

     "But why? Aapi's is insisting that it would be the right thing to do."

     "Tell Aapi you're not going anywhere. The baby's going to be born here and no way am I letting you go to New York for the delivery." 

     "No way?" A smug Zoya wrapped her arms around his neck.

     "No way in hell!" Asad insisted.

     "But why?" she grinned up at him, head tilted to the side. 

     "Because!" 

     "Because what?" 

     "Zoya!" 

     "Asad!" 

     "Because you're needed here."

     "But why? Why would you need a fat, pregnant woman underfoot?"

     "Zoya! No games OK, enough! You're not going away and that's final."

     "But you still haven't given me a single logical or practical reason!" The pout deepened. 

     "I don't need to give you a reason."

     "Mr. Khan!" 

     "Fine! Because I want to talk to the baby everyday, feel it grow inside you every single day, and because I wouldn't be able breathe without you by my side! Is that logical enough for you?"

     "Aw Mr. Khan! Was that so hard? On some days, getting you to say something romantic like that is like pulling teeth," she kidded. 

Asad harrumphed. He knew she was pulling his leg. Zoya wasn't going anywhere—she knew it, he knew it. But still, he always brushed aside any talk of her going to the US. The idea of her going so far away felt alien and just plain wrong. It was such a long flight ... she'd be gone for so long. What if something happened? 

     "It's New York, not Mars," she would tease him. But how cool would it be to go to Mars—the new frontier! And Zoya was nothing if not a frontier woman! She had signed up for the Mars One project way back when it was first announced—a human settlement by 2023! Asad had predictably blown a gasket.

No way. No how. 

Aapi and Jeeju would have to come here if they wanted to see her. New York may as well be on Mars.

     "Speaking of going ..."

Zoya cocked her head to the side waiting for him to finish. Who was going where? Another trip?

     "I have a business trip to Hyderabad coming up." 

     "Nooo!" she hollered.

 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Kailash Kher "Saiyaan" (2008)


	107. Tere Khayalon Se Hain Bheege Mere Raaste

 

 

     "You cannot be serious! You throw a fit about me leaving for New York knowing full well that I wasn't going, and then you dump this on me!"

     "Zoya please! Hyderabad isn't New York."

She flashed her eyes at him.

     "How long?"

     "Three days."

     "When?" 

     "Next week." 

     "How long have you known?"

Asad hesitated. Dobby wound around his legs restlessly and raised his head to wink at him. Sucker! he seemed to say.

She walked out closing the door softly behind her. 

     "Zoya!" 

He would have laughed at her restraint in not slamming the door, but he sighed instead. Dobby butted his head against the closed door wanting to be let out. 

Asad glared at him. 

     "Even you think I'm wrong?" 

Dobby turned his back on his frenemy and sat down to lick his paw.

Incredibly foolish. He was now talking to a cat giving him attitude and bent upon ignoring him—just like someone else he knew. Something told him that he'd have to pay for keeping this information from her. He really should have told her sooner. Or at least he should have shut up about New York for now. 

Walked straight into that one, Akdu.

 

She was upset, there was no doubt. But now she was trying to talk herself into getting over it. 

Suck it up, Zoya, she scolded herself. 

Even she knew in her hormonal gush that she was using her anger as a concealer for the hurt. She knew she was going to miss him like crazy. 

It's only three days, you'll live, Zoya comforted herself. 

But that didn't stop her from being ticked off at Asad. She couldn't go anywhere but he could? He'd be all fire-breathing dragon on crack when it came to her going places, but she was supposed to smile and blow kisses at him when he went? Oh really, Mr. Khan!

Her eyes squinted. 

Her chin lifted. 

Better keep your big boy pants on, Mr. Khan.

Cos. babe, you ain't seen nothin' yet. 

The Plan, Part One. It was on.

Tom was going to get a Jerry-wala jhatka.

 

The nikaah prep was in full swing. Siddiqui was shaking his head this morning at the encyclopedic "list" of shopping that still remained to be done. 

He glared at Raziya.

     "Don't pull this on me. Ever since Humaira was born, you've been collecting her ghrihasti ka saamaan. Whenever you bought anything for the kitchen or the house, you bought duplicates. 'Humaira ke liye kaam ayega,' you told me then. Kahaan gaya woh sab?"

     Zoya giggled. "Really? Twenty-one years' worth of dahej? I want to see!"

The girls squealed in agreement and stormed the storeroom. Siddiqui tried to stall them, divert them. But there was no stopping a tsunami of loudly eager girls hopped up on cold coffee. 

Better to get out of their way. Even Dobby knew it. He was visiting his old hunting grounds and had accompanied Zoya and Najma for dance practice to the Siddiqui house.

Siddiqui looked up in alarm at Raziya in the suddenly empty and silent living room. "I wish you hadn't told them where all that was. Won't Zoya feel terrible when she sees that stuff for Humaira?"

Raziya had paled too. After all Zoya's mother hadn't been able to do that for her daughter. She looked away into the distance. Siddiqui had to strain his ears to hear what she was saying.

     " 'Forgiveness doesn't change the past,' I read somewhere. 'But it does enlarge the future.' She will feel terrible, I'm sure. But I think you underestimate Zoya. She'll surprise us. As usual."

The fragile bond between her and Zoya was getting sturdier every day. It may have been initially forged by guilty tears, pearl rings and gold tawizes, but its finer strains were still being hammered out in the smithy. 

Daily. 

     "Shielding her from it may be far worse, Siddiqui Saheb," Raziya continued. "I won't walk on eggshells around her. Let yourself be open to both pain and joy. It was Zoya who taught us that, remember?"

He shook his head in misgiving. Siddiqui hurried to follow the girls so that he could protect Zoya in some way if she did fall apart at the sight of a lifetime's worth of a mother's love that she had missed. 

He should have had more faith. 

Not just in Zoya but in Humaira too. Maybe Raziya understood the sisters' bond better. 

His eyes were damp as he saw the scene before him. He should have known that the other girls would not let Zoya fall apart either. Yes, there were moments of stinging longing but Humaira dispelled the clouds with a hug and kiss.

     "I love you," she said as she leaned her forehead against her sister's. 

Najma's eyes had teared too. In the early days her Ammi hadn't been able to collect her ghrihasti ka saamaan, but later a self-driven and tenacious brother had overcompensated for that shortfall. She smiled when Nikhat embraced her and dropped a kiss on her head.

Now, there were squeals and laughter as they emptied out big trunks.

     "There's like at least three pressure cookers here. Different sizes. What did Mumani think? That you'd be in the kitchen all day?" Nuzzhat joked. 

She eyed the other trunks. If there was similar junk in there too then this wasn't going to be as much fun as they'd imagined. 

Pressure cookers? 

     "Well, since Ayaan is getting better at cooking, Humaira can share her pressure cookers with him." Zoya teased her sister. "Or we can save it for your dahej! You can make buckets of khana for Faiz!" 

     Nuzzhat made a face when the others high-fived. "Please!"

     "Oh my god! Look at these steel ka bartan sets. It could feed an army!" 

     "There's a sewing machine here! So cute. Humaira Baaji, do you even know how to sew?" 

     "No. But may be Ayaan can learn?" Humaira suggested. 

They laughed and then oohed and aahed at the trunk filled with sarees wrapped in clear plastic packaging. 

     "Such heavy silks? Kanjeevarams? Wow Humaira, you'll look so cute—you'll just need lots of oil in your hair!" Najma had thrown herself fully into being the groom's sister—she had so much fun to make up for since her return. 

     "Look at all the colors guys! You gotta love Indian fabrics, right?" Zoya ran her fingers over the smooth silk. 

Raziya had come up behind them too. She looked at the mess and smiled. She sat down on the floor next to the piles of sarees. 

     "Girls, everyone sit down. I want you all to pick out two sarees from here for yourself. I don't know if Humaira will ever wear these. Choose your favorites." 

Cheers broke out. So did the tussle for the finest sarees: Chanderis and Patolas, Balucharis and Benarsis, Kanchipurams and Kanthas, Ghatcholas and Ikats plus so much more. It was as if the silk emporia of each state had opened up at their feet.

     "Aunty, when did you buy all these?" Zoya asked. 

     "I just collected traditional Indian sarees whenever I saw one I liked. Fashions keep changing, but I knew these were classics. Do you like any of these? How about this? You can make a kurti out of it." 

     "No, I could never ruin such a gorgeous saree! But Humaira why don't you wear sarees? Hey, I know! Guys, let's try these out right now!"

     "Fashion show!" 

And the merry cyclones bounded off to change for the impromptu saree pageant. Already they were planning photo and selfie sessions. They charged towards Humaira's room but Raziya stopped them.

     "No, go down to Zoya's room. Humaira's room is a complete mess right now." 

The room Zoya and Asad had stayed in before Tanveer's attack was Zoya's room now.

It had been newly redone in her favorite colors, her pictures, along with Asad and the rest of the family graced nightstand and dresser tops. There was even a special bed for Dobby for whenever they decided to visit and sleep over.

Siddiqui watched the women dash off in amazement. Where did this zest for life come from?

Raziya was supervising the servants' re-organizing and packing of the trunks.

He touched her shoulder and she looked up at him in surprise. "Ji?" 

     "Thank you," Siddiqui said before leaving. He was grateful indeed at the effort his wife was making. 

Except it was no effort for her. Maybe disowning her jealousy and greedy fears had paved the way for Raziya's deliverance. Or perhaps it was her near-death experience. Or maybe it was all Zoya. 

Even she didn't know.

Nor was Raziya going to waste time trying to figure it out. As the day followed night, Raziya understood now that she had two daughters, Zoya was the firstborn and was to be spoiled accordingly. She got first dibs on everything, was consulted on every household and nikaah detail. Sometimes even Humaira pouted at being the second-best but Zoya managed to manao and patao her quite easily.

     "Behave," she'd tease her. "I'm not just your Aapi, but soon I'll be your Jethani and then I'll really bug you!" 

But for her to relinquish her guilt completely, Raziya needed to do one last thing. And she needed Zoya's help and blessing for that. 

     "Only if you think it's OK ... I'd ... I would like to visit your Ammi's gravesite," Raziya had asked Zoya just before leaving for Panchmarhi. 

Wordlessly a weeping Zoya had fallen into her arms. And together they had gone and sat by Zainab's resting place.

Raziya had held Zoya's hand in hers. 

     "Zainab, every day of my life I will wish that we could trade places. I wish you were here instead of me and could see what a beautiful person Zoya has grown into. You would be proud of her." 

     She had sobbed too when Zoya had touched the stone and whispered, "Ammi, I miss you so much."

But Raziya no longer wept in guilt; she wept in grief with Zoya.

And since then, she'd started to visit the gravesite on her own.

She took her knitting with her and chatted with the headstone about what happened that day.

     "The girls did this ... the girls did that ... do you think ..." 

She was in the middle of crocheting a headscarf for Zoya. Sniggering, Raziya told Zainab about how Ayaan had teased Zoya about wearing a fishing net on her head one Iftaari. 

He had recited some nonsense sher. 

          "Arz hai: Main machli pakad nahin, bhaga raha tha,

          Doston, main machli pakad nahin, bhaga raha tha,

          Bachna ay machliyon, woh maaya nahin, Zoya jaal aa raha tha!"

Zoya had pouted and returned with a terrible comeback of her own. 

          "Machli kahe, main jal bin hi achchi,

          Machli kahe, main jal bin hi achchi,

          Iss ghatiya shayar ke ghatiya baal, chee, chee, chee."

Raziya had promised to knit her new one so that no one would have to listen to any more ghatiya shayari and all machlis and human ears could be spared.

She came here often, on late afternoons, and made plans and lists for the upcoming nikaah, the baby, godh bharai rituals, and just about everything else she could think of.

Other visitors to the cemetery wondered at the crazy woman who talked to herself. She looked like she was from a respectable family. Poor thing. Some terrible grief for a lost loved one must have unhinged her. 

 

Finally she had deigned to take his call after dinner.

     "Why aren't you home, or taking my calls?" 

     "Oh, didn't I tell you? I'm spending the night here at Abbu's place."

     "Zoya!"

     "Mr. Khan, please stop yelling at me."

Zoya sniffed. God knows why. It wasn't as if she was crying or anything. 

     "You know you're being unreasonable, don't you? Fine, I should've told you sooner. But how does it matter?"

She remained silent and cried when he hung up on her.

     "Zoya?" She scrubbed her face before turning around.

Siddiqui sat down on the bed and waved her over. Raziya sat on the chair opposite them. 

     "Fight with Asad?" 

Zoya bowed her head neither confirming nor denying her father's suspicions. 

     "We love having you here, but not if you've fought with Asad." Siddiqui soothed. 

     "If after her nikaah Humaira fought with Ayaan and came here, what would you do?" Raziya asked. 

     "I would box Ayaan's ears!" 

They laughed. Yes, she would do it too. 

     "Aise jhagda karke nahin aate, beta. Ghalat baat hai. Talk to him tomorrow, OK?"

Zoya nodded in shame and agreement.

     "Will you box Mr. Khan's ears for me, Abbu?"

     "La hau walla quwwat!" her father shuddered.

     "Your Abbu has a lot to live for. I don't think he's in a big hurry to leave us as yet!" Raziya teased both of them. "Achcha ab so jao. You must be tired. Have you had your milk?" she fussed.

 

A cocktail of guilt and longing strangled her. 

She felt too uneasy to sleep. Zoya hadn't realized that in punishing him she'd be punishing herself just as much. Or more. Tossing and turning wasn't helping. 

No sir, not one bit. 

Should she call him? Just to hear his voice? 

She looked at the pristine pillow next to her. 

And punched it. 

But groaning she hugged it to her a second later. 

Asad!

Should she just have the driver drive her home? 

This late? 

So what? 

Humph!

Dobby meowed softly and hopped up on the window sill. 

     "Are you missing Daddy too?" She asked him in the dark.

He meowed again. Louder this time. 

She heard a tap on the glass and went to investigate. 

Zoya could have whooped for joy at the welcome sight outside her window. Thank you, Allah Miyan that her room was on the ground level because how else would she sneak her husband inside? 

She fell into his arms murmuring apologies and promises. Dobby hopped up on his shoulder in welcome. Asad extracted himself from the cat's claws gingerly.

     "Thank god you're here! I was dying," Zoya inhaled his scent as she kissed him along his throat. 

Asad held her tight.

     "Babe, you drive me crazy you know that, right? Ayaan kept breaking into my room all these years but of course you've made me do the same now. In my father-in-law's house! Shame on you for corrupting an upstanding citizen." 

     "Shut up Mr. Khan, and kiss me!" 

She still clung to him when they surfaced for air.

     "I missed you so much, it hurt," Zoya whispered.

     "Then don't leave me," Asad teased. "Simple." 

     "But you'll be leaving me for three whole days!"

     "Do I look happy about it?" Asad asked with exquisite patience. "I would take you with me if I could, but I'll be gone all day and I don't want you in a new city all by yourself." 

Zoya pouted. She wasn't some helpless damsel in distress. She could take care of herself in a new city. Hello? I came to Bhopal on my own, didn't I? I grew up in New York!

Asad tucked a finger under her chin and brushed her lips with his. He knew exactly what was going on in that head of hers.

     "I know you're New York ki Jhansi ki rani and will SINGH your way out of any trouble." 

She beamed. Nicely done Mr. Khan. I have trained you well, Jedi. 

     "But—"

Zoya frowned, not liking the sound of that "but" at all. 

     "I'd worry. I wouldn't be able to get any work done because I'd be a basket case wondering whether I'd get a phone call from jail or the hospital." 

     She snorted and stamped her foot. "I am NOT a musibat magnet!" 

     "You think you're not." He tried to kiss her again but she was having none of it.

     "Stay away from me Mr. Khan. I wouldn't want you to catch my infection." 

     "Infection? Wha—" he asked in alarm. "Zoya, are you OK?"

     "My musibat-itis! What if lightning strikes and you get hurt?" 

     "Zoya!" 

She turned her back on him. 

     "So what if lightning strikes? We survived the meteor shower didn't we?" 

Nothing. 

     "Zoya, are you going to sulk around and be un-Zoya Ahmed Khan, or do you want to have some fun. How about some mohabbat-itis?" 

Her eyes lit up; those dimples deepened. The meteor shower reference had already made her melt at the knees.

     She spun around. "What fun?"

He pulled out her red bikini from his pocket.

     "We never took this one out for a spin!"

     "Asad!"

She leapt into his arms to reward him for coming up with the best idea ever. But he still needed to get one thing straight.

     "You're forgiven Jahanpanah, but you better not think that I can't go any where alone or take care of myself just because I don't have what you have between your legs!" 

     "Babe! I'd never, ever think—"

She pulled his head down to shush his sputtering for good.

 

At breakfast the next morning Zoya was surprised by the array of Asad's favorite dishes at the table.

     "Aunty, how did you know?" she asked as everyone settled down at the table. 

     "I knew he'd come."

     "But how?" 

     "I texted him to spend the night here. But then the guard called me to let me know that he was here!" Raziya winked at her. "Kyun, sahi kiya na maine?"

     "Ji," Zoya nodded her head, more than grateful.

She watched, blissed out, as Humaira fussed over her Jeeju and Raziya fluttered about to see to her damad's every need and comfort.

It reminded her of Najma and Ammi back at home. She understood their need to coddle him a little better now. When she first came to their house more than a year ago, she used to think that Najma and Ammi jumped at his command because they feared his usool-icious temper. 

But now she knew better. 

Now she was one of his women who did the same—unabashedly. He fought so fiercely for their happiness; he was entitled to some pampering. Jahanpanah was no longer a tyrant of the 17th century. He was their 21st century softy, their black knight in titanium armor. 

Zoya had to laugh as her Abbu sighed at the estrogen-laced bustling around his damad. Raziya and Humaira stood on Asad's either side refilling plates, bowls and glasses, clearing a crumb here and a morsel there. 

     "Hum toh ghar ki murgi daal barabar hain," Siddiqui grumbled. 

     "Aww," Zoya stood up to pamper him herself. 

     "Nahin beta, you sit. I'm fine."

     A servant came up to the table. "Bibiji, yeh wahan mila." 

Zoya flushed a dark red and nearly slapped her forehead. 

It was her charm bracelet. 

She'd taken it off to put by the side of the pool because she feared its jostling and dancing charms would clink too loudly in the hushed hours of midnight. 

Allah Miyan, what's wrong with you Zoya! She palmed it congratulating herself for being surreptitious. But Asad had seen her face. His eyes dropped to her fist.

He grinned. 

     "Humaira, help your Aapi with her bracelet. She keeps misplacing it here and there," he told his saali. 

His wife blushed harder. She was radiant in a cream and orange Kanjeevaram silk saree this morning and he couldn't take his eyes off those lashes that shyly feathered her reddening cheeks. His gaze lowered to take in the diamond studded nose pin that Raziya had given her and the heavy pearl and gold jhumkas that belonged to her Dadi. 

     "Jeeju? Jeeju! Your shirt!" 

     "Huh?"

It was Zoya's turn to grin at his expense. She rested her face in her hands and dimpled impishly.  

     "Mr. Khan, you've dribbled the sambhar all over your shirtfront. You should really try to be more careful!" 

     Asad's lip curled and an eyebrow ticked up. "Um ... I'm sorry. I hurt my hand yesterday," he said.

Damn his revenge. 

She'd bitten his hand last night as he'd covered her mouth to silence the throes of her second orgasm.

     Zoya hadn't been able to control herself when he'd breathed into her ear: "every lightning strike and har musibat-itis qubool hai." 

     "Mohabbat-itis bhi qubool hai?" she'd sassed when she could breathe again. 

     "Qubool hai," he'd panted through his own release.

Her renewed blush told him that she was thinking of last night. 

Asad blushed too.

He had laid her by the side of the pool and lazily run his fingers down her body stopping to caress and stroke her. He'd pushed the bikini bottom to the side and his tongue had joined his fingers till she shook and arched in silent rapture. He'd lowered her into the pool with him then.

     And just before entering and burying himself in her he breathed in her ear before kissing her so that she could taste herself on him: "Mrs. Khan, what I have between my legs craves to be between your legs. Night and day." 

Zoya had gasped in fresh arousal and his mouth had homed in.

He looked at her. She looked divine in that saree. 

He was hard. 

Damn.

 

Despite Shireen's multiple heart attacks, the nikaah went off mostly without a glitch.  

The family had gotten the nikaah routine perfected to a science by now. Old and new rituals collided with each other and invented rasms gained new traction. The dances were almost perfect minus a few missed steps and snickers. Ayaan's sisters were dying to be on the ladki wala side because of all the fun, but they had to be the pouty nanads who got smacked on their butts with a flower stick wielded by their Bhabhi number one. 

The elders shook their heads as the bride took a million selfies with her sister. She stopped only when her mother snatched her phone away. Zoya's phone was confiscated too.

     "Nikaah ki rasm padhni hai! Qazi Saheb is waiting. Do all your badmashi later." 

The dulha was a coiled spring. If Asad and Rashid hadn't been holding him down by his shoulders, he'd have been rebounding off the ceiling. He hated the sehra because it prevented him from running his hand through his wild hair. 

When Qazi Saheb asked Humaira for her assent, the girls whispered and giggled among themselves in conspiracy. Qazi Saheb waited some more. He cleared his throat. 

Shireen collapsed on the sofa. 

     "Humaira!" Ayaan hissed from across the sheer screen. He remembered that Mona Darling had pulled the same stunt at her own nikaah. 

The girls laughed. 

     "Fine Humz, put him out of his misery!" her sister instructed finally taking pity on her devar.

     "Qubool hai," Humaira whispered shyly. Her smile widened with each vow. 

Ayaan expelled his breath. His qubool hais tripped out of his mouth even before Qazi Saheb could finish reciting the questions. 

He bit Humaira's finger when she fed him sweets in the post-nikaah rituals. Zoya smacked his head. 

Dadi presented Humaira with a haar; it was another family heirloom. Zoya lifted hers to compare their jeweled legacy and the sisters grinned at each other. Phones were unholstered and unlocked, arms were raised in synchrony. Selfies of the sisters nuzzling cheek to cheek and sporting nearly-matching rani haars would soon clog facebook and instagram pages. 

     "You better take care of my baby sister!" Zoya told Ayaan just before the ruksati. 

     "Or what?" Ayaan taunted. "You'll hit me?"

     She glared at him. "I won't, but my husband will!" 

     "Please! Since his nikah the Mukka has left the building." 

He saw her eyes well up. Ayaan put his arm around her.

     "Relax Mona Darling, I promise that I'll take real good care of her. In fact, I'll take such good care of her that you'll be jealous. You'll complain to Bhaijaan about being Akdu and unromantic!"

Zoya laughed. As if that could ever happen. Raabert had no clue about how romantic his brother could be.

     Wasn't he the one who had said, "Bhaijaan is building Taj Mahal for Mona!" when they were discussing plans for a treehouse in the backyard?

Incredibly foolish. 

 

The newly-weds were off on their honeymoon; Feroze too had left for the US. Omar had gone back to Abu Dhabi; Najma would follow him in a few days. 

Asad had left for Hyderabad this morning.

The girls moped. They were miserable. They lay around listlessly, draped on couches and slouched on the floor; they saw nothing; they said nothing. 

They stared into space. 

Nuzzhat had had it with all this bakwaas.

     "I'm never getting married," she muttered under her breath. "Marriage makes you useless."

     "Girls, come on. Snap out of it," Dilshad scolded them. "We have so much work to do." 

They were all in the Siddiqui house and the moms had marshaled the girls together to wheedle them out of their funk. An intervention was sorely needed because the moping girls had hatched some terrible self-therapy: watching their wedding videos. One by one. Hours would be wasted and they'd miss their husbands more than ever. 

     "Chalo!" Dadi huffed. "Bahut ho gaya tum logon ka."

Reluctantly the girls trooped to the storeroom. They had come up with the plan after all. It was now time to execute it. 

Dadi nodded to Raziya to put on some music.

     "Shammi Kapoor ke songs lagao. Let's have some fun as we work!" 

Here was the plan: when they had rooted around Humaira's ghrihasti ka saamaan that day, it had become quite clear that Humaira would never use half the things her mother had collected for her over the years. 

     "Let's donate it!" Zoya had suggested. 

That sounded like a great idea, but to whom? The servants' kids were still young. 

Zoya had squealed and bounced on her feet and the others looked at her knowing that she had come up with a killer idea. 

The only question that now remained was: how unrealistic would that idea be?

     "Abbu, I've been following this great discussion online about growing wedding expenses and how it's becoming harder and harder for low-income families to afford arranging nikaahs. Can't you sponsor one of those communal weddings for the poor? We can donate all this to two or three couples!"

     "An Ishtimayi nikaah?" Siddiqui pondered the idea. "Hmm, that's a thought. Let me talk to Maulvi saheb to see what we can do." 

And they had gathered here today to parcel out the goodies for three couples. Brand new pressure cookers, steel ka bartans and sewing machines were neatly divided up along with countless other household items.

And all this good work was set to bouncy Shammi Kapoor songs.

     Often the girls broke into dance singing along and twisting to, "tally ho ... tally ho ... tally ho!" or "Ah ah aaja, ah ah aaja, ah ah aaja, ah aaah!" 

They dissolved into giggles when Dadi joined in too.

     "MONICA! Oh my darling!" the girls hooted together as the moms danced.

It was such fun. They were breathless with laughter. 

The girls didn't know that the moms had silenced all their phones. Husband missed calls and texts multiplied in the notifications.

Too bad. 

 

He was used to that sound of crinkling paper in his pockets by now.

Asad smiled, eager to see what this secret note would say. He didn't know when Zoya had sneaked in these little surprises. But they sure made his day go a little smoother. 

He'd discovered the first one on the flight. She'd told him about falling in love with Pablo Neruda's poetry. He hadn't had time to check it out for himself. 

But now he didn't need to. 

Because many of her notes cited a verse from Neruda. 

          "... so I wait for you like a lonely house

          till you will see me again and live in me.

          Till then my windows ache."

He was saving those notes in his wallet; soon it would start to fatten with the cologne of her expressed yearning and the weight of his repressed ardor.

          "Love is a clash of lightnings," said another one.

She'd drawn a winky face on it. And he'd laughed at her gentle reminder of their last fight and make-up session. 

He couldn't restrain himself. 

Landing at the airport in Hyderabad, Asad bought more than a dozen glossy postcards with vintage photographs of spectacular landmarks. He'd take her on a virtual tour of the city even though she couldn't be here right now.

He posted two of them from the airport itself. 

In their poetry face-off Asad quoted Mirza Ghalib.

          "Mat pooch ki kya haal hai mera, tere peeche,

          Tu dekh ki kya rang hai tera, mere aagay ..." 

And: 

          "Roney se aur ishq mein be-baaq ho gaye

          Dhoye gaye hum aise ki bas paak ho gaye ..." 

Another memory slapped him upside the head.

Ghalib and Ms. Farooqui may not be a good match. But Ghalib should be thankful. 

Thanks to Ms. Farooqui, her husband recited him often.

He almost sent a third postcard off too. No, a little later would stagger the delivery. So what if the post ran late or if the postcards reached her even after he was back home, in her arms? 

If words had wings ... 

Asad knew he could have texted or called. But snail mail had its own charm—the texture of the cardstock, the hand-written words one could run one's fingers over, the surprise of receiving a hand-delivered note that'd traveled across hundreds of miles ... the delayed gratification ...

It was a physical, tactile record of slowing down ... taking a moment to stop and wonder instead of mindlessly tapping on a screen. It would be another artifact that they would store in their drawer. 

By evening he couldn't wait to see her on facetime and catch up. Asad had declined dinner with the client. A headache, he'd pleaded. Room service would do. 

 

Her eyes were huge. So luminous. A thousand lamps burning. Zoya wore the pale pink silken sarong. 

     "I miss you so much," he said softly. 

     "It hurts?" Her eyes were damp.

     "So much." 

     "Did you like my surprises?"

     "I loved them. Both the poetry and the idea of hiding those notes." 

     "I've been researching love poems like crazy," Zoya sighed. "And they've made me sadder and miss you even more. Have you heard this one: 

          Kitna khauf hota hai shaam kay andheron mein,

          Pooch un parindon say jinke ghar nahi hote?' "

     "Ghalib." 

     "Asad, you never told me that Mirza Ghalib's name was Asadullah Khan! Why would you do that? Why wouldn't you tell me such an important detail?"

          "Abhi mashroof hoon kaafi, kabhi fursat mein sochunga,

          Ke tujhko yaad rakhne mein, mai kya kya bhool jaata hoon."

     "Aww, is that Ghalib too?" 

     "Umm-hmm ..." 

     "Are you tired? How was your day?"

     "I don't remember a single thing about my day. I hope to god that Prasad took notes. Tell me about your day."  

They scolded each other for not eating well. 

Dobby came up to say hi. He butted his head against the screen and batted the keypad. Asad had a feeling that the cat was rubbing his nose in it. I'm here and you're not, he seemed to be gloating.

She was tiring and so was he. But they didn't want to sign off as yet. 

     "Go to sleep." 

     "I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight," Zoya said.

     "Try. I'll watch over you. Come closer. Let me say good night to the baby." 

Asad touched the screen.

     "Good night," he whispered. Don't trouble Ammi too much." He had already listened to the baby's heartbeat two or three times by now.

Zoya got out of bed and tugged at the string behind her neck. The pink silk fell to the floor. He hissed.

     "I'll be sleeping in the nude tonight, Mr. Khan. Watch me. Miss me." 

     "Oh god, Zoya!" 

     "I love you too," she blew him a kiss as she settled back into bed against the pillow. Not satisfied, she threw her pillow away and grabbed his to tuck under her head. "It smells of you. Hurry back to me. I'm cold without you."

     "Zoya, you're killing me!" 

     "Good! You better think twice about leaving me then."

The woman was incorrigible. Always had to have the last word in. 

But irresistible too.

A few times he had to toggle the touchpad so that the computer wouldn't go into sleep mode. He watched her go into sleep mode and only then did he catch some sleep himself.

 

He heard paper crinkle again. Asad smiled the next morning as he retrieved a note that had been secreted into his sock roll. 

More Neruda.

          "By night, Love, tie your heart to mine, and the two

          together in their sleep will defeat the darkness ...

          ...

          ... so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

          so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep."

Now how did she know that he'd pull out this exact pair of socks for day two? Was he really that predictable? 

Asad left his postcard to be mailed out by the first post at the front desk.

He had quoted Faiz Ahmed Faiz this morning. 

          "Raat yun dil mein teri khoyi hui yaad aayi,

          Jaise viraane mein chupke se bahaar aa jaye,

          Jaise sehraaon mein haule se chale baad-e-naseem,

          Jaise beemaar ko be-wajah qaraar aa jaaye."

 

 

 

  


Song in Title:

Woh Lamhe (2006): "Kya Mujhe Pyaar Hai"


	108. Woh Ek Din Sau Saal Ka, Sau Saal Ki Woh Raat Thi

 

 

He felt around in the pockets and his smile fell—no note. But Asad laughed as he slipped into his suit jacket and spied another treasure on his sleeve. She was really taking this killing-him-with-sugar to the next level. The assault was breathtaking and ... relentless.

He pulled out the all too-familiar earring that had been carefully pinned to the cuff; it winked at him reminding him of those ceaseless days of lonely desire and quiet heartache—when she was a million miles away despite living a few feet across the hall. 

The memories—old and new—punched him in the gut.

The note in the inner pocket was what he thought he'd expect. Must be more Neruda.

But Zoya was not as predictable as him.

          "Haan pareshaan hoon main, lagta nahin hai kuch sahi,

          Haan pareshaan hoon main, lagta nahin hai kuch sahi,

          Mere Shah Rukh Kaan mein jhumka hai, Salman Kaan mein nahin."

Of course he wouldn't be spared her own shayari. Even in absentia.

     "Aapka Salman Kaan is very careless. When I get home I will punish it. Par asli Mr. Khan ke paas aapka jhumka salamat hai," Asad texted her. He'd already talked to her before breakfast.

     "Aww," Zoya replied. "Perfect! I'm waiting for my asli Mr. Khan to come home. So is my Salman Kaan." 

     "Tomorrow," his text promised. "And," Asad added. "We need to talk about renaming those ears of yours. I'm not going to tolerate strange men's names attached to any of your body parts."

Zoya laughed heartily at that.

     "As if!" She punched in defiantly. 

     But a minute later his phone pinged to reveal a brand new text soaked in sensual appeal—her overactive imagination and clenched thighs had conspired to convert all sass into a desperate petition: "We don't need to talk. Christen my ears and every other body part with only your name. Brand me with your teeth, tongue and lips till my heated blood calls out your name. Swallow my cries to silence me if you want.

     Sip me

     Nip me

     Rip into me

     Dip into me—and with a tattooist's needle, ink me with your name because your name in bridal mehendi wasn't permanent enough.

     Sign me

     Mark me 

     Stain me

     Seed me."

In the car the driver looked back at him in alarm when he groaned aloud. Asad ducked his head and squeezed his eyes shut. All the way to the client's office he imagined lingering over each contractual item in graphic detail. He was going to make her pay for this discomfort and the superhuman self-control he had to exert to make himself get out of the car without making a complete fool of himself.

  

     "You remembered to take your epi-pen right?" All that talk of signing made Zoya suddenly remember and slap her head. That memory of him in anaphylactic shock from nearly a year ago stung her breathless. However unintentional on her part, it had been because of her silly need to impress him with her cooking. She hadn't known about his allergy to peanuts then. For once she regretted her own shayari.

     Jab problem hogayi hai solve, toh kyun hai mathey pe shikan,

     Jab problem hogayi hai solve, toh kyun hai mathey pe shikan,

     Aao milkar banate hain, zaikedaar satay chicken!

Stupid chicken satay. As much as Zoya loved it, she'd stayed away from that dish ever since. 

Tears puddled in her eyes. Stupid hormones.

     "I hate that you don't take your allergy seriously," Zoya texted him when she didn't hear back from him in the next five minutes. "Ask twice to make sure that they don't let peanuts anywhere near your food. Asad!!! Pleeease!"

A flurry of Zoya's panicky texts clogged his notifications when he walked out of the first meeting of the day. Asad had silenced his phone and turned it on its face so he'd focus on blueprints, figures and numbers and not see visions of a nude, Neruda-reciting nymph of a siren-wife.

     "I did and I will." He answered her first and third texts. She had placed the Epi-pen by his wallet and phone for god's sake. 

Asad grinned and shook his head. 

Zoya always fretted over his allergy whenever they went out anywhere. She created a big enough fuss that the restaurant or hotel staff would trip over themselves to do her bidding; it was the only way to keep her voice down. And then she also carried a standby epi-pen in her own bag. Just in case, she'd say.

     "You do know that I managed to survive without you for twenty seven years?" Asad called her back wanting to hear her voice.

     "You did. But see how much of the damage I had to undo! Kitna zeher utarna pada mujh bechari ko," she replied. 

     "Please! Kissi bhi angle se aap bechari nahin hain!"

     "You're welcome," she said ending all discussion.

But looks like Zoya still wasn't done getting in the last word.

     "P.S. I must be your asli Epi-pen! You need regular shots of me to keep you sane and human!" Her text announced the next second.

True, he sighed to himself. After you give me an unscratchable itch. He still burned from her earlier text. 

His allergy was fast becoming an experiment and research project in itself though.

     She'd given up eating peanuts herself. "What if you kiss me and go into anaphylactic shock?" This was harder because since then she'd been craving peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Zoya's manic research on the subject was leading to some head-scratching confusion.

     "This study says that babies should be exposed to nuts to reduce their chances of developing allergies. So should I start eating peanuts? But nut allergies are genetic!" He would have to pull her into his arms and kiss her silly to calm her down. "You're my nut," he's say. "And see, I'm not the least bit allergic to you!" 

     "But you were, in the beginning!" she'd wailed—hurt and freshly hormonal.

     "True, but look, I'm cured now. Thanks to you." 

     "Exactly what I've been trying to tell you Mr. Khan!" was her dizzying comeback. How easily she bounced back—"main zyada der kissi se upset nahin reh sakti. Mera nature hi nahin hai," he remembered her saying a long time ago when it was his nature to be upset with her—always. 

And continuing their discussion, happily she'd proceeded to kiss him all over.

     "Thanks to me, you're no longer allergic to smiling." Kiss. "Or laughing." Kiss. "Or loving." Kiss. Kiss. "Or musibatitis." Kiss. "Or pizza." Kiss.

She'd giggled and blushed with warm pleasure when Asad rolled her under him and bent his head to whisper naughtier lists in her ear. 

That ear!

Aaannnhhh.

Asad pushed back his sleeve to check the time. Only thirteen minutes had passed since he'd checked it last. He sighed. Time was frozen solid. 

Immobile.

The gush of memories wasn't the anti-freeze he'd hoped they'd be. Time stood still—a hardass warden that wouldn't let him out of confinement or allow conjugal visits. 

 

Zoya couldn't shake off her funk today. 

Either the lack of sleep from yesterday was getting to her or she was becoming one of those annoying women who couldn't function without her man. So lame! You better not turn into one of those women who can't think of anything besides their husbands.

But just to be extra sure, she had called Prasad about peanut-less food orders. Twice.

Watching an action film, once her favorite thing to do, was not helping. How come she didn't notice before how noisy and cliched they were? No cricket matches were on—Dhoni and his team were on sabbatical. Twitter and facebook felt dead today, and the baby book just made her feel like crying more. Zoya had a new project in mind but felt too leaden to even start. 

Neruda drooped with her and Ghalib's taunts were particularly macabre today:

     "Hathon ki lakiron pe mat jaa ay Ghalib,

     Naseeb unke bhi hote hain jinke haath nahi hote."

Or:

     "Ragon mein daudtay phirnay ke hum nahi qaayal, 

     Jab aankh hi say na tapkaa to phir lahoo kya hai?" 

She couldn't bear to mope in front of Najma or Nikhat and begged away to rest in her room. Zoya couldn't get over her sisters-in-law's restraint. Had it been her in their place she'd have been unbearable by now—a total head case.

She sat on the floor, arm on the bed, head on her arm.

Dobby hopped up on the bed and tried to nuzzle her. He could sense her blue mood dipping and darkening in the shadowed room. The cat butted her head with his. I'm here, he seemed to say. 

     Zoya smiled and hugged him. "I'm missing my original tomcat," she told him. "But thanks for being here." 

     Asad had texted her earlier: "Make sure that Dobby stays off my side of the bed."

     "And me? Should I stay off your side of the bed too?" she'd quipped in reply.

She had been in a better mood then. 

     "You are in my heart, in every breath, and always on my mind. Your side of the bed is mine, mine's yours. Besides, on our suhaag raat you'd said that sides didn't matter. What mattered was that you be on top." 

When she had cried on reading that, she didn't realize that her mood would soon start tanking—a mossy stone sinking to the bottom of a still river. Earlier in the day they had all watched wedding videos and leafed through stacks of albums. It had left her with a dull void in her stomach making her miss Asad, Humaira, Aapi and Jeeju even more.

Her hand almost reached out for an album on the nightstand. Zoya had already seen the videos and pictures of her nikaah at least six to seven times between yesterday and today. 

Her fingers had traced Asad's face as she told the baby about the day Ammi and Abbu said qubool hai. 

Here was Abbu looking up to see Ammi coming down the stairs.

Here baby's phuphis and khala had blocked Ammi's way and refused to let her sit at the ceremony as they demanded a ransom and toll tax.

Of course that was my idea! And only your Abbu knows this, I had jeans on under my lehenga—just felt more comfortable that way. 

Ayaan Chachu had yelled at the girls to remind them that they were from the ladke wala side. Omar Phupha had called it a troll tax; Chachu had lunged at him. They'd fought and had to be separated by Dadu and Nanu.

There was Abbu smacking his forehead at the delay and disturbance.

Zoya smiled looking at the pictures of the ceremony.

She'd taken her own sweet time to say quboool hai.

I don't know why. I wanted to savor the moment but I also wanted to give thanks for everything that had brought me to this moment, I guess.

Here's Nani freaking out that I'll mess up the whole nikaah. But Abbu knows better—see, he's grinning. 

Yes, Ammi did get just a little teary after Abbu said qubool hai. I couldn't help it.

Yes, I was happy. Of course it's possible to cry happy tears. Wait till I hold you in my arms for the first time. I think I'll be bawling more than you.

And here is Abbu taking ages to adjust and re-adjust the haar around Ammi's neck.

Why was everyone laughing in this picture?

     Because after eons of meticulous straightening, Ayaan Chachu had joked: "Bhaijaan, it's still not straight."

The pictures of her downcast eyes and reddening cheeks as Asad fed her sweets under Dadi's supervision made her heart flutter. 

The close-ups showed the twinkling details of her jewelry and each piece of jewelry reminded her of the exquisite gyrations of their suhaag raat. It was as if with the ritual of fastening that heirloom behind her neck the foreplay had already begun.

In this picture was he already imagining how he'd direct and choreograph their scenes of coming intimacy? Because except for the rani haar and her bridal dress, Asad had forbidden her to remove any other piece of jewelry later that night. That night, studded from head to toe and with help from him, she had ridden him hard ... and slow. Two flames, they had burned as one. It hadn't been their first time; their bodies had molded and clung to each other in that remembered frisson as his hands and the jewels marked her as his.

     "You're such a goddess," he'd said, his hips bucking under her to thrust him in deeper. His fingers had grazed her neck, over her bejeweled body, to trail down lovingly over her breasts to mine her silken wetness. 

She'd thrown her head back and—  

No, no, no. Don't go there.

She had to do something else or she'd go completely crazy. Zoya changed into her yoga pants and tee to try some stretching and breathing therapy. Next she'd go for a cold shower. 

 

That evening Asad was surprised to see his mother's name flash on his phone screen.

He had talked to everyone just before dinner taking special care to talk to Najma the longest. He knew she was missing Omar terribly and that studying for her GREs just added to her misery. He'd videochat with Zoya later at night.

Unfortunately Asad hadn't been able to slip out of the business dinner his last night in the city.

     "Ammi? Is everything OK."

     "Yes ..."

     His breath caught at her pause. "What is it Ammi?" 

     "Zoya was really down all day long. And then we were watching the news ... Asad, there was a report of another gang rape. And Zoya burst into wild tears. We couldn't get her to stop weeping. I talked to Dr. Sharma. She says it's nothing to worry about. Women get over-emotional and sensitive at this time."

     "How's she now? Did you check her blood pressure? Sugar?" 

     "She's calmer now and her blood sugar and pressure's fine too. Talk to her. I know that you were going to call later. Abhi phone kar lo, beta." 

     "Ji Ammi." 

Excusing himself from the client he tried Zoya's phone. 

Unreachable. 

He acted swiftly. Within half an hour, the Siddiquis and everyone from Rashid's house were knocking at the door. Siddiqui claimed that he was missing his girls too much and wanted to take everyone out for kulfi and ice cream.

At the traffic signal, Rashid bought balloons for the girls. Multiple heart-shape wala balloons to remember missing husbands by.

Nuzzhat objected to being treated like a love-sick puppy like her sisters and Bhabhi. So Dadi ordered the vendor to make a balloon animal for her—in the shape of a dog.

     "Khush?"

     "Yay!" cried Nuzzhat. 

How could anyone be depressed with so many vibrant balloons bobbing around them? 

Zoya perked right up. Najma and Nikhat came alive too. 

They batted each other's bunches playfully. Now Nuzzhat wished she had her own balloon bunch. She wouldn't have minded the gaudy hearts one bit. 

The family chatted in small clusters. Sitting away from the parents, Nikhat shyly told the girls about how Feroze had helped lift her spirits and win her over by administering some unique balloon therapy: Letting go of fears, doubts and insecurities, and holding on firmly to hope, fun and cheer.

     "Wow, aren't you glad I gave him the address to Abbu's office?" Zoya teased Nikhat. 

     "Yes, Zoya Bhabhi. I'll owe you forever."

     "Me too," Najma piped up. Thank god for this distraction. She was going nuts cooped up all alone in her room. How she wished she could fling those fat GRE prep books at the door or mirror. I hate you, America. You suck.

     "But Zoya, couldn't they have been from India, not pardesis from a milllion miles away!" 

     "Apparently not! Looks like no desi boys were good enough for the Khan girls. And Americans rock, OK?" Zoya blushed at the irony. Because she'd landed herself the best desi boy! She remembered Asad calling himself and Dobby her desi boyz. And then there was a show he'd put on for her with furry handcuffs and a boa ...

Her smile slipped. Zoya shook off the mantle of melancholy. No! It's just one more day. Get over yourself already.

     "Girls, let's do our own balloon therapy! C'mon, write a message on a balloon and let it go into the universe." 

     "YesSS!" 

They scrambled to find a sharpie or a marker.

None was available.

Bags were raided and rummaged through: eye pencils with soft tips would have to improvise. They wrote shy and cryptic love notes on inflated hearts and posed with their messages in sad selfies for their husbands: "Missing U," "xoxoxo" announced a few hearts. A sad face with fat teardrops adorned a couple others. Net lingo was scrawled across both sides of many others: ILY, lya, lyf, LAK, LOLF, LOML, ly4l ... 

     If Ayaan had been here, for sure he'd have broken into his besura, "Pyaar tumhe kis mod pe le aaya," routine. But so what if Ayaan wasn't here. His father was. Rashid started singing the song and Dilshad laughed. And the parents joined in teasing the girls: 

     "Pyaar tumhe kis mod pe le aaya,

     Ki dil karey Haye! 

     Haye! 

     Koi yeh bataaye kya hoga!" 

The girls turned beetroot red. But Zoya and Nuzzhat couldn't resist joining in; Najma and Nikhat felt too shy ... and sad. 

Dadi scoffed at such a wahiyaat song.

     She sang "mere piya gaye Rangoon, wahan se kiya hai telly-phoon! Tumhari yaad sataati hai!" instead. 

Raziya, Dilshad and Shireen gleefully joined in and the girls laughed. 

Telly-phoon? LOL 

The balloons waved and bobbed valiantly despite being heavy with heartache as they floated away watched by a rapt audience that took more pictures. 

Nuzzhat could have pulled her hair out as more balloons were signed and released.

     "Use lipstick also!" She hissed snidely. "Send little koochie-koo wet, slobbery kissy kisses too!" 

     "Silly girl, the lipstick won't show on the red," Zoya countered.

     "Kisko dikhana hai?" Nuzzhat asked, her eyes wide in disbelief.

     "Arre, go take your balloon doggie for a walk. It wants to do potty," Nikhat teased her softly.

     "Or borrow one of our balloons and send a message to Faiz. Tell him that your baby is fine!" Najma joked pointing to the balloon dog. (They had to keep their voices down so the parents wouldn't hear them.) 

The girls hooted; Nuzzhat snorted and stomped her foot in rage. 

     "Incredibly FOOLISH!" she hollered just like her brother.

     "Aaannnhh!" her Bhabhi groaned missing her Bhaijaan even more. 

     "We're by the lake having kulfi. Missing you," Zoya texted Asad with a string of smiley faces, hearts and ice cream cones.

She knew he was at dinner and didn't want to disturb him. Pouty selfies with the girls and their balloons followed.

     "Me too. I love you," he replied when he got the chance.

Asad relaxed reading her text. He had sensed that she needed a jolt of pure sugar running through her system. And some parental fussing and spoiling wouldn't hurt either. 

It was a good thing the client was chatty and in a good mood. He didn't notice Asad's impatient pensiveness as he nattered away in benign oblivion. 

Dimpling deeply, Asad smiled fully at her next text and the client stopped talking mid-way.

     "Good news, Mr. Khan? 

     "Yes," Asad answered simply.

     "Baby's kicking and says hi," Zoya's latest text had said. 

     "Good baby," he thought.

The client chattered on; Asad was more attentive now. 

 

     "When and how did you arrange for the flowers?" Zoya gushed later on facetime when they had returned home from their surprise night out after a boisterous round of antakshari of the girls against the parents. The parents won easily—who really remembered newer Bollywood songs? The oldies were pure gold.  

Asad too had returned to his hotel. 

He peered at Zoya trying to detect traces of her earlier distress. Her eyes weren't puffy any more, but they were unlined—her crying jag must've scrubbed out the dark kohl she usually wore.

     "I asked Ammi to help. She told me how upset you were this evening. When you all were out, the delivery person left the flowers with the guard."

     "So many flowers, Asad. You must have bought out the entire shop!" 

     "Zoya, look at me." He said as she ducked her head. "How are you, really?"

Her head was bent and she stroked Dobby's back. 

     Her smile dipped. "I don't know what happened. It was so embarrassing. I couldn't stop crying. I kept thinking, if we have a girl what kind of world we're bringing her into. What if this happ—" 

     "Shh," Asad soothed as she teared up again. "If we have a girl, she'll be a gun-slinging cowgirl and Jhansi ki rani just like her mom."

     "I don't feel like Jhansi ki rani today," Zoya said softly. "I feel beaten down and scared. I've always feared for the baby's health. But now ... it's as if being healthy isn't enough ... Parents do everything for their daughter"good health, education, opportunities ... and in an instant someone could take that away just because she's a girl. Asad, she was only 15!"

     "Oh god!" He squeezed his eyes shut in horror. He hadn't yet tuned in to the news. "Baby, stop tormenting yourself." He didn't want her staring into that abyss. It would be too hard to climb out. "Please."

     "Asad, I want you so bad right now! I hate that I can't seem to hold myself together without you. I can't remember ever feeling this vulnerable. How do parents cope when such things happen to their kids?"

Zoya wept as she hugged her knees. She was wearing his kurta and the sleeves flopped over her fingers.

Frustration mushroomed; he cursed the distance.

     "Zoya," Asad whispered. His hand had unconsciously risen to touch her through the screen. Her broken words made his helplessness worse. He knew she would have a rough night tonight. She'd probably have nightmares. He wanted to be there to hold her through it.

      "Less than 24 hours baby, please. Sleep with Ammi tonight."

She shook her head. Even she knew that the nightmares might come bringing demons to drag her down to the pits of hell.

     "I don't want to bother Ammi." 

Asad didn't try to talk her out of it. He would just tell Ammi himself and she would take care of the rest. Right now he needed to talk Zoya through her fragile state of mind.

     "Do you want to go New York? To be with Aapi and Jeeju, see your friends?" 

     "No! I mean yes, but only if you come with me." 

     "I can't."

     "Then I don't want to go. But thanks for offering. I know you couldn't have been happy about it." 

     "If it made you happy, I'd learn to live with it." 

     "You make me happy." 

     "Call Aapi. Tell her to come here and stay with us."

     "OK, but she won't come till much later, I know. Jeeju will say, 'bahut na-insafi hai. Apni begum apne paas mein, and you want to separate my begum from me for so long.' Then he'll sing lambi judaii,"

Zoya smiled and rolled her eyes weakly.

They sighed in miserable silence.

     "Tell me what I can do for you." Asad begged. "Anything." 

     "Sing for me," she urged him and Asad smiled, half-eager to please her yet embarrassed.

     "Please! I'll even get your guitar and play the chords you taught me." 

     He sang "Zindagi ki yahi reet hai," softly ... hesistantly. Asad didn't even wince at her missed notes. Zoya's hungry eyes drank in his face. Her fingers forgot to strum the guitar; instead they drummed and stroked her stomach in a lulling rhythm. 

     "Will you be able to sleep OK?" Asad asked finally. 

     "I'll try."

     "Good. Remember Neruda's words from your last note in my shirt pocket?" Asad fished it out of his wallet (he'd dated them and put them in chronological order) and read it to her: " 'Already, you are mine. Rest with your dream inside my dream ... and already, not only am I not without you, I alone am your dream.' " 

     "I'll be OK, Asad. Don't worry about me. I didn't mean to bring you down."

     "I wish I'd brought you here with me. I'd hold you right now and kiss away those tears."

     "There would be no tears if I was with you. No nightmares either. I didn't know how prophetic that note would be: you alone are my dream. And remember, you said that if you took me with you then you'd worry even more and not get any work done!"

     "I was a damned fool," he said as his pinched the bridge of his nose.

     "Incredibly foolish?" 

     "More than incredibly foolish."

He'd just have to fly in earlier, Asad decided after they'd wished each other goodnight and hung up to stare at the lonely ceiling. He'd even been desperate enough to find out about travelling by car or train. But there was no way to get home sooner than on a flight. And the first flight out was at 6 the next morning. Indian aviation authorities had still not greenlighted domestic red eye flights to allow overnight travel. 

Irritation flared through him. 

Incredibly foolish Indian authorities and carriers. 

 

In the middle of the night he jerked wide awake. Asad looked at the clock display: 3:17. He could have sworn he heard Zoya's voice calling out his name.

When he rang her he could hear the tears in her voice.

She had rushed to grab her phone before it woke Ammi. 

Zoya didn't even know when she'd fallen into an exhausted sleep and when her mother-in-law had slipped in to sleep beside her. But she had welcomed Dilshad's cool hand on her forehead and soothing murmur when the nightmare seized her by her throat and shook her awake.

Thank you, Asad.

     "Zoya?" His voice cracked in alarm.

     "I'm OK," she whispered. 

No, she wasn't.

     "Bad dream?"

     "Ye—s ... How did you know?" she hiccupped.

     "I just knew."

     "The bat signal lit up, right?" Zoya sniffed.

Asad grinned. Her good humor must be returning.

     "Come to think of it, my bat antennae were vibrating." 

     "Bats have antennae? On their heads?"

     "Umm, babe, my other head ..." 

She giggled softly as she fell back into her pillow. His pillow actually.

     "Mr. Khan, you sure make a batgirl feel cherished. I'm sorry. Looks like you're not getting any sleep worrying about me. Sleepless in Hyderabad?" 

     "I'll survive. And make up for it when I get home."

     "What if I don't let you get any sleep when you get home?" she teased. 

     "Well, then at least I'd be getting lucky!"

     Zoya laughed under her breath. "Yes, you would. And that's a promise Jahanpanah. Asad?" she asked a few minutes later.

     "Hmm ..."

     "I'm not crying because of any nightmares anymore. Or because you're not here. I'm crying because I'm the lucky one—I have you." 

     "Good. But can't you feel lucky with smiles instead of tears? That dimple of yours has gone into hiding, right? Isn't that unfair to the world? So much be-insafi and global atyachaar!" 

     "My dimple went to Hyderabad with you. It must be hiding somewhere in your bag. No, it's probably in the palm of your hand. See?" 

She flashed him a smile when he looked up at her from his palm. But it didn't have its usual 440-volt brilliance.

     "I'll bring it back with me then. Just a few more hours. You want to listen to the baby's heartbeat together?" He played it on his laptop when she nodded yes. 

An anthem, it knitted their hearts together tighter.

     "Put you hand on your stomach and close your eyes." Asad told her. "I missed reciting Allah's name yesterday."

She repeated the invocation after him; somewhere around the fifty-third chant Zoya fell asleep, phone still to her ear. He heard her even breathing and relaxed. His fingers brushed against the note in his kurta pocket. It had been his latest find—rolled up in a tie. 

     "But I love your feet 

     only because they walked 

     upon the earth and upon 

     the wind and upon the waters, 

     until they found me." 

     " ... And nearly ran me over," Zoya had added, sneaking in a reference to their first few volatile meetings. 

Meetings? Head-on collisions rather. 

He smiled.

Galvanized, Asad rose to offer prayers and get ready.

He had an early flight to catch.

 

Zoya had just showered and was humming "Zindagi ki yahi reet hai" as she changed the sheets on the bed.

He had to grab her and cover her mouth so that she wouldn't squeal in surprise and bring Najma and Ammi rushing down to check on her. 

An excited and unjealous Dobby wound around and rubbed himself against Asad's legs.

Zoya's eyes slashed daggers at him for scaring her, and then for delaying their reunion kiss. She struggled to break free.

Asad removed his hand to place a finger on his lips to make sure she kept quiet. She smacked his arm away and launched herself into his arms. 

He chuckled.

Zoya wanted so bad to whoop out his name in celebration but he wouldn't let her. He swooped to feast on her mouth and shush her, parting her lips to plunge deeper. She bit his lip before sucking on it. They moaned in hungry protest against a separation that felt like a life sentence  But when she sagged against him to inhale his scent she'd already forgotten all eager questions about his early return or complaints on being ambushed. 

He was home. It was enough.

She could breathe again. She no longer felt that weight squeezing her chest.

Reading braille Asad ran his thumb over her lips as though feeling them for the first time. She grabbed his hand to plant kisses on his palm.

     "I'm sorry that I was such a baby and you had to cut your trip short because of me. But thank you, thank you so much for coming home early!" Zoya whispered against his throat.

     He rocked her to him. "I left Prasad and another associate there. They can handle the rest of it. I'll teleconference with the client later this afternoon."

Asad scooped her up to lay her down on the bed. He knelt on the floor and pushed her shirt up to stroke her baby bump before showering it with a thousand kisses and resting his cheek against her skin.

     "I missed you both so much!"

Zoya laughed as the baby kicked its Abbu's face.

     "We missed you like crazy too! Welcome home, Jahanpanah!" 

He looked down at her face. Yes, there it was: his beacon, that slice of moonlight—that dimple. 

He was home. 

Offerings at an altar, he kissed every inch of her glowing face. Even the tear that snuck down her cheek.

 

     "You are full of wonderful surprises today," Zoya sang out a few hours later. "I'd give you a wonderful surprise of my own but I'm afraid you'll crash the car!"

Asad was driving them to the hospital. 

     He groaned. "I could pull over under that tree over there."

     "Mr. Khan, always so full of yourself!" 

He looked at her pointedly and she blushed hard.

     "Stop pretending to be so shocked Mrs. Khan. You're the one who puts these devilish ideas into my head!"

     "Your head!" She couldn't squelch the peals of laughter that erupted.

     He blushed this time. "OK, behave now. You've gotten me into enough trouble for one day as it is."

She didn't care if he called her Mallika-e-Musibat today. She was too deliriously happy.

They'd made love and later fallen asleep in each other's arms for a much-needed catnap. When she stirred awake she saw him gazing down at her ready to rinse and repeat. He had plundered some of the bouquets to shower her with multi-colored petals. They still clung to her lambent body. His dark head had bent to blot out the late morning sun. His fingers sleeked and caressed her intimately.

Zoya was on fire again, burnished and re-branded.

When she'd stepped out to get him coffee, Zoya saw Najma going up the stairs with a cup and laden plate. She was probably going to study and have breakfast in her room. Dilshad was still in the kitchen. She turned to Zoya and beamed. 

     "When did Asad come?" she asked. 

Zoya had turned crimson.

How did Ammi know? Had she heard them? They'd tried to be super quiet. Under different circumstances she'd have snorted at the question: When did Asad come? Umm, twice actually since he got back! Thank you, thank you very much. 

     "How did you know, Ammi?" Zoya asked.

     "Your face told me. Aur black and bitter coffee toh tum peeti nahin! Bas, case solved."

When Zoya told Asad about his mother's detective skills he'd covered his face in embarrassment. Trouble with a capital T—that was his wife. But even he'd roared with laughter when she told him about her silent monologue in response to his mother's question. He'd kissed her hard in punishment and reward—that sinful mouth was both trouble and thrill.  

They'd just been to the Dargah. Now they were going to the children's ward in the hospital to distribute the rest of the flowers from their room. Zoya had whined about the flowers dying soon and what a tragic waste that would be. If only there was a way to prolong their life.

     "Let's take the rest of them to cheer up some sick kids," Asad had suggested.

     "Mr. Khan you're an absolute genius," she'd clapped her hands in delight. "An Einstein and Mother Teresa rolled into one."

     "So I have funny hair and am a virgin?" Asad asked, an eyebrow quirked. 

Zoya had looked up at the clock.

     "Well, you have been a virgin for the past two hours. We'll have to do something to fix that."

 

And then the post came.

Dilshad and Najma had come running down on hearing Zoya shriek. Asad too dashed out, hair wild and shirt still undone.

Zoya was bouncing on her toes.

     "Ammi! Mr. Khan sent me the most beautiful postcards from Hyderabad," she explained to her mother-in-law who was still clutching her racing heart.

Dilshad looked at her son standing at the bedroom door and glared at him.

He fled inside. 

Allah! Her children hadn't given her a heart attack as yet. But she was pretty sure that her daughter-in-law would definitely succeed in doing so one of these days. And then heaven alone help her once the grandkids came. 

     "Really? Postcards all the way from Hyderabad?" she indulged her bahu. "Show me."

     "Umm,  voh ... actually ... they're like ... you know ... voh ..."

     Dilshad laughed. "Mr. Khan ki toh main acchi khabar loongi! Jaan le rakhi hai!"

Najma stomped up the stairs in mutual irritation.

So not fair.

Americans might rock but America, I totally hate you.

 

 

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Jhoom Barabar Jhoom (2007): "Bol Na Halke Halke"


	109. Aisi Uski Inaayat Mit Gayi Har Shikaayat, Hum Pe Meherbaan Do Jahaan

 

 

 

Zoya sighed in contentment. Finally she'd given in and consented to wearing maternity jeans. Thank you Allah miyan—at least they were still far more comfy than any other piece of clothing known to man; she had also commandeered more and more of Asad's shirts. He had come around to accept this forced sharing as gracefully as possible—"you owe it to your baby's mom" is what she'd silence him with.

     But maybe she'd really won him over by her usual charm and wit: "Jahanpanah's kaneez has exclusive rights on Jahanpanah's kameez. Deal with it."

Comfort was a relative thing these days.

Her stomach itched like the dickens but everyone made it their business telling her not to scratch it.

     "Put oil or lotion. Permanent stretch marks pad jayenge beta," Shireen told her when she saw Zoya go savagely at her mounding stomach with both hands. 

     "I don't care," Zoya screamed in her head as she set upon her tummy once again. "Who cares about stretch marks. This feels like heaven right now."

Dilshad glared at her and Zoya ducked her head.

Her mother-in-law had been threatening to tape oven mitts on her hands if she didn't cease from attacking herself like a manic monkey. 

Shireen and Badi Bi were over for lunch. Nikhat had joined work back at her father's office to keep sane and also keep an eye on her father who'd insisted on going back to work too; Nuzzhat was chin-deep in rehearsals for her troupe's street theater campaigns and performances.

Shireen was missing her favorite son and felt as if she had nothing at all to do with her time. For once Nuzzhat was so glad for her mother's preoccupation with her brother. No nikaah talk and no martyred nikaah sighs were always a good way to start one's morning. 

Shireen returned to the subject she had come to discuss.

     "Bhaijaan and Bhabhi want us all to move back in with them. Bhabhi says that the house feels too big and empty with no one there. 'Ghar kabristan lagta hai' she says. I don't know what to do." 

     "What does Rashid want?" Dilshad asked. 

     "He says he wants to discuss it with Ayaan first. But a part of me wants to go back. It was so nice no, when we were all together for those few months? Bhabhi was saying that she's going to talk to you all about it too." 

     "It _was_ nice to be together under one roof," Dilshad said. "Back then it had been a necessity. But Asad would never leave this house."

Zoya nodded in silent agreement.

Good or bad, this house was their home and it was an elemental part of Asad's identity as a son and brother. Even when they'd lived under her father's roof at the Siddiqui house it was a given: that was only a temporary thing—a circumstance borne out by dire necessity, nothing else. 

And as much as she railed against how unfair it was that girls were expected to leave their families to live and adjust in their husbands' homes but never men in their wives' homes, she would never ask this of Asad. 

Because this was more her home than her father's home.

And this place, this little corner of bright earth, these walls—they were all Asad. Her eyes lifted to the main door.

     And as if it was yesterday, Zoya remembered her first sher as she'd crossed over the threshold into this house"into her foreshadowed destiny: 

          "Aapke ghar mein mohabbat hai iss kadar chhayi hui,                           

          Deewarein tak lovers hain,

          Kono mein mila karti hain."

She had found her family right here, in this house. 

An Ammi who loved her to pieces ... 

... a husband who had reunited her with her father and sister.

 ... an indulgent lover who had fought for her—well, after fighting with her for months! "From musibat mehmaan to Mrs. Jahanpanah?" Asad often teased her. And just as often Zoya would chirp out one of her many trusted shers:

          "Teri meri zindagi ko mil gaya naya track, 

          Teri meri zindagi ko mil gaya naya track,

          Jab Ms. Farooqui ko mil gaye Jahanpanah six packs!"

     "Oh really?" he'd say. "The last time you recited this sher it was: tedhi medhi zindagi ko mil gaya sahi track.' You should try to be more faithful to your own compositions."

     "Whatevs! It's called improvising, Mr. Khan. And does it really matter? The last line is still the same!" 

     "The punchline you mean." 

     "Mr. Khan!" 

 

Shireen laughed shyly as she looked from Zoya's spaced-out face to Dilshad's.

     "Yes, even I can't imagine Asad living permanently in his father-in-law's house. Ayaan might think the same. Let's see what happens." 

     "Maybe the kids can all stay together and we parents can move to the big house," Dadi offered. 

     "NOOo!" Zoya hollered as she reached out to hug and shield Dilshad. "Never! I'm not living without Ammi." 

Dadi couldn't resist.

     "Dekh lo, bhai. Aisi hoti hai saas bahu ki mohabbat. If they started to show this kind of a relationship on Indian soap operas, our poor Naz would have nothing to watch!" 

Dilshad laughed as she hugged Zoya back and kissed her head. She arrested her daughter-in-law's hand as it crept to her scratch her tummy again. 

     "Haye Allah Ammi, will she be good to my Nikhat?" Shireen fretted over new yet familiar worries. Terrible visions were making home in her mind.

     "Of course!" They all reassured her.

     "Nahin toh our Nuzzhat will fix her Naz aunty when she marries Faiz!" Badi bi declared firmly. The family knew that the next nikaah was a foregone conclusion. 

     "Pata nahin why we give our daughters away ... Darr lagta hai ... the things they show in these serials ..." Shireen wondered. She would love for Nuzzhat to get married and Faiz would be just perfect, but ... 

Both daughters so far away? No. That wasn't sitting right with her. 

 

It was getting warmer. Warm enough to sit out on the bench at night snuggled up under a shawl. And that's where they sat this night after dinner when Dilshad and Najma had gone upstairs.

Asad rested his palm on her stomach hoping to track the baby's movements. But looks like the baby too had turned in for the night like its Dadi and Phuphi.

     "Asad?"

     "Hmm ..." His cheek rested against her head. She had scooted close enough for him to pull her in his lap. But it was getting harder and harder to do this: the baby kept getting in the way.

     "When you were away, I was reliving all of our history and memories together. I even looked at pictures since the time I came here from New York ... my facebook posts and all ... and I realized one thing."

     "What was that?" He nibbled on her knuckles.

     "Before we got together I often lashed out against you for being emotionally challenged or not being honest about your feelings. I knew that you felt something for me but I thought you hated yourself for being attracted to me. I never realized the pain you were going through for feeling trapped by Tanveer's con. I'm so sorry." 

     Asad dropped a kiss on her head. "There's nothing to be sorry about. On some days I think that I deserved it for being so rotten to you at first."

Zoya rushed to cover his mouth.

     "No, don't even think it! I should have known that you're so upright, and that as a man of principle you'd do the right thing, no matter what the cost. May be that's the quality I fell in love with in the first place. But I was so caught up in my own grief and insecurities that I couldn't see your helplessness." 

Zoya interlaced her fingers with his on her stomach.

     "If her baby really had been yours, I wouldn't have wanted you to leave her. I would have wanted you to do the right thing too." 

His arms tightened around her as Asad sighed.

     "Her baby could never have been mine. She could have drugged me, or put a gun to my head, and the baby still would never be mine. But yes, those days were awful. I had always thought myself so principled, absolutely right, and above all reproach ... I must've been so holier-than-thou." He grinned to see her nod in complete solemnity. "And then her accusation ... it destroyed me. Everything came crashing down. I couldn't trust myself anymore. I thought myself unworthy ... unworthy of you, of Ammi ..." 

Zoya gripped his hand tightly. Bitch! She hated Tanveer for this the most.

Asad continued quietly, excavating decayed layers of remorse and trauma. 

     "Everyday I battled with myself—on the one hand I couldn't believe that I'd be capable of doing something so uncharacteristic, so ungodly. Thank god Ammi believed me incapable of it too or we'd have never been together today. Her faith in me gave me the courage to start trusting myself ... to start fighting for us." 

Zoya kissed his shoulder. Her eyes pricked.

     "That's what I mean," she whispered. "I wish I had been your strength too then, just like Ammi. I wish I knew what you were going through." 

Asad gathered her closer.

     "But how could you? I didn't have the guts to tell you; I was so ashamed. I knew you were going through your own pain. It killed me. You know ... I came pretty close to telling Tanveer that I would take care of the baby but needed to be with you, just you. That I couldn't marry her."

     "Really?" Zoya gasped. "So what you said to her later about marrying me and raising the child as our own was all true? It wasn't a trick to throw her off?"

Asad nodded.

     "It was all true. And it came after months of questioning my own rigid beliefs and ideals. I couldn't go on for a single day ... a single second without telling you how I felt. Growing up I didn't want to ever marry thinking that I would hurt a woman like my father hurt Ammi. But here I was hurting you on a daily basis—it was as if I was doomed by my DNA; I couldn't escape it. Then I talked to Abbu that night at the Dargah and everything seemed so clear. His words and anguish made me re-think it all. Did I want a lifetime of regret and pain, or did I have the courage to reach out and grab my happiness with both hands?" 

Asad stroked her stomach.

     "I guess as parents you hope that your kids will learn from your mistakes and always be happy. But sometimes the kids insist on making their own mistakes to earn their life lessons. That's what Abbu was trying to tell me that night. He saw that I was in love with you and miserable. That day Abbu braved my daily fury to make me realize that I was going to make the biggest mistake of my life. He was not asking for forgiveness for himself but telling me to forgive myself, telling me that I deserved to be happy. That it was OK to choose love instead of duty. And that one mistake shouldn't determine the rest of my life." Asad exhaled and looked out into the darkness. "Who knew the walls of self-righteousness I'd built around me were slowly choking me?"

Zoya turned in his arms to frame his face in her hands.

     "Bechare Jahanpanah ... Anarkali ko and khud ko bhi deewar mein chunva rahe thay!" 

Asad snickered softly. So true. He tucked a stray lock behind her ear—that ear had been re-christened now.

Yes, it was both Ammi and Abbu who had pulled him out of that abyss. On his own he had come pretty close to losing it all. 

     "See?" Zoya continued. "Once you punched and kickboxed those walls down, you let in forgiveness and happiness. For yourself, and for Abbu, Ammi and Najma. But most of all for your Kaneez!"

     Asad nodded as he looked down into her animated face. "Hmm ... I was also letting in lots of 'dash mein bumboo!' as Ayaan says." 

Zoya giggled. 

     "But yes," he continued, "I think that's the moment I must've subconsciously decided that no matter what the results of the investigation, I would come clean with you. You deserved the truth. We deserved to be together. I still remember what you said that evening when were leaving for the restaurant—that love is a once-in-a-lifetime chance that Allah gives us. I didn't want to squander that. Or this." He kissed her slowly, gratefully. His hand tightened on her belly and the baby stirred.

     "Oh my god, I never knew!" Zoya raved as she came up for air. "I always thought that you'd choose principle and duty over love." Her lips thinned. "And that's exactly what that tramp banked on—your flawless character and the history with your Abbu. If Tanveer were alive, I swear I'd kill her all over again just for that. And I'd do it so clean, no one would even know."

     "Shh," Asad chuckled. He had heard this rant before. "Shant meri Jhansi ki Rani! Please, khuda ke liye, stop indulging your violent fantasies. It's not good for my baby. I'm so glad I banned you from watching your American crime dramas!" 

His brother had named him Mukka Ahmed Khan; who knew that his begum would have a bigger Mukka fetish!

Zoya pouted at the clipping of her wings. But she didn't mind the ban that much. After her freakout over the recent news story it made sense to not watch shows like "Law and Order: SVU." But she did miss her favorite show "Criminal Minds." She was such an awesome armchair profiler herself that she could be an honorary member of the FBI's BAU. 

But Jahanpanah had sabotaged her fantasy career. Nipped it right in the bud. 

Classic Akdu. 

     Asad laughed softly at her muted growl. "OK fine, you can watch 'Castle' or 'Rizzoli and Isles' but no 'Crim Minds'!" he gave in, using her nickname for her favorite show to appease her. He'd learned to pick his fights by now. And she'd told him how she'd grown up on a steady diet of American police procedurals—also Aapi and Jeeju's favorites. She could flash her pretend NYPD badge in a nano-second—she'd practiced it so often as a kid. So why put her on a total crime show diet and make her moodier? It would only come back to bite him in the butt.

Asad often gave in and even ocassionally deigned to watch "Castle" with her; though he'd ruin it for her by pointing out the cliches and predicting the murderer by the 24th minute. Half the time she watched the show with her hand clamped over his mouth. 

     "Don't you dare ruin it for me, Mr. Khan," she'd scold him.

     "It's so obvious," he'd mutter before picking up a book.

     "You know, Castle reminds me of you," she'd mused one day.

     "Please! Actually, he reminds me of you." Asad said. She beamed. "Besides, I'm not a dumb ass," he retorted under his breath.

     "Oh REALLY?"

     "Really. He's such a nerd. Just like you." That usually pacified her. Cos. everyone knew: nerds ruled.

 

That night Zoya shot up straight in bed in the middle of the night.

     "Wha—?" Asad muttered sleepily. "Is the baby OK?" he snapped fully awake too.

     "Mr. Khan!" Zoya hissed. "You're not the man I thought you were!" Her glittering eyes stabbed him and her finger was starting to wag menacingly. 

Nightmare?

     "What happened? What the hell are you talking about? Did you have a bad dream?" Asad squinted at her. His eyes refused to stay open but his head told him that he couldn't afford to shut them just yet. Some drama was unfolding and by the looks of it he was the principal character in it. He just didn't have the script yet. 

     "You would have left the mother of your child to be with the woman you loved? How could you? You'd abandon your own child?" Zoya's voice was threatening to rise to screech levels.

     Asad had no clue what she was going on about. "I would never abandon my child," he said sleepily. "Where's that even coming from?" 

     "But you said—!"

     "I said I would raise my child with you. Please pay attention to the details," he scolded her mildly. "Always going off half-cocked ..." Asad muttered under his breath. "Incre—" 

     "Don't you dare incredibly foolish me! You would have left the mother of your child to be with your ... your ...?" She sputtered. 

And she stuttered. 

     "My soulmate? To be with the person I was in love with? Yes," he stated. "Do you have a problem with that?" 

Sadly, he wouldn't be getting much sleep now.

     "No! ... I mean, yes! I do have a problem with that!" Her brain wasn't being able to keep up with her somersaulting mood and hormones. She felt angry, but she didn't know exactly why. Zoya's words were getting stuck and clumping together like swamp mud.

Asad sighed. Loudly. 

     "And that problem is?" he asked with infinite patience.

     "You would have walked out on the mother of your child to be with someone else!" Her voice was quavering. 

Uh oh. Asad knew that this was going to be his fault somehow but how the hell was he supposed to figure out what he'd done wrong? He tried to recall their conversation from the evening. He hadn't said anything objectionable or even mildly incriminating ... In fact, she'd agreed with him then, wholeheartedly. Then why was she pitching a fit now? 

     With supreme patience he held up a hand and counted off. "First of all, she wasn't pregnant with my child. Second, that woman was Tanveer. Even a snake would have walked out on her." 

     "Screw Tanveer! I'm not talking about her," Zoya hiccupped. 

Oh boy. "Then what are you talking about?" 

     "If you fall in love with someone else tomorrow, you'll walk out on me!" Zoya finally articulated her distress and flung herself on the pillow sobbing great, big, fat, gut-spilling sobs. 

Ohhh. 

Asad laughed; Zoya cried even more. 

     "And you'll take my baby away from me too and raise it with some ... some stuPPID tramp!"

     "Hey, you're no stupid tramp. You're Jhansi ki Rani," he teased.

     "ASADDD!"

He pulled her to him.

She struggled and kicked.

     "Mrs. Khan, just because I call you Jhansi ki rani, doesn't mean you go all Jhansi ki rani on me. Settle down now. Like a good girl." 

He wiped her tears.

     "Now tell me what's really bothering you? Could I ever leave you or walk out on you? Is that even humanly possible?"

Zoya sniffed.

     "What would Jhansi ki rani really do to Jahanpanah if he even thought about leaving?"

     Her eyes slitted. "She would chop up his seventh pack into little itty-bitty pieces and feed it to her pet tigers," Zoya announced, very sure of herself.

Dobby nodded in sage counsel. 

     "And that's why you've been banned from watching 'Criminal Minds'!" Asad countered. "I'm going to put a lock on her American channels," he vowed under his breath as he turned his back on her to slam his head down and feign sleep. 

     "Umm ... Asad?"

Silence.

She snuggled into his back and drew contrite circles on it. Then she wrote elaborate apologies. She even tried to sneak her hand into his kurta but he slapped it away. 

     "I'm sorry," Zoya whispered. "I know I get crazy sometimes ..." 

     He snorted. "Sometimes?" 

She dug her nails into his back punishingly; Dobby would be proud. Asad yelped.

     "OK fine, sometimes. You were saying?"

Zoya made a face behind his back and he grinned to himself as he imagined her pouting. Yes, Mrs. Khan, waking me up in the middle of the night to narrate graphic dreams of my own castration and turning me into cat food is going to cost you. 

Big time. 

Zoya laughed suddenly. Asad frowned—this was not the reaction he'd been imagining. 

     "Please Mr. Khan! Do you even know how to set the locks on the TV? The menu is password protected so good luck figuring that out. And do you really want to take pangas with a techie who could mess your phone or laptop?" She cleared her throat dramatically. "Or CDs with really important presentation details, hmm?" 

Checkmated, Akdu.

He retaliated the only way he knew how. He shut up that back-talking mouth and erased that mischief-making mind of hers as he put his seventh pack to good use.

An already neutered Dobby rolled his eyes and tsked.

 

     "I was kinda hoping for twins," Zoya mused in the car the next day.

     "You're disappointed?" Asad asked backing out of the parking spot. 

     "No ..."

They were returning home from their ultrasound appointment.

Thankfully all was well—the baby was doing fine. At the anxious mother's insistence the technician had even counted and recounted the number of toes and fingers on the arm and leg that were visible. Zoya and Asad had peered long at the grainy image.

Zoya was embarrassed. 

She couldn't make out a single detail, neither head nor nothing—it looked like a bluish grey blob in there. And here the sonographer was gushing about the baby's perfectly formed head and legs and arms.

In the car, Zoya fingered the edges of the print copy of the image. She frowned.

     "Asad, are we terrible parents for not being able to see the baby?"

     "Don't be ridiculous," Asad assured her.

It never ceased to amaze him that she found no qualms in expressing her deepest fears or the guiltiest of insecurities. Truth be told, for a second that thought had flashed across his mind too. But hearing her echo it out loud made his own worries sound silly, unfounded. 

Thank god, Zoya thought, that he'd been equally clueless about not seeing the baby's shape or she'd have really wallowed in maternal insecurity. The technician had to finally outline the baby's image on the printout by pen—that's when she "saw" the baby. 

And now the details of the shape were breathtaking. The sonographer probably knew the gender of the baby but they were given a lecture before the procedure—don't ask, don't tell; papers and waivers were signed. The medical community was bound by law to not disclose the fetus' sex. And given India's anti-female child culture it was only right. Zoya recited a silent prayer for the baby's safety. For all babies' safety.

     "Hi baby," Zoya cooed at the picture. A finger ran over the outline for the eleventieth time. "See you in a few months." She kissed it and reached out to put it to Asad's lips. He kissed it too. She was already planning the layout of the picture in the baby book.

     "Silly woman," Asad laughed softly when she returned the picture to the folder. "What's the point of kissing the image? The baby's in here," his hand curved over her tummy possessively. 

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan!" Zoya scolded. "Obviously I can't kiss my own tummy. And neither can you while you're driving. So for now this is the second-best option."

He held her hand and stroked the top with his thumb.

     "You're right. And you're always such a problem-solver, no?" 

     "Koi shaq?"

     "None at all."

     "You know, I'm going to put this in the baby book next to the picture of you as a baby—all nangu baba and just wearing a taawiz." 

     "What?" Asad slammed the brakes to stop the car from veering into oncoming traffic. "Zoya, don't you dare!" 

     "Oh, I dare," was the smug reply.

One of the unexpected joys of her pregnancy was also the introduction to childhood pictures and legends of her husband as a baby and young boy. Dilshad loved telling her stories of Asad as a boy and Zoya had loved teasing him when they were going through old albums.

He wasn't as shy as a boy apparently. 

          "Mulk ki tarikh kahegi ki aap mulk ki shaan thay,

          Log to jawaan ho jaane ke bad bante hain,

          Aap toh bachpan mein Salman thay!" 

     "When did you learn to be so shy and proper?" Zoya teased him when they were alone in their room.

Her smile fell when she saw him frown. It must have been when his Abbu ... 

     "I wish we'd known each other as kids," she rushed to add wanting to erase those lines of pain. "I'd have beaten the pants off you at cricket and basketball." 

     "I know you are madly in love with me, Mrs. Khan, but don't you think you should tone down your fetish to get me out of my pants every second," Asad murmured as he pulled her to him. He knew she was trying to make him forget that sudden stab of remembered pain. 

     "My fetish?! Mr. Khan, always so full of yourself!" Zoya shrieked, mission to make her husband smile forgotten and abandoned. 

     Asad ran his tongue over the shell of her ear. "Only full of you. You are my fetish ..." He raised her wrist to shake her bracelet. "... my lucky charm." He lifted her chin with a finger. "And babe, I'd drop my pants for you any time, cricket or not." 

     "Now you're talking!" Zoya laughed up into his face. 

 

     "Ammi's quiet staring is beginning to freak me out," Nuzzhat told her sister one day. 

     "I know, right," Nikhat noted as she combed her hair. "She keeps looking at me for hours and gets this weird tragic expression on her face."

     "Exactly! First I thought it was because she's thinking of you going to the US, but she looks at me that way too. May be it was a good thing that Bhaijaan was always around to distract her from worrying too much about us. Thank god they're coming back tomorrow! Otherwise Ammi's zombie look ..." Nuzzhat shuddered. 

     "Oh my goodness, Nuzzhat! Do you think something's wrong? I hope she's not sick or anything!" Nikhat felt too weak to stand up. She crashed on the bed worrying as she imagined the worst.

     "Khuda na kare, Baaji! Stop scaring me. I'm sure everything's OK. I'm getting late right now but let's talk to her this evening."

     "It can't be anything to do with Bhaijaan's nikaah or Humaira, right?" Nikhat wondered. "Do you think she feels awkward or possessive about Bhaijaan being married now?" 

     "Baaji please, you're just imagining things."

But Nuzzhat's eyes had widened too. Please lord, don't anything bad happen to our family again.  

Nikhat remained pensive even after her sister had dashed out—ghodon pe savaar. She still had an hour before she left for office. She'd already chatted with Feroze about her day yesterday and filled him in on Ammi's weird behavior.

     "Talk to her gently," he'd advised. "And give her some space. Maybe everything's just sinking in for her. And she can't be too happy thinking of you leaving her in a few months."

Aww, didn't she have the most understanding husband in the world? Crossing her fingers she decided to talk to her mother.

When she went out, she saw Shireen staring blankly at the TV. 

     "Ammi, kya hua? Why are you looking so sad?" Nikhat sat down next to her and picked up her cold hand. 

     Shireen looked up at Nikhat and stroked her cheek. "I'm fine," she said softly.

     "But you look so lost these days. Is something wrong? Are you worried about something? Please, trust me. Tell me." Nikhat pleaded. She hoped no one was ill. "Ammi, please!"

     Shireen disengaged herself from her daughter. "It's nothing. Don't worry about me."

She rose to go to her bedroom and closed the door after her.

Nikhat decided that she'd tell Dadi about her worries. Dadi in her own overbearing way would be able to gouge out Ammi's fears or worries and help them to get to the bottom of things. This looked serious. 

  

     "Abbu?" 

Rashid looked up to see a terrified Humaira at the door.

She was twisting the ends of her dupatta between her agitated fingers. It had been two days since Ayaan and Humaira had returned from their honeymoon.

     "Kya hua beta? Is everything all right?" 

She twisted the pearl ring on her finger. On the day of her nikaah Zoya had slipped it off her finger to put it on her sister's. 

     "But Aapi ... it's yours. Ammi gave it to you." Humaira had protested. 

     "No, it's ours. It's your special day and I want you to have it. You can give it back to me whenever you want. But I want you to wear it for now."

     "Humaira?" Rashid prompted her. 

     "Umm Abbu ... " She didn't know how to talk to him. But she needed to say this. It was eating her up inside. Why didn't she say it before her nikaah? "I know you've accepted me despite what Ammi—" 

     "Beta, that's all over now. We've put it behind us." 

     "I know. And I'm so grateful to you for that. But ... Ammi wants us to move back to that house and ..." 

Rashid had discussed it with Ayaan. And Ayaan had left the decision up to his father. He'd be fine either way. 

     "It won't bother you to go back?" A surprised Humaira had asked Ayaan.

     "It would have, a few months ago. But I grew up in that house and Mumani has really changed. If that's what Abbu decides, I'd be fine with it." 

     "Abbu ..." Humaira continued. She was still getting used to calling him that. "If you decide not to go back I'd be fine with it. I would understand your reluctance. I know that Ammi ... I mean Phuphi- I mean Ayaan's Ammi," Rashid smiled at her confusion and hesitation. "I know that she wants us all to go back. But maybe it's soon?"

Rashid called her over to sit on the sofa.

     "You are worrying for nothing, beta. Like Ayaan's, my reluctance is gone too. Seeing my children happy I feel I can trust life again. I'm no longer afraid of happiness. And I certainly have no resentment against Bhabhi and Bhaijaan any more." 

     "But how can you not!" Humaira jumped up to pace the room. "So many years of secrets and regrets ..."

     Rashid put his hand on her head and led her back to the sofa. "There was a time when anger and bitterness ruled my heart. Those were dark times. I had lost all hope. Asad's hate reminded me daily of everything I had done wrong. But his forgiveness opened a door—it let the sun in. I could feel myself slowly healing."

He noticed the sheen of tears in Humaira's eyes and patted her head again.

     "I know you are still thinking about what happened at the gudia factory with Tanveer. But can't you see that even then Asad and Zoya had already forgiven us, and did so much to protect us so fiercely from ever being hurt again? And Bhabhi was already repenting her sins. If Zoya can forgive her ... me ... "

     "Then there's nothing else that matters." Humaira said. Her eyes shone brighter now. 

     "Only second chances matter now." Rashid added fervently. "And what we choose to make of them. I'm proud of Ayaan for understanding this too. We're lucky. So many people never get a second chance." He was asking her to let go too. To give herself a chance to open up to possibilities of moving on beyond regrets. "I don't know who said it," Rashid went on. "But I read somewhere, or heard this: 'If you want to be fully human and fully humane, you need to learn to live, not without regret, but with it.' " 

     "But why? How?" 

     "Because we aren't perfect. We make, and will continue to make mistakes. The point is to not erase or bury them but learn from them, I guess. Forgive ourselves ... move on."

     "So you won't have any regrets or guilt, or even resentment if you decided to move back?" 

Rashid laughed. He felt relaxed these days and craved the daily doses of crazy that his family doled out.

     "Maybe there will be all of those things. But beta, why should we be scared of them? Living in fear is a terrible burden"I know. I did it for twenty years. But now there's nothing to fear." 

     "Or regret?" she asked hopefully. 

     Rashid smiled fully. "Or regret."

  


It was the first time he'd returned to this place since then—this little broken off piece of hell.

Asad scrubbed his forehead in angry frustration. He had kept away from here and delegated the clean up and restoration work so far. But today he felt drawn to this site; he had to force himself to not relive its jagged history. 

But once inside, the dam of memories breached. 

The columns were newly reinforced but his eyes were drawn to the one that he and Ayaan had been lashed to.

The floors had been scrubbed clean and the debris removed, but here was where Zoya had been strapped in and tormented … here's where he'd been forced to say that condemned word. 

His eyes blurred. 

The traces of their tears and blood were no longer here but her screams were still bouncing off the roof and freshly plastered and painted walls.

His chest burned; Asad fell to his knees. 

His hand hit the cold floor. This spot. Here was where Zoya had shut down on him. He'd said that word only two times, but her catatonic silence had echoed it a million times over.

He took a deep breath to rid himself of the dust of those recollections. It was over. And no way was he going to let this place cast a shadow over their lives any more. 

For days now he and Zoya had been chewing over this unwanted inheritance—this blasted legacy.

     "Bulldoze it, blow it off the face of the earth," was his first and last verdict regarding the gudia factory.

     But Zoya dithered. " ... I don't know. I want that piece of land to be something more than its past. Something hopeful ... Can't it be rehabbed ...?" 

But rehabbed as what? She had researched a variety of options: a school? Donate it to an NGO or the mosque? Restart the factory …?

But one thing had emerged very quickly: Zoya could not think of selling it. And as much as Asad wanted to raze the structure to the ground, she couldn't bring herself to do that either. Her Ammi's blood had spilled there. The factory's DNA was stamped onto her skin after all. 

     "If you want to hang on to it, we could convert it into office spaces or a warehouse and lease it out," he'd suggested one time. 

     "But that's ... that's so commercial ... so utilitarian!" Zoya said with distaste.

     Asad had framed her face in his hands, "then what do you want to do with it?" 

A frown marred her brow as her lip stuck out. Asad had laughed. He loved this intense expression of hers—she'd looked deep in thought but also annoyed about something. But she wasn't annoyed. He knew that she was working out the kinks in her idea. He could hear the gears grinding. 

     "I want it to be special ... to mean something more than brick or mortar, or a forgotten graveyard of old crimes and horrors." 

     "A school?"

     "I don't know. It's a semi-industrial area. Wouldn't there be more factories in the neigborhood, lots of chemicals and toxins? Zoning issues? Anyways, I don't think it would be safe for kids to be inhaling all that stuff and spending a good 6-7 hours a day in there. Even the EIR might say that." 

Asad sniggered. How American of her—Environmental Impact Report she probably meant. 

     "Then what else?" 

Zoya twisted the shirt tail in her restless hands.

That only meant one thing: she had an idea but was worried he wouldn't approve.

Asad rolled his eyes. So what else was new. 

     "Hmm?" he encouraged her.

     "I was thinking ..."

     "Yes? Go on."

     "I mean I love the idea that they used to make dolls there ..."

     "So we make dolls ... again?"

     "Really? You think so?" Zoya asked as if it was his idea. Trickster.

Asad crossed his arms and said nothing. 

     Zoya pouted. She knew she'd been caught out. "Yes ..." 

     "Isn't that commercial though?" Asad asked in confusion. How would this be any different from office spaces? Wouldn't it be more of an administrative and legal headache? 

     "It could be. But with a difference. We could provide employment for low-income women, collaborate with cottage or small industry type endeavors. I've been researching"Bhopal is known for its Zardozi work. There are many self-employed programs for women we could team up with! What if we made specialty or ethnic dolls? You know, in the US there's this Amercian Girl doll concept that does really cool stuff with history. Each doll is different, from a different time period and region, has her own backstory, wardrobe and—" 

Her words fox-trotted across a painted landscape of fantasy and wonder.

     "And then there's the Build-A-Bear type workshop where we could have interactive—" 

Asad smiled. Her enthusiasm was wildly contagious ... and bewitching. He could already see happy children lining up to build and play with such toys.

     But his eyes stung when he heard her whisper, "I want to dedicate it to the girl child."

     He folded her in his arms. "Oh god Zoya, you're so beautiful."

God knows why, but that had made her cry.

     "But it'll be a lot of work and stress. And I don't even know if it's going to be financially viable." Zoya cried into his shirt.

     "I guess we'll find out," Asad soothed her. "Now tell me, how many of these American girl dolls did you have and what's this build-a-bear thing?"

     "I have one doll. You can customize it to make it look and dress like you."

     "Oh my god," Asad couldn't believe it. "You mean to tell me that there's a doll out there that looks like you did when you were a kid?" 

     "Umm hmm."

     "Why haven't I seen this? Tell Aapi to show it to me on facetime and then ship it here."

     "Really?"

     "Really. I can't wait."

     That night he'd nudged her awake. "Maybe we can make action figures too." 

     "Like Batman and Wonder Woman?" 

     "Exactly!"

     "With Zardozi capes!" 

He laughed at the image of Indianizing American super heroes. 

     "Goodnight Mr. Khan."

     "But there'll definitely be Jhansi ki Rani," he called out softly. 

     "I love you, Mr. Khan."

 

When he blinked awake the next morning Asad saw her dimpling at him from her side. A slow smile spread across his face.

     "What are you up to, Mrs. Khan?"

     "Speaking of action figures, how about a pantless Batman?" 

     "And a topless Wonder Woman?" he asked; she giggled. He pulled her to him. "Umm, babe, I don't think that we should be branching out into adult toys so soon ..."

     "Maybe in about five years?" Zoya asked resting her chin on his chest.

     "Definitely."

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Kurbaan (2009) "Shukranallah"


	110. Barso'n Ke Purane Zakhm Pe, Marham Laga Sa Hai

 

     "Asad you tell her! Meri toh koi sunta kahan hai," Dilshad frowned at Zoya at the dinner table that evening. 

Zoya grinned back at her shamelessly.

     "But Ammi it itches so bad!"

     "You're telling me! I've had kids too."

Asad and Najma looked at each other and rolled their eyes. She grinned to see her brother clutch his forehead. Poor Bhaijaan. 

     "But beta, I'm telling you to not scratch for your own good. Do you think I like bossing you around and bullying you? I hate it!" Dilshad raised the spatula when she saw her bahu's thumb try to sneak another scratch at her belly. "Don't make me hit you!" she threatened. 

     Zoya giggled. "Ammi please! Stop pretending to be one of those filmy saasu ma's! Aapke bas ka nahin hai." 

     "Ammi, don't worry, I'll take of it," Asad tried to pacify his mother too.

     "Oh really?" Zoya reared her head dangerously to look at him. "How exactly will you take care of it?"

He tilted his head in warning. Give it up, he seemed to say. When she was about to argue further with him Asad narrowed his eyes at her. 

Zoya sighed in surrender.

     "Fine!" she muttered. "Such torture and abuse I have to bear in my sasural." She made a face. "Najma, I can't even expect my husband to stand up to his mother. So typical!"

     Najma laughed. "Zoya, stop it! I wish every girl was tortured and abused in their sasural like you are in yours! Life ban jayegi!"

Zoya looked at a smug Dilshad and nodded.

     "I know," she stage-whispered to Najma. "Kabhi-kabhi I say this stuff just so that nazar na lagey. What if there's a mischief-making farishta who sees us so happy and jinxes us?"

     "Please!" Asad drawled. "The only mischief-making farishta in this house is you." 

Zoya gave him the look. Watch it, or the jinx could land on you, it seemed to say.

Asad's smile started at one corner of his mouth and took its time to get to the other side. 

With his eyes he pointed to his ring on her finger. 

Zoya blushed with pleasure as she remembered the inscription: Qubool hai.

Nicely done, Mr. Khan. 

But his smile disappeared when she raised huge doe-eyes to his. Asad excused himself from the table abruptly.

     A second or two later Zoya's phone pinged to show a new message: "Wipe that look off your face, Mrs. Khan, or I'm not going to be responsible for what I do to you."

Zoya forgot to scratch her itch as she bit back a moan. 

     "qh," she texted back.

 

     "What do you think Zainab? I understand that Asad doesn't want to move back in, but he's not even letting Zoya come home with us for the delivery."

Raziya was at the gravesite complaining about their son-in-law.

     "He's saying everything will happen at the Khan house. Kaise samjhaoon iss ladke ko!" 

She fiddled with the flowers and swept the stone with her hand.

     "Hmm, may be I'll ask Badi Bi to talk to him," she decided after some thought. "Can you believe it, Siddiqui Saheb says that it doesn't matter where the godh bharai ceremony is, and which house she's in when it's time for the delivery. What matters is that our daughters be happy." 

Her eyes misted. Both she and her husband had indeed come a long way. Raziya stroked the stone and arranged the flowers.

     "He is right, isn't he? I wish I had understood this a long time ago. I don't know why I gave in to the dark fears that consumed me. I couldn't understand such a simple thing—what matters is that our daughters be happy. They could have been happier growing up together … Zoya could've been Humaira's big sister all these years." 

A crow cawed in the distance.

Raziya shook herself off. She had promised not to keep wallowing in the past. She'd been given a second chance ... a new beginning ...

She wiped her eyes and sat up straight.

     "Chalo, even if Zoya stays at her sasural at least Zeenat will be here for the delivery. I doubt if Asad will change his mind. The only person who could make him do it—" 

Her eyes gleamed and she grinned. Yes, she'd try that too.

     "Let's see how he says no to Zoya! Anyways, I've been making lists of things to do and get. There's no point getting her sarees or lehengas, right? Even jewelry ..." 

She sighed. Yeh ladki ... Nothing traditional or normal for this girl. Raziya had consulted for hours with Zeenat also. Zeenat had laughed at her elaborate plans.

     "Cricket, films, music and tech gadgets—iske alawa if you get her anything else, she's not going to even touch them."

Zeenat had sighed too.

     "Her jewelry is still sitting in our safe deposit box. We wanted to mark her 13th, 16th, 18th and 21st birthdays with special pieces ... Her heavier lehengas and salwar kameezes ... ? Many of them she gave away to her American friends to wear as costumes for Halloween or New Year's parties. Ya Allah, yeh ladki! But you know Raziya Bi, I can't imagine Zoya in anything else besides jeans. Uska trademark hai. We gave up a long time ago." 

     "Trademark is right, hai na?" Raziya continued chatting with the headstone. "You should see her. It's killing her to have to wear baggy shirts and jeans. Baby will be born wearing jeans too, I'm sure!"

 

Zoya frowned.

For days now she had been wracking her brains for a solution. Aapi had sent her the baby book. But as much as she loved it, there was no official page on which to add what Aapi and Jeeju meant to her and their special relationship to the baby. The family tree held the names of her Ammi and Abbu and their family histories—names of people she'd never met nor known. Her Ammi and Abbu hadn't even been in her life, Aapi and Jeeju had. And god knows what she would have been like if she'd had Abbu in her life from the beginning.

Would she be traditional and calm like Humaira?

Aapi and Jeeju had given her the room to be herself. She was what she was today thanks to having them in her life. Then why was there no room for them in this book? 

Nope. She was going to fix that. 

But how? 

Idly Zoya re-flipped through the baby book. It was growing massive with additions of loose sheets and her more recent project. It was taking on the look of a messy scrapbook ...

Hmm ... scrapbook ...

Her eyes gleamed with renewed purpose. Two birds, one stone. If she did fold the baby book into a scrapbook then she could add her own pages, customize them and even sneak in a surpise for Asad at the same time. Ammi could help her with it. Maybe they could even make a scrapbook for Najma to take with her ... the possibilities were endless.

Perfect!

She should have known. Aakhir Zoya Farooqui kuchch bhi kar sakti hai!

 

     "Mr. Khan, a Mrs. Khan to see you."

Asad smiled. Strange. Why would Zoya have herself announced so formally? What new tricks was she up to now? He leaped out of his chair as Shireen was ushered in. 

     "Chhoti Ammi, aap?" He faltered in confusion and alarm. "Is everything OK? Please have a seat." 

Asad ordered tea growing more and more concerned at her blank expression and the stiff tension that oozed from her.

Shireen looked at him with watery eyes. One hand desperately clutched her dupatta end.

     "I wanted to talk to you. Only you'll understand this. Everyone else will dismiss my concerns ... or make fun of them."

Her words chilled him. Asad sat down too by the sofa and waited till the server had handed her the cup of tea and left.

     "What concerns? Is it Ayaan? Abbu?" Terrible scenarios were playing out in his head. His mind raced. He'd heard nothing out of the ordinary. The only thing on everyone's minds these days was the big move back to the big house.

     "Are you worried about moving back to the Siddiqui house?" he prompted.

Her silence was slashing a million knives though his gut. He began sorting through a mental list of health scares, family politics and fights. 

Did something happen? 

An uneasy hand fisted behind his back.

     "Chhoti Ammi? You're scaring me." 

Shireen placed the cup and saucer on the coffee table with extreme care.

     "I'm scared," she said finally. 

     "Why?"

     "Don't laugh. But I saw this show. And in it ... this man is settled in America and he sends his wife home to her parents for a month after ten years of marriage." 

Asad stared at her in utter incomprehension.

In her hurry to get the words off her chest Shireen didn't notice his disbelief.

     " ... but instead of sending her the green card papers he'd promised, he sends divorce papers. She ends up having no legal status in the US and can never go back to see her kids who are US citizens." 

Asad blinked.

Wha—?

But he schooled his face to not show his rising skepticism. 

Shireen looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

     "I'm scared for Nikhat ... even Najma. And now everyone is after Nuzzhat to get married to Faiz. What if something like this happens? Do our girls have any rights in a foreign land so far away from home?" 

     "Umm ..."

Asad's mind was blank.

He had no response, so unprepared had he been for this curveball. 

     "I want you to do something about it," she continued, her voice a lot firmer now, her mind made up. She looked up at him hopefully—eyes pleading for understanding and reassurance.

     "I want you to promise that you'll look out for the girls, their rights. That something like that could never happen to them. Itni door, wahan unka kaun hoga? What'll happen to them if ... ?"

     "Chhoti Ammi, both Feroze and Omar are good men. Their families are good. This would never happen. That was just a show. I don't think you should worry about this."

     "Your Abbu was a good man too."

She saw his face shut down and nearly crumpled.

Tears fell down Shireen's face.

It had taken so much courage to talk herself into coming here. She had always been scared of Asad and his temper. But she had seen him mellow over the past year. Living together in the Siddiqui house had shown her an intensely protective side of him. She had even forgiven his outburst against Ayaan—he had yelled at Ayaan because he'd been terrified for his safety. Shireen gripped Asad's forearm urgently.

     "I'm sorry to bring this up. But your Abbu did leave your Ammi—a woman far better than me. I will forever carry that guilt with me to the grave. It was so hard for her— who else knows this better than you? She was all alone, here, in a city where she knew so many people, had so many relatives. But at least she had her kids with her. Asad, think of the girls in a brand new country, thousands of miles away—no other relatives besides their husbands and their families."

Asad wiped his forehead with a cold hand.

Dread and anxiety seeped through his frame.

     "At least find out the legal aspects of a worst case scenario. Please!" Shireen wiped her wet cheeks.

She had seen something flicker in his eyes. Compassion?

     Braver, she went on, "what about their immigration status or rights if something like this happens? Do they become citizens right away or is there a longer process? What's their status in the meanwhile? Can they leave the country during that period?"

Asad stared at her. 

His mind veered to that day of horror when he too had been forced to say that one terrible word which would have left his wife and child adrift. He had talked to the girls later and told them pretty much the same thing: don't rely on a man however good he may be. Be strong.

But that was easier said than done, wasn't it? 

Just learning Taekwondo wouldn't make them strong.

Yes Zoya was strong—she had true mettle and grit. But she was different from his sisters. Zoya had years worth of self-confidence and independence: work experience and exposure … streetsmarts. She'd interned and freelanced as a developer in the US, and still dabbled with her blogs and apps and kept her skills current. But above all, she had a fierce and independent spirit; her self-reliance and spunk were her protective armor—she was a warrior. 

But years of being over-protected and sheltered could have disabled his sisters—after all, you can't grow a brand new pair of spiffy wings overnight when your original ones have been clipped. 

Asad shook his head in dismay.

How come he had never thought about asking these questions himself? He'd been so wrapped up in his own perfect little world that he—-

What kind of a brother was he?

Shireen saw him struggle with himself and felt a glimmer of hope.

     "I wanted to talk to Vakil saheb about this but I'm scared. If your Abbu finds out, or anyone else, they'll think I'm paranoid and just imagining things. I didn't know who else to go to. You are the only one I can trust. You are the only who'll know what to do." 

     "Chhoti Ammi ... "

Her faith in him humbled him.

     "Do you also think I'm being silly?"

Fresh tears pooled in her eyes.

     "I haven't been able to sleep for weeks thinking about this. It's so unfair—we worry about daughters getting married first. And then about what could happen to them if— On that show that girl is so helpless. She was so dependent ... first on her husband, then on her father and brothers. Itni be-bas, majboor—apne bachchon se juda ... Her own family wouldn't support her. Am I being silly?"

     "No, you are absolutely right."

Shireen watched Asad lope over to his desk and place a call to his lawyer and it was as if all the secret stress she'd been carrying around on her shoulders melted; she could breathe again. She heard the urgency in his clipped tone and knew she'd touched a chord.

     "Thank you for listening to me and taking me seriously," she said when he ended the call.

     "I should have thought of it earlier," Asad said; his voice was low and tense. "I've fixed an appointment with the lawyer. He'll have an immigration specialist there too. We can ask them for more details and see what steps we can take to protect the girls. Aap chahen toh we can also talk to Maulvi saheb."

     "But do you think we should tell ..."

Fresh worries paralyzed her now. Shireen struggled to articulate them as coherently as possible.

     "I mean, if Naz and Hana find out will they treat the girls differently? Kuch bura toh nahin hoga?"

     "I don't know. Maybe not. Naz and Hana aunty are wonderful people—absolutely incapable of hurting anyone. But this is still worth doing. I'm glad you came to me with this. I should have thought of it myself," Asad berated himself again.

     "Beta, you're the best brother and son there is, and the kids look up to you." She smiled up at him. "I'm sure you'll be an incredible father too. We're all so proud of you." She hesitated. "You've been through so much, and a lot of it was because of me."

     "Chhoti Ammi please don't say that. There were a lot of factors that led to what happened all those years ago."

Shireen took a deep breath.

     "Since this idea came into my head I've been thinking more and more of Bhabhi's actions. Did this fear of losing Bhaijaan lead her to—? This kind of insecurity can change a person, Asad. Look at me ... " 

She turned away from him and exhaled before confessing her darkest anxieties.

     "Your Ammi was so strong. If it had been me in her place ... I couldn't do what she did. It's so ironic that all these years I lived in fear of your Abbu leaving me and going back to her." She turned back to face him. "Tumhe yaad hai, when Ayaan came to live with you when he was a baby?"

Asad nodded as he swallowed a lump. Those days with Ayaan were the only bright spots of his childhood. A sunny Ayaan's adoration of a big brother, his goofy antics and aimless chatter had made it possible for Asad to be a child himself for a few hours.

     "I'd had a nervous breakdown." She covered her mouth to bite off a sob. "I ... I tried to hurt myself. I lost complete control and threatened to ... " Shireen couldn't go on. Some secrets and regrets were too dark to see the light of day.

The silence was deafening.

It stretched between them—the sediment of the past shifted and settled into a startling new perspective.  

     "Thank you for what you did for Ayaan then." Shireen spoke again, but very softly, as if not wanting to rock that fragile bond that had just been forged between them. She wanted to stroke his cheek but was terrified he'd reject her. "I had become selfish then because of those fears. Maybe I was jealous of how much Ayaan loved you. It was always, 'Bhaijaan this,' 'Bhaijaan that,' and I know that the girls hungered for that same bond with you."

Shireen wiped her tears.

     "And now I see why they all worship you. You're doing all this for—"

Asad cleared his throat to disengage himself from the hoary tentacles of the past. Why dredge a healing scab?

     "Nikhat and Nuzzhat are no different for me than Najma. I'll do everything in my power to protect them. But Siddiqui saheb also has daughters," he tried to remind her gently.

Daughters who were married into their family. Couldn't they face the same future she feared for her daughters, a future that she'd tortured herself with all these years? Hadn't he come close to doing the same thing to Zoya, whatever the circumstances? 

     "But you and Ayaan are so good! You love the girls so much!"

     "Feroze and Omar ... and Faiz are good too. They love Nikhat and Najma and won't let anything bad happen to them." 

     Shireen considered his words. "You mean ..."

     "I mean that it's good to worry about the girls and we should definitely try our best to protect their interests and rights. But we shouldn't let constant fear trump our faith in good people."

He took a deep breath. After all he had learned this lesson the hard way too.

     "But yes, the girls need to think more seriously about being strong and independent. I never want to see them helpless or dependent on anyone."

A lifetime of his mother's daily struggles and tears flashed before his eyes. Ammi was incredibly strong too, but that strength was hard-won. It had come at a steep cost; and her blood, sweat and tears had turned him bitter. His own faith had eroded in the basic goodness of humankind. 

Shireen was still processing his words.

     "So you're saying that whatever we do to protect Najma and Nikhat we have the same responsibilty toward Humaira and Zoya?"

Asad's eyes widened and his breath caught at the simplicity of her deduction. Yes, it was clear as rain. That's exactly what he should have thought of himself too. 

He smiled. 

     "You're right again, Chhoti Ammi. You're absolutely right! That's precisely what we should do. Thank you." 

Shireen beamed. No one had ever made her feel so sensible or wise. Instinctively, she put her hand out to touch his head. She'd never done this either except for that brief moment at his nikaah. Bolder, she pulled his head down to kiss his forehead and blow the air around him in blessing.

     "Khush raho," she whispered before leaving. "And Asad?" She smiled at him fully when he looked at her. "Thank you." 

Long after she was gone, Asad stood gazing out of the window—unseeing ... sightless. 

He cringed at the cynical heartlessness of what he would have to do—to prepare for doom in the midst of happiness was chilling enough.

But Chhoti Ammi was right.

Who else knew better about what happened to a woman when her husband left her?

     Zoya's broken sobs too slammed into him: "how would you prevent this from happening to our daughters?"

And for the first time Raziya Siddiqui's actions from nearly twenty years ago now seemed starkly clear—in her own monstrous way the woman was trying to secure her own, and her daughter's rights. Because in this world apparently women had scarce options: to become a monster in grim self-defense, or become fodder for other monsters. Besides, maybe some of Ammi's strength also came from having a son.

What happened to women who only had daughters?

  

     "So you're missing me?"

     "In your dreams!" 

     "I didn't know you were so concerned about my dreams." 

     "Please! I have better things to do in my life."

Nuzzhat slammed her phone face down on the bed to escape Faiz's moronic teasing.

They texted once in a while since he'd left. But ever since Zoya Bhabhi had shared a group picture with him they had been in more regular touch. And then Nikhat Baaji had gone and shared a picture of her with the balloon animal and his teasing had been relentless. 

So embarrassing. 

     "Yeah, better things to do in life like playing with imaginary pets and babies."

     "Shut up. Don't you like have classes to attend, or MCATs or LSATs or GMATs and whatever to study for?"

     "Cool! You're keeping track of my study schedule?"

Ya Allah, galti ho gayi! She clutched her forehead in despair. Nuzzhat decided that she'd only get some peace if she ignored him. So she did. But that wasn't acceptable to him.

He called her up.

     "You're really bored aren't you?" Nuzzhat asked. "That's why you're bugging me."

     He sighed. "I'm sick to death of studying and pulling your leg is such a stress-buster."

     "Not for me!"

     "I'm sorry," he said contritely. "But you do make me laugh. And I need that so bad right now."

     "Why?"

     "Cos. I've been up since 3am."

     "Why so early?" 

     "I just work better at that time. But I'm going to get some cereal and plan to crash till about 10." 

     "Cereal? For dinner?" She asked. 

     "It's morning here."

Damn. She kept forgetting.

     "Right! But still, cereal?" Nuzzhat made a face.

     "I love it. Chilled milk and crunchy cereal—it's the best comfort food." 

     "Hmm. I doubt it but I'll take your word for it," she parried. 

     "You should try it," he said with dead seriousness. 

     "Never! I hate milk." 

     "The milk here tastes pretty good. You'd like it," he said softly.

Here? I'd like it?

There?

     "I have to go. Bye!"

Nuzzhat slapped up a hand to cover her mouth. She hated when he did that. She could never decide whether he was being serious or just teasing her by adding to the wedding bells fantasy spun by their families.

But a part of her didn't know whether she wanted him to be serious. 

     "Never!" she muttered in anger. "He really must be bored to try flirting with me." 

     "OK fine," he texted her back. "Then you can have something else for breakfast." 

Shit, this was serious flirting. Having breakfast together meant that— 

Idiot! Don't even think it. 

     "I will." She texted back. "I plan to have upma, poha and hot samosas for breakfast tomorrow. And aloo parathas, maybe. Nothing beats an Indian breakfast, right here in India! G'night." 

There. That should make her intentions crystal clear. 

     "Mmm," his text read."Sounds great. I have upma mix. Will try making it this evening."

Her heart melted like a greasy blob of butter on a hot aloo paratha.

  

There was no doubt about it. Sex had become trickier.

But that didn't stop it from being fun or blissed-out perfection, or even a topic of intense curiosity and discussion. As usual Asad was the more antsy one.

     He had a hundred questions and worries: "what if it's not safe?

     "Won't it hurt? 

     "Can't the baby see? 

     "Won't the baby be psychologically scarred or traumatized?" 

     "Jeez Jahanpanah, thanks for sucking all the fun out of it!" Zoya pouted. 

She'd tried to reassure him with all her worldwide research. She'd sent him articles on it during office hours with subject headings of "NSFW (but safe for the baby!)" Allah Miyan, she had even talked to the doctor about it!

The verdict was clear: intimacy was good for the mom.

And what was good for the mom was good for the baby—she'd tell her ultra-cautious husband.

     "With a little care, it's safe all the way till my water breaks." 

Asad had just finished rubbing lotion on her stomach to soothe the permanent itching. Zoya leaned back against him sitting between his legs. When Asad nuzzled her neck and his hands traveled up to cup her, she held up her hand and started to count off on each finger. 

     "Yes, it's safe. 

     "No, it won't hurt.

     "No, the baby can't see or feel it. 

     "And psychological trauma be damned! Ima get me some sugar tonight, so put your head in the game mister!" 

He chuckled.

     "My head?" He lifted her hand to nibble up her wrist and tease the inside of her elbow. 

She blushed and hissed.

     "Looks like my research convinced you," Zoya gasped. 

     "Seeing you sprawled in my arms, half-naked and ready—that convinced me more," Asad murmured. She was torturing him by wearing her baby doll peek-a-boo lingerie to bed these days. "They're roomy and so comfy," she'd twirled in one tonight. 

     "They leave nothing to the imagination," he'd growled. 

     "Gee, that's kind of the point, Mr. Khan!" Zoya batted her lashes at him. 

Asad groaned. 

His hands and mouth were already busy finding and tracking new geographies of sensation across her body. Her breasts weren't as sore as they were in the first trimester, but they were tender and even fuller ... and so damn sensitive. Asad blushed each time he imagined the baby suckling her. That image burned him up. He bent his head to tug hard at her dark nipple and Zoya's moan of pleasure and arching back inflamed him even more. She'd told him that these days even the slightest of caresses had her close to spilling.

     "Am I normal?" she asked once.

His mouth had been too busy to answer then, but he's let his body speak for him and she'd been more than willing to listen. 

Asad grasped her hips and guided her to the side of the bed. This was one of the positions that was most comfortable for her these days. A tug here, and there, and the lace and chiffon had fallen away as intended. Asad lifted her feet to his shoulders as he took her as gently as possible. But the sight of her toes painted the palest shade of pink made him buck.

He'd painted them for her last night.

And her new sensitivity had bewitched him. Asad couldn't resist biting those toes now as he moved inside her. 

Zoya gasped. She reached her hand out to his mouth and he bent to suck her fingers. He watched her reach between their writhing bodies and spread herself for him. Her fingers brushed against him with each thrust. It drove him nuts like she knew it would. 

     "Oh god, Zoya!"

Asad wanted to spread her legs wider for deeper access but he didn't. However NSFW, he had read those articles she'd sent him after all. As he continued to twist and roll he removed her hand from between their bodies; he wanted to hear those hot, raw sounds of flesh slapping against wet flesh.

Zoya whimpered.

     "Am I hurting you?" 

     "No. Never. Oh god, right there Asad, right-there-right-there-right-there! Right! There!" Her dizzy head whipped back as she jerked. Zoya keened and went gloriously limp.

He couldn't hold on for much longer. His heart thundered in his ears. Her wild abandon always hurtled him over the edge. Always.

     "God!" he grunted through labored breaths, "I can never get enough of you."

 

Humaira was helping her mother with the godh bharai prep and laughing her head off at the multiplying to-do list and her mother's escalating anxiety. She'd never seen Ammi so flustered.

Who was this woman?

The Ammi she knew was commanding and super-organized. But this woman was a bumbling mess. Even the servants weren't terrified of her any more. They dared to joke with her. 

It had finally happened. Despite Humaira's worries the family was all moved back into the Siddiqui house. At Abbu's insistence, she and Ayaan were living in the outhouse cottage—it was perfectly comfortable: just near enough to be close to the big house and far enough to be a private getaway. She suspected that Aapi and Jeeju had had something to do with this arrangement.

How did Aapi know? She'd been mortified at the thought of living with her brand new husband in the same house they'd grown up in.

     She'd told Ayaan one night: "it would be like we never grew up. I'd feel as if we were still playing ghar-ghar." 

     "That was the most ridiculous game you girls played," Ayaan had scoffed. He used to throw their dolls off the roof and then dash away to be with Bhaijaan or his friends to escape Mamu's anger. 

Humaira buried her face in his shoulder.

     "I can't imagine coming out of our room every morning and looking at Abbu or Ammi. I'd die of embarrassment!" 

     "Why Humaira begum? We're married, and everything embarrassing is legal and legitimate now! So who cares! Let others be embarrassed imagining what we did!" He leered at her before proceeding to do exactly all of those embarrassing things as she giggled shyly.

     "Humaira?"

Startled, Humaira blushed to see her mother staring at her.

     "Umm ... yes Ammi?"

     "Beta, list check karo. Did we get everything? There's so much to do and you're no help at all. Bas hasti rehti ho!"

Ah yes, the list.

Humaira remembered what had made her laugh in the first place. For the ceremony in the seventh month of pregnancy, they needed to get seven different fruits, seven vegetables and seven kinds of nuts—a coconut and supari were mandatory. 

     "Ammi, just order a pizza with seven toppings! That'll make Aapi a lot happier. Or paan with seven fillings." She knew her Aapi was weirdly craving sweet paan these days. She said it soothed her newest ailment: acidity. 

     "Really? She'll like it?"

     "Ammi, I was kidding!"

What was was wrong with this woman?

  

     "Snow White and the Seven Dwarves!" Nuzzhat hooted.

     "Magnificent Seven!"

     "Seven!" 

     "Seven Year Itch!"

     "Woh Saat Din!"

     "Saat Khoon Maaf!"

     "Satte pe Satta!"

The girls were having too much fun at Raziya's expense.

Now they were offering suggestions for films with the number seven in the title. 

     "Hum Saat Saat Hain!"

That really set them off.

     "Stop it, bahut badmashi ho gayi," Dilshad scolded them half-heartedly. Because it was the first baby in both the families, elders were being consulted left and right; and the girls couldn't resist adding their own spin and spice onto old rasms to jazz them up.

The Taekwondo classes had resumed—at the Siddiqui House this time.

     "I like to hear the girls' voices and laughter," Siddiqui Saheb had told Asad.

It also gave him time with Zoya while the girls went through their routines. The house was once again feeling lived in. It was no longer a fortress or an uneasy mansion resting on skeletons of the past. It breathed freely now, awaiting the pitter-patter of little feet, and the squeals and chatter of the next generation. 

     "We'll have the Quran Khwani first and then do the ceremony," Raziya confirmed. 

     "But we can do our dance before the ceremony, right Mumani?" Nuzzhat asked anxiously.

     "Haan, haan. Of course!"

Because apparently no family function was complete without a dance any more. The parents had given up trying to talk the girls out of it.

     "Let them," Dadi had said finally to end all drama. "Jaan chhutey!" 

     "Yay!" The girls had cheered when Dadi winked and gave them a thumbs-up sign. 

Nikhat was choreographing the Phuphi-Khala dance gala—they'd even given Dadi a special entry. They all'd been practicing for days and Zoya was dying to see them but she'd been strictly forbidden to back off. 

     "It's a surprise," she was told. She wasn't even supposed to know that they were doing the dance in the first place. Najma was coming over everyday pretending to go the library. But Siddiqui Saheb had blurted out the secret in front of Zoya one day. 

The girls had roared in dismay.

     "ABBU!" Humaira had scolded him. "I can't believe you did that!"

     He had covered his face saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I forgot," at least twenty times.

He really had forgotten. He had just assumed that Zoya knew. She always knew everything. She was usually the mastermind of many an escapade. How could she not know that they were planning this right under her nose? 

Zoya had screamed in delight first, thrilled at the honor. But then she'd pouted when she was excluded from all the dance practice fun. It was killing her to be kept in the dark. Since Siddiqui had outed the secret he felt compelled to entertain Zoya while the girls practiced. He could see her itching to bust through the locked doors.

     "Let's go see a movie," he said one day to divert her.

Zoya squealed but then she frowned the next instant. Hindi movies had become a tad too risqué to be seen with her father. And no good English movies were playing except for— 

Her eyes lit up. 

So she took her father to see "Frozen." On the way to the theater Siddiqui laughed at a newly-received text message.

     "What is it, Abbu?" Zoya wanted to know. 

He showed her the screen.

     "No coke or junk snacks for her," Asad had messaged. 

Zoya made a face. She had told her husband that they were going to see a film as a courtesy. It wasn't to have him sabotage her fun as if she was some bratty kid. Allah miyan, what's wrong with the man! 

Still chuckling, Siddiqui patted her knee to calm her down. He had begun to enjoy the many animated films that his daughter had introduced him to. They'd seen "Up"—which he'd loved, and several others.

But his favorite was "Finding Nemo."

Especially since Zoya had told him about her own history with it.

It was a film about a father traveling across seas and oceans searching for a lost child. She had gone to see the film on Father's day with some friends and their family. That night at the sleepover at her friend's house, Zoya had wept quietly into her pillow. She'd wished she was Nemo, she wanted so bad for her Abbu to come find her. But he never came.

Siddiqui had wept too and hugged her tight when she told him this. The following week he'd given her a fish charm for her bracelet. 

     "Cool!" Zoya cried out as she removed the bracelet to clip on her newest momento. "It's Nemo, right?" she asked.

     "No, that's the father," Siddiqui replied pinching her cheek. "Nemo toh tum ho."

  

Asad had told Zoya about Shireen's visit.

She helped him with some of the research and even called some immigration attorneys in the US to satisfy her own curiosity. But Shireen probably wanted more official reassurance. So Asad arranged for them to meet the lawyer and the immigration specialist.

Some of Shireen's anxiety dissipated after hearing that as spouses of American citizens the girls would be issued a two-year green card upon entry at a US port. A three-year permanent residency later they could apply for citizenship if they wished.

She had other questions.

Could their legal status be jeopardized or called into question at any point? 

Short of a criminal offense, no. 

Unrestricted travel outside the country?

Yes.

Finally she seemed to breathe easier.

     "So basically, the girls need to hang on to their passports and green cards?" She asked Asad hesitantly after the lawyer had left.

He nodded.

     "What is it Chhoti Ammi?" he asked when he saw her twisting her dupatta guiltily. 

     "I hate that telling them to be so guarded with their passports would make the girls seem anxious and distrustful of their own husbands," she admitted. "I am being too paranoid. Maybe I shouldn't have brought this up."

     "No, your instincts were right. We are doing the right thing. I was uneasy about that part too. But we're only looking out for them. That can never be a bad thing." 

     "Should we tell them?"

"Yes, they need to know. Since that time in the gudia factory I've decided that the girls have the right to know everything that affects their lives. I plan to talk to them about this and also talk about financial safety nets. It's not going to be an easy conversation. But it's got to be done."

     "When?" 

     "I was thinking right away."

     "No, do it after the godh bharai ceremony." Shireen interjected. "This talk will upset them and they'll need some time to get over it. They're all so excited about the function right now, I don't want to spoil that." 

     "Do you want to be there when I talk to them? If you want, I can make it seem that it was all my idea."

Shireen hesitated. It would certainly smooth things over. No one would question Asad's ways or decision. It was something they'd expect from an over-protective brother.

     " ... No, I'll be there too."

His words about not keeping anything from family members any more had touched her.

Shireen squared her shoulders.

     "Let them see a mother's anxiety and desperation. They may even understand it one day." 

Asad nodded. Still deep in thought he rested his hands on his waist.

     "Maybe we can tell them about their passports and green card closer to when they are leaving for the US. But I still want to talk to the family about one main thing."

Her eyes widened in fear.

     "What?" 

     "It's nothing to be alarmed about. I'll explain when we come over for dinner tonight." 

Raziya had invited them for a grand family dinner on the eve of the godh bharai function, which would be held at the Khan house. Too bad, she hadn't been able to budge Asad from his earlier decision—both the ceremony and the delivery would be at the Khan house. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Hmmph.

 

Shireen had been on pins and needles the whole evening.

She barely managed to swallow a few bites during dinner. Thanks to the usual noisy banter between the kids, no one had noticed her silence except for Asad.

Over after-dinner coffee for him and badaam milk for the others, Asad set out a number of folders on the center table that he'd removed from his briefcase. 

     "Bahut kha liya," Rashid complained patting his stomach. "Asad, what is this beta?" he asked. 

     "Abbu, I've established trust funds for the girls," he said as he handed a folder to each of his sisters. Everyone peered over their shoulders and there were multiple gasps at the numbers. 

     "But Bhaijaan, why?" Nikhat asked, puzzled. 

     "Because it's your right and it gives you the means to be independent and self-reliant. You can do anything you want with it—further studies, start a business, whatever."

Zoya couldn't contain her excitement. She jumped in and rattled off the rest of the information.

     "I told Mr. Khan that a part of the portfolio should be invested in stocks and bonds for long-term growth. You guys can draw a fixed monthly or annual income from it," she announced with a clap. 

     "Even when you're in the US," Asad added for Najma and Nikhat's benefit. "It comes with a card which lets you withdraw funds."

Except for Shireen, the parents' eyebrows had crept up during this surprise declaration. 

     "Par beta, what is the need for this?" Dilshad asked. The girls were still processing the reality of suddenly being mistresses of their own fate—financially.

     "Zaroorat hai, Ammi," Asad said. "If Ayaan and I can enjoy the luxury of making our own decisions, doing whatever, whenever we please, having full control over our lives, then so should the girls."

     "But they have husbands to take care of their needs," Dadi frowned.

     "But I don't—"

I don't want them to be ever dependent on their husbands, he wanted to say.

     "Dadi," Zoya interrupted him trying to soften the blow of his impending words. "Sometimes a girl needs her own spending money. What if she feels shy about asking her husband? What if she wants to surprise her husband with a special gift, or try something that's her passion—something that she's always wanted to do but didn't have the guts?" 

     "Hmm," Dadi seemed to give that some thought.

Asad smiled. Zoya's fanciful spin had deflected the real anxiety behind his actions: what if a husband turns his back on his wife? What's a girl to do—that too in a foreign land where she has no family support?

He looked up at her in gratitude and she winked at him.

Asad blushed.

He glanced at Shireen and saw that her eyes were wet.

      He cleared his throat. "Umm, but this isn't just for Najma, Nikhat and Nuzzhat."

Asad pulled out two more folders and handed one to Humaira and the other to his partner in crime—Zoya.

While Humaira and Ayaan gasped and peered at the papers, Zoya's eyes widened and lips pursed. She really did look like Nemo right now, her father thought with a surprised chuckle.

     "But ... why ...?" she spluttered looking hurt and ready to burst into a million tears.

     "It's just the right thing to do," Asad said. "You're both part of the family and no different from Nuzzhat, Najma or Nikhat."

     "But Asad—" Raziya was equally shocked by this unexpected gesture.

     "Mr. Khan, how could you!" Zoya threw the folder on the table and stormed out the main door.

Well, she tried to storm out but given her current size, a quick and very undignified waddle was all that she could manage.

     "Zoya!" Asad chased after her.

He was baffled at this tantrum. What now? He thought he was doing the right thing.

     "Wait up!" he turned her around to face him and grabbed her by her shoulders. "What happened? Why're you upset?" 

She was crying in earnest now.

     "Why'd you do that? Does that mean you could leave me and you're just 'taking care of me in advance' "? She made agigated air quotes to drive her point home.  

     "Never!" he tried to hug her but she wouldn't let him. "We've been over this a million times—I'm never leaving you, nor letting you leave me. Get this through your thick head once and for all," Asad tapped and pressed a finger into her temple. 

     "Then why a trust fund for me! I don't need your money!"

Zoya stamped her foot on the ground after beating her fists against his chest.

Asad couldn't help laughing as she steamed and hissed in hurt anger.

     "Babe, I know you don't need my money. I also know that you have money of your own. But this isn't about money."

Zoya sniffed. She even unconsciously accepted the handkerchief he'd pulled out for her.

     "Then what's this really about?"

     "It's about ..." Asad took the cloth from her hands and gently dabbed at her tears as he held her chin. "It's about really giving you a say ... as an equal—" He placed a finger on her lips when she tried to protest. He struggled to tell her that he was simply putting his money where his mouth was. "I know that nothing can stop you from doing what you want. But I don't want to be that guy who just thinks about his sisters' financial security and ignores his wife's needs and rights. This is not about you. This is about me doing what is right." 

Aw damn. Zoya couldn't stop a re-run of the waterworks. She fell into his arms not caring if the guard or the drivers saw them.

     "Asad, you amaze me ... completely floor me," she said when she could talk again. "I love you."

     "Are you sure?" he teased as he led her back inside. "I'm not a terrible husband trying to buy his wife's love with money?"

     "I never said that!" Zoya squeaked in dismay.

     "You did run out like a bat out of hell," he muttered. 

     "Mr. Khan!" she hissed. "Just cos. I called you Batman once, you don't have to—-"

     "All better?" Raziya asked. 

     "Ji Aunty," they turned to answer in blushing unison.

     "Shukar hai Allah ka," Raziya adjusted the dupatta on her head and went back to bustling about the preparations for tomorrow.

 

 

Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012): "Abhi Mujh Mein Kahin"


	111. Kuchh Aisa Reham Iss Lamhe Mein Hai, Yeh Lamha Kahaan Tha Mera

 

 

Asad laughed as Zoya rained pillow blows on his head the next night.

     "It's not funny, Mr. Khan!" 

     "It is!" he choked through guffaws.

She continued hitting him no matter how much she loved to hear him laughing. 

For once Asad had managed to stump her cold. Zoya thought she was so smart. He knew she still wasn't a hundred percent on board with the trust fund idea. Zoya'd tried to sign it all over into his account today. But the provisions of the trust fund didn't allow a lump sum transfer, or even a transfer of a big figure within the first year; now she was blistering mad about it.

     "Zoya, stop!" Asad grabbed her by her upper arms. "Give it up babe, and accept the money gracefully. Or I'm going on a sex strike!"

     "You wouldn't last a day!" she cried in frustration.

     "Oh Mrs. Khan, I would. You wouldn't want to test me, would you?" 

     "HMMPH!" 

     "Come here," he soothed, gathering her in his arms. "I'm going to get upset if you don't let me do this. And you know that Jahanpanahs don't like to get upset, right?"

     "Jahanpanahs think they are too smart for their own good," Zoya muttered in mutiny.

Asad stroked her arms as he kissed her neck. He tried his best to make her see sense.

     "Look, don't think of it as 'taking-care-of-you money,' think of it as 'investing-in-your-dreams money.' " 

     "Hmmm," Zoya closed her eyes as she leaned back contentedly against him. 

Dobby was curled up next to them and stretched so that Zoya could rub his belly too; Asad had just finished applying lotion over her domed tummy. They had all come to love this nocturnal ritual. 

     "Go on," she said. "Tell me more about this so-called 'investment.' "

He played with the bracelet at her wrist. Asad's thumb brushed against the jewel-encrusted fish charm. He loved thumbing over the different charms; they were prayer beads sliding between his fingers.

     "I know that you're coding and developing those mobile apps of yours. This could expand your research and design, or subscription or ... collaboration capabilities ... " 

His voice tapered off.

Asad always struggled with the tech vocabulary. Half the time he didn't even understand the terms or what she chattered on about at a mile-a-minute warp speed—her passion and know-how amazed him. But Zoya's techie universe may as well be another galaxy to him.

She'd recently told him about her latest exploits.

A hackathon?

The moment he'd heard that word his jaw fell open in horror. May be Zoya was right: "what you don't know, won't hurt you," was her mantra. He shouldn't have asked.

     "Hacking? Are you crazy! Is it legal? You'll get arrested or sued!" Asad sat down heavily on the settee. "Or probably deported," he had croaked. 

You never knew with her. Here he was trying to watch out for his sisters' legal status as spouses of American citizens and his own wife could be landmining her legal status in India. Asad nearly passed out at the thought.

     "Zoya, you'll be the death of me one of these days!"

     "Jeez, Mr. Khan, thanks for your faith in me! I'm no black hat or cracker!"

     "Blackhat? Cracker? What's that?"

There she went again with that obscure nerdland vocab. 

     "People who hack through systems with criminal intents or purposes—you know, like credit card or banking fraud, jamming signals or generally messing with national security." 

     "Zoya, I didn't mean that!" Asad explained contritely. "Obviously I know you'd never break the law!" He smacked his head. "No, scratch that. I do know that you'd slip through loopholes and find grey areas to exploit if it was to protect someone you loved—after all your sense of justice and loyalty is legendary by now." 

     "Wouldn't you do the same?"

Asad paused. His head fell back against the headboard as he sighed deeply.

     " ... more than a year ago, maybe not. But now ..." 

Zoya remembered his past anger against his father—thank god that was a lifetime ago! It was a time when anger ruled his heart. Asad's sense of justice was more black and white in those days; no grey areas for him. He was convinced that his father was guilty of murder and had even gone up against Ammi and Ayaan—two people he loved most in the world—to prove it.

Ammi had struck him for reporting Abbu to the police.

And Ayaan had even called him a "sautela bhai" for not backing down and withdrawing the charges against their father.

Asad had been a broken man that night. He'd locked himself in his room and she'd had to sneak in from the window with coffee, cookies and comfort.

     "No matter how much we fight, I always know that Mr. Khan hain, he'll take care of everything," she'd said to him. Somehow she'd managed to chip through that wall of iced silence he'd locked himself behind.

Zoya turned around now to stroke his cheek and hug him; she hoped to erase the sting of bad memories that must have lanced him all over again. 

     "Don't kid yourself Mr. Khan." She massaged his forehead. "You'd do anything, however illegal, for the people you love. Your love and loyalty is just as fierce—it always was. And don't worry about me. That hackathon thingy? It was an NGO-sponsored international event, OK—there was nothing illegal about it. They work in partnership with the tech industry. Women from all over the world were participating."

Asad smiled as her excitement got the better of her and she chugged on in its thrilled grip.

     "You know it's really cool! Like some coders from Brazil made an app that adds a female safety feature to restaurant and bar reviews on Yelp! Now women can rate bars or clubs based on ... " 

Zoya's eyes gleamed. His earlier words about investing in a dream and their shared sense of justice had given her the perfect idea for the use of that money. 

Much more relaxed now that he was assured of her own safety and status, Asad exhaled in relief and returned to the subject that had got him so worried in the first place.

     "So this wasn't illegal? Thank god! Not that anything illegal has stopped you in the past." He grinned in devilry. "Hmm, may be you shouldn't be given all that money. We'll probably need it to bail you out."

     "Asad!" she warned. Just when she'd finally begun to accept the money and make plans for it!

     "No, you could be right. Forget about calling it a trust fund. Let's think of it as a future bail fund." 

She went back to pounding him with her pillow. But she was glad to see his humor return. For a moment there, the dark memories of the past had almost reached out their skeletal fingers to snuff their breaths. 

     "Aaah!" she yelped suddenly.

     "What is it?" Asad went into instant alert mode. "Are you OK? Does it hurt? Is it your back? Cramp?"

He examined her legs feeling for cramps and then ran his hands over her stomach. 

Her eyes watered. Once Zoya could breathe she stroked his cheek.

     "Probably just another Braxton Hicks contraction. I'm fine now." 

     "Sure?" He'd read up on the false contractions—nothing to worry about.

     "Umm-hmm." 

     "How many times have I told you that violence isn't good for you? Or for me, for that matter!"

He rubbed her sides and back as she resettled against him. 

     "The godh bharai was such fun, right?" Zoya mused with a happy sigh. 

     "Umm-hmm," Asad kissed her shoulder and smiled in surrender to the change in topic. "But it tired you." 

     "You know, Dadi was saying that it's supposed to be a women's only function. But Ayaan and Nuzzhat convinced her to let you guys be a part of it."

Zoya ignored his concerns. She was too busy reliving the fun. 

     "What? But I'm the father! Why just the women?" Asad asked.

     "Exactly!" Zoya rewarded him with a peck on the cheek. Mission accomplished! She had trained her Akdu well. "You know Mr. Khan, about that sex strike?" Zoya teased him a little later. 

     "Hmm?" 

     "It doesn't really work when men threaten it! It's more effective in women's hands."

     "Oh really?"

     "Yes, really!" Zoya half-rose to justify her point. "You know the 2011 Nobel peace prize winner? She was an activist from Liberia who along with thousands of women in their community went on a sex strike to end a civil war. And the idea of withholding sex from from their husbands to make them take a stand against the war was suggested by a Muslim woman." 

     "What? How do you even know this stuff?" 

     "I know, I read. And I love this stuff! Because there are Jhansi ki ranis all over the world!"

     "That's amazing," Asad said. But then his brows furrowed. "But isn't that a sterotype: that men are hornier than women and will do anything for sex?" 

Zoya tilted her head, arched an eyebrow and gave him the look. 

Asad blushed. Yes, stupid question. Incredibly foolish. 

     "Ask yourself that when we won't be able to have sex for 6-8 weeks after the baby comes," Zoya said softly. 

     "Aaannnhhh!" Asad nearly decapitated himself as he fell back against the headboard. "Damn!" he muttered just as softly under his breath. 

Yup, that was going to be pure hell. And even after the sex curfew was officially lifted Zoya may not want to—he'd read of women losing their libido during post-partum stress. Yes, he could see clearly now the power of a sex strike—and the landscape looked bleak. Heck, he'd go to war for sex ... and end wars for it too. That Nobel peace prize was well-deserved indeed. 

He lifted her chin to gaze deep into her eyes.

     "You won't lose interest in sex right, after the baby comes? We'll still ... you know, do what we do best?" 

     "You mean fight?" she dimpled up at him. 

     "Zoya!" Asad growled. 

     "I guess you'll just have to up your game Mr. Khan! You'll have to be badass Batman and super sexy Khan all at once. You'll have to put up shows for me, sing for me, seduce me and then, maybe ... " she slowly trailed a finger down his forehead to his nose and over his lips. His tongue zipped out to burn her up. " ... maybe then I'll consent to have wild, crazy, monkey sex with you!"

     "Promise?" he purred. 

     "Cross my heart and hope to die!" Asad's hand came up to silence her for talking rubbish.

Their eyes snagged and danced the sensual tango of love. Her gaze fell and shy lashes brushed her fiery cheeks. 

Dobby scrammed. 

As Zoya giggled in mock-protest, Asad got busy making up for all the lost time and chances in the coming months. It was a good thing that she was half-naked already—lesser time to waste this way. In fact he would give her a demo of upping his game right now—it would be an audition and a preview of services to come. He'd show her the full menu that she could choose from with a tap or swipe of a charged fingertip.

Zoya moaned and her toes curled. 

But why, in the middle of this gorgeous, voluptuous moment would she burst out laughing?

     Asad frowned. "What?" he panted.

     "Speaking of monkeys reminded me of when that monkey kicked Ayaan's butt in Agra!" 

He laughed too.

     "That monkey was reading my mind!" Asad whispered against her neck. "Because you're only mine. All mine!" 

Her nails dug into the twisting sheets.

     "All yours, only yours," Zoya threw her head back with a soft sigh and whimper.  

 

     "It's going to be boring without us," Ayaan had scoffed a few days earlier. "You women will get together and chatter about Shah Rukh Khan, Ranbir Kapoor and daily soaps." 

     "Please," Humaira had retorted. "We have better things to do than gossip about men. Our lives don't revolve around you." 

     "They should!" Ayaan announced. "Right, Ammi?"

Shireen had stroked his head but said nothing. She'd had other things on her mind. 

     "But Dadi, Zoya Bhabhi is going to be very sad if Bhaijaan isn't there."

Nuzzhat had tried other ways to convince Dadi.

Zoya had nodded as her lip stuck out.

     "It's not just my baby, you know?" 

Someone put it in here, she thought to herself. And he should be right there next to me taking responsibility. She hadn't impregnanted herself all by her lonesome!

     "What if something happens? As it is Aapi's back is always sore these days," Humaira jumped in.

She was going to dance on "Didi tera devar diwana." It would be no fun if her Aapi's devar wasn't going to be there.

Dadi seemed to be getting pissed off at all these feeble attempts to convince her to change her mind. 

     "Oh, really? So for centuries we were doing it all wrong? I thought you girls called yourselves supergirls who didn't need men!" 

Hey I'm a supergirl but I need my man next to me once in a while, Zoya thought as she patted her stomach.

OK, twice in a while. 

Ayaan had laughed his head off at the girls' expressions but when Humaira glared at him he redoubled his own efforts. It was important to keep his brand new wife happy after all or he'd be finding out about sex strikes the hard way too. 

     "Dadi please? I don't want to miss out on watching these girls make fools of themselves! And the food? I want to eat all the great khana you guys are planning to serve. It's been ages since we last had a decent feast." 

Dadi slapped him upside the head.

     "Your wedding was just a few weeks ago. Ek mahina bhi poora nahin hua hai! There were multiple days of feasts. Stop your silly excuses!" 

He'd continued to torment his grandmother by adopting his favorite mode of persuasion.

     "Please, please, please, PLEASE!" He begged and proceeded to tickle her. He'd gotten away with that ever since he was six. 

Dadi giggled and snorted.

     "Ayaan stop!" she wheezed. "Fine, fine! Have it your way! I was only joking." She wiped her eyes. Her cheeks were cherry-red from the exertion. "Of course the men should be there. Khushi ka mauka hai, aakhir. Everyone's welcome. But just family though." 

     "Yay, Dadi you're the best!"

     She glowed as a cheer went up from the grandkids.

     "Are you sure about this, Ammi?" Dilshad had asked her later when the kids left.

     "Yes, absolutely! Why exclude our own family members from such a wonderful occasion. It could be the start of a new Khan tradition. It's a new century and a new generation after all. Let's try things their way." 

Both of them had looked out at the girls practicing their dance sequences in the hall. They were laughing more than dancing. In the study, they could see Siddiqui Saheb speaking into a mic with headphones attached to Zoya's belly. This was a brand new thing too—a new generation and its latest technology. They were talking to the baby. In fact everybody was getting a chance to bond with baby Ahmed Khan so that he or she would recognize its grandparents', and uncle and aunts' voices. They narrated stories or recited Quran verses and sang songs; the grandparents told the baby stories about its Abbu and Ammi, Khala and Phuphis. And of course the narrow scrapes that Chachu had gotten into all his life. 

     "I trust these kids," Dadi went on. Her breathing had returned to normal by now. "Apne haathon se apna shandar mustaqbil likh rahe hain. They've shown us that their way is better. And that they are much stronger and smarter than any of us."

Dilshad's eyes had misted.

     But she laughed when she heard Badi Bi mutter, "hum toh gadhe thay! So much pain we wallowed in. And look at these kids! Zindagi mein rang le aaye. I was just teasing them. I'd never stand in the way of what makes them happy."

     "Haan ... you're right," Dilshad agreed. "Zoya was telling me about this rare tree—the giant Sequoia. They're native to North America and are the tallest and longest living in the world. It's so interesting! Their seed cones need a forest fire to germinate or they remain dormant for years. These kids are our Sequoias." 

A fire set nearly twenty years ago had shaped their mighty Sequoias. 

Keeping secrets from the kids had led to years of dark torment. But their wisdom and compassion had cleared the thorny underbrush; now the patch of blue sky reached out to touch their sunny audacity.

 

On the day of the godh bharai once the Quran Khwani was wrapped up, there was just no stopping the fun and teasing.

All the stops were pulled out.

Light music, heady chatter and laughter floated out of the open doors and windows.

Despite much ragging from the girls, Raziya had outdone herself with the preparations from the ladki wala side. The girls had kidded so much about the number seven that they'd insisted that the function had to be held on the seventh day of the month too. Seven types of fruits and seven types of mithais were ceremonial; but they'd insisted on plying Zoya with seven types of chocolates. They'd smirked to see Asad frowning at all the extra sugar his wife had easy access to. Nor were the girls kidding about the pizza with seven toppings.

The ritual of godh bharai itself didn't take too long. The blessings and gifts, feeding of mithais and gulposhi—the draping of garlands over them—took much longer.

     "Please don't feed me all the different kinds of mithai!" Zoya had protested when the girls tried to do exactly that.

And since the girls had insisted on the pizza Asad and Zoya were forced to feed each other ...

... And pose for a photo which was increasingly hard given Zoya's size.

 

The teasing and spontaneous laughter track was just as it should have been: festive, giddy and endless.

Everyone got new clothes. For Zoya, Raziya got dress material to be converted into kurtis of her liking when she was ready to fit into them. Depsite loud protests from Zoya, Siddqui Saheb and Raziya had insisted in giving her some jewelry—"riwaaz hai beta," an exasperated Raziya sighed as she tried her best to get Zoya to accept the gift. She had got it specially cleaned and polished for the occasion. 

     "But it's so huge and so golden," Zoya exclaimed. "Abbu, I'm never going to wear it!" 

     "Please, tumhari Dadi ka hai. You have to keep it. Bas, no arguments!" Siddiqui flashed his eyes at her and she reluctantly shut up. 

She knew it meant a lot to him that he could pass on his mother's heirloom pieces to his daughters—and her in particular. Zoya felt grateful for the connection it provided to her ancestors; it was a connection she'd hungered for all her life after all. In fact in the end, Zoya even agreed to wear her dadi's jhoomar for the occasion to commemorate and celebrate this ceaseless bond. 

     She had beamed when Raziya marked her with her kajal and whispered in her ear, "just pass it on to your kids! You don't have to wear them all. But wait and see, it'll come back in fashion in twenty years!"

Yes, that's what it was about. Adding links to a chain that stretched from the past to the future.

Humaira too had quietly slipped the pearl ring back on her sister's finger. It no longer fit her ring finger so Zoya wore it on her pinky. A new ritual had quietly bloomed between the two of them—they'd pass the ring on to each other at every big moment of their lives. "It'll be our unique tradition," Humaira had vowed to her Aapi to convince her to wear the ring when Zoya refused to take it back. "Hey, no backsies," she'd told Humaira.

     "Please Aapi, for me!"

Zoya had finally agreed—it did sound like a perfect little tradition to start.

Looks like Zoya wasn't going to get her way at all today when it came to accepting family gifts of jewelry. She shook her head. Why did Indians love jewelry so much? She'd pouted for a nanosecond but then cheered right up when the games began.

 

Zoya had loved the games.

She'd given the girls the idea of baby shower games and Humaira had taken care of the rest. Dadi had probably had the most fun. She won the game which asked the women to tear a piece of a paper streamer which was then used to measure Zoya's tummy. Dadi's streamer had come to being the most accurate measure. 

The game where through the whole evening no one could mention the word "baby"? Shireen was the first to lose. She mentioned the word in the first 5 minutes. Dilshad won that one—not once did she mention the word all night. It was in her heart but never on her lips. She had beamed with secret pride when everyone cheered for her.

The men had rolled their eyes first at being forced to play, but were soon hooked and threw themselves into the spirit of things—with a vengeance.

The girls had pulled out their childhood dolls to use as props. Asad and Ayaan competed for who'd change the baby doll's diapers the fastest. 

Siddiqui Saheb's diaper was the neatest looking; Rashid was disqualified because Shireen had done most of the work. Ayaan's flopped right open and fell to the floor in seconds. 

And Asad? 

Well Asad spent most of the time straightening the supplies and lining things up precisely at 90 degree angles before rolling up his sleeves and setting to work. He'd even asked for a demo.

Twice. 

     "Mr. Khan, by this time the baby would have gone to college already!" A cheeky comment floated over his shoulder. Thank god Humaira wasn't around to monitor the use of the word "baby."

     "Not without a clean bum, it won't!" Asad muttered as he carefully powdered the doll's behind.

Zoya looked on in indulgent pride.

     "You did the best job," she whispered. "Even if you were the last one to finish!"

Asad beamed with pleasure.

     "Our baby will have the straightest diapies and the cleanest bottom!"

     "And the cutest! Taking after its mom's of course," Asad said.

     "Aapi! You said 'baby!'" Humaira shouted as she wagged her finger from a distance. "You're out!"

Zoya laughed unaware that she'd slipped her arm through his as they gazed down at the doll cradled in Asad's other arm. When they looked up at each other, they couldn't look away.

     "Behave, you two," Dilshad hissed from behind them. "Stand apart, right now!" she instructed.

They reluctantly disengaged.

     "Ammi look!" Zoya gushed. "Isn't Mr. Khan the best at changing diapers?"

Dilshad smiled.

     "Of course he is! But wait till the bachcha (Dilshad had mastered the game by substituting "bachcha" for "baby") is squirming and crying and the diaper is all messy." 

Asad blanched; his smile evaporated.

     "Ammi, stop scaring him!" Zoya stroked his arm. "I think he'll still be the best hai na, baby?" She pinched his cheek and the color returned to his face—Asad basked in his wife's adoration.

     "Aapi! You said 'baby' again!"   

     "I'm allowed to say it! Baby, baby, baby!" Zoya retorted as she planted her fists on her ample waist and turned to glare at her mother-in-law next. "You scare him away then you and I will have to change more diapers. Think about it!" 

Dilshad slapped her forehead and hugged Zoya.

     "Allah! Yes, yes, he's the absolute best. I've always known this about my son. He's the BEST!" 

     "See Mr. Khan, I'm always watching out for you and being your cheerleader," Zoya turned to her husband. "Aapki izzat ka sawaal hai!"

     "Thank you so much," Asad quirked an ironic eyebrow at her. "I'll take whatever tattered izzat is left since you've managed to turn a Jahanpanah into a joru ka ghulam."

She butted her head against his shoulder.

     "So it's settled? You're my ghulam for life? We're on the same page?" 

     "We're on the same page ..." Asad bent his head to whisper in her ear, " ... the same page you write my destiny on every night."

She blushed remembering his reference to her nighttime calligraphy on his bare chest.

     "Door khadey ho!" Dilshad ordered them even as she wiped her kajal behind Zoya's ear for the fourth time that evening. At this rate she'd have to reapply, or better yet, just carry an eye pencil around and mark Zoya with it directly every ten minutes or so.

Dilshad couldn't resist a maternal pinch of her son's cheek either. 

     "Ammi please!" Both Zoya and Asad protested.

Laughing, Dilshad led Zoya away to sit down knowing that she must be tiring from standing up for so long. She shook her head and mentally tsked. Any function or party and it wasn't long before Asad and Zoya gravitated toward each other if they happened to be in the same room.

Their hungry eyes sought each other's and snaggled. 

And once within touching distance Zoya couldn't helping picking imaginary lint off his clothes nor could he help tucking her hair behind her ears. They may as well have been tied to each other with invisible rubber bands or bungee cords—stretched far enough they snapped back together.

Dilshad would go cross-eyed giving them the look.

They'd behave themselves for fifteen minutes and then it was the rinse and repeat cycle all over again.

They'd been oil and water once ... angry currents and fiery twisters ...

     Wasn't there a poem: "East is east and west is west and never the twain shall meet"?

But, enough drama and repressed foreplay, the aligned stars had decided and conspired to toss them together—into each other's arms.

... they were forever orbiting, heat-seeking and magnetized now ...

Not that she begrudged her son this happiness.

They deserved this and much more. Dilshad had seen everyone gazing fondly at these two and her eyes had stung. Let everything always be this perfect, she'd prayed. When she had looked across the room and seen Rashid looking at them as if he would start crying too, Dilshad knew that he prayed for the same.

 

On Skype, Zeenat had laughed to see the games; she had cried when Raziya and Siddiqui presented Zoya with an envelope containing papers for a scholarship program at the orphanage and the university in Zainab's name. That was Zoya's favorite of all the gifts she got that day. She had pressed the papers to her eyes and then gripped her Abbu and aunty's hands tightly. "I love you, I love you so much," she'd whispered through tears. "Thank you."

Raziya had burst into tears then herself. The terrible irony of Zoya's generosity didn't escape her. On her knees, she bent to kiss Zoya's hands. She'd cried harder looking at that pearl ring. The girls had so quickly forged a bond so strong that they could have had all their lives. Why couldn't she understand this sooner?

Zeenat had wanted to come for the function so bad. But she and Anwar decided that it would be better to have her be there with Zoya around the time of her delivery and later to look after the baby. But she'd left her gift for the godh bharai with Dilshad. It was the same diamond set that Zoya'd worn for the wedding which Zeenat had promised to give back to her today. 

As the girls fastened the jewelry around her neck, Zoya's eyes locked with Asad's. She blushed and looked away when she saw the knowing look in his eyes. He had stared at the necklace, the jhumkas and jhoomar as well as the rising color in her cheeks; his hooded eyes had promised a repeat of their suhaag raat. She had worn his Dadi's jewelry then, it was her Dadi's jewelry this time—yes, it would be different this time ... new and achingly familiar ... their bodies knew each other a lot more instinctively now, their lovemaking was bolder ... they'd made new discoveries since then, found new erogenous territories to savor and conquer ...  

 

No one had wanted the evening to end.

But it had to. It was wrapped up with dances performed by the girls. Zoya had clapped and squealed—thoroughly relishing the non-surprise. And Dadi's entry had been the showstopper—an instant hit. She might even end up on Youtube. 

They had all dragged Zoya and Asad in their midst and even Dilshad had let them be this once—ishq pe zor nahin after all!   

     "Bhaijaan, say something to the baby," Nuzzhat begged to record his words for the video they were making. She had already asked everyone else to do it. 

     "You said 'baby,'" Humaira yelled and Nuzzhat's face fell. She and Badi Ammi were the only ones who hadn't used the word. Damn!

Asad had blushed ducking his head at the request to speak to the baby. In the privacy of their room he said a lot to the baby. He still wrote his secret letters to the baby on Zoya's bare stomach. But here, in front of everyone?

Then he saw Nuzzhat holding up the microphone with the buds attached to Zoya's tummy.

     "We're all waiting for you," Asad spoke shyly into it.

     "Awww," went the girls.

     "So cute!" Najma gushed.

Asad went redder.

     "To hold you and introduce you to everyone. Your Khala and Phuphis are especially eager to see you."

     "And all your grandparents who'll have to get in line," Zoya added when she saw Dadi's face at not being included in Asad's list of favorites.

     "Hey, what about me?" piped Ayaan. 

     "Chachu too," Asad added. "I'll teach him how to hold you properly." 

Everyone laughed because it may be a while before Ayaan would be allowed to hold the baby. Most likely Asad would make him practice on a football first.

Asad wanted to say so much more. But he'd save that for later. Every night he silently pledged to stand by the baby; just like he'd pledged its mom. But Asad didn't want to say that out loud now in front of everyone, especially his mother and father and ... Siddiqui Saheb. Too many bad memories would be stirred up.

And this was a day of celebration, not regrets.

     Yes, their fathers had turned their backs on him and Zoya and both of them had agreed, "we're not our parents."

But that was yesterday.

He looked around the room and cleared his suddenly clogged throat.

Today they were all here, by their side, waiting with damp eyes to welcome their grandchild: a grandchild that would not just unite families and generations, but would wash away any lingering guilt and regret to make room for everything bright and hopeful.

But then Asad grinned.

Because a sudden sunny memory came splish-splashing through. He'd been reminded of Zoya's cheeky words from a few nights ago: "I hope we aren't overloading this baby with too much symbolism and allegory, plus parable. I mean, if its head gets too swollen it'll be murder on me during childbirth, right?"

Just like his wife to put everything in comic (or was it cosmic?) perspective.

Shukranallah.

 

It had been such a fun day—both exhilarating and exhausting. Except for one damper: That night Humaira was trying to figure why her husband was so upset with her. All evening he'd been remote, he wouldn't meet her eye or tease and flirt with her. 

She had tried sweettalking to him, kissing and writhing against him but had only gotten a snarl and a huff in response.

This was new to her. He'd never been mad at her before. Usually he'd be the one trying to make her smile and giggle and patao her in a million different ways—tickling, pinching, rubbing his stubble against her cheek and neck, running his hands down her sides suggestively ... grinding against her ...

But tonight Ayaan had just turned his back on her and curtly told her to go to sleep and not bother him. 

What had happened? Did she do something that'd offended him? 

Humaira sniffed.

     "Ayaan?" 

Still the huffy silence. 

     "Why are you mad at me? You're scaring me," she cried.

Aw heck, he couldn't bear her crying.

Ayaan turned to face her but still remained silent—and aloof. He was dying to gather her up in his arms. Yes, he had melted somewhat at those tears, but he was still mad. And he was also mad at himself for being so ridiculous ... 

     "Did I do something? Please tell me what I did wrong! I'll never do it again," she begged. 

Now Ayaan was embarrassed. Because saying it out loud would make him look like an ass. 

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

     "We promised that we'd never go to bed mad at each other, remember?" 

He had to grab Humaira tight when she burst into scared tears. Ayaan kissed her head and murmured semi-apologetic assurances in her ear.

     "But what happened? What did I do?" 

     "Why were you cheering so hard for Bhaijaan during the diaper contest?" 

Humaira walloped him hard across his arm.

     "OW," Ayaan yelped. 

     "Are you kidding me? He's my Jeeju! What's your problem in life?" 

     "You're my wife! You should've been cheering for me!" 

     "You're such a baby! (I can't believe I just said 'baby,' she thought to herself) I can't believe you're jealous of Jeeju! Your own brother!"

Humaira was now deriving a great deal of pleasure from Ayaan's obvious discomfort.

He grunted in confused displeasure. He was having trouble working through his own conflicted feelings. This was so embarrassing!

     "You're jealous of Jeeju? You're jealous of Jeeju!" She crowed in delight. 

     "Jeeju, jeeju, jeeju," Ayaan made a face and mocked under his breath as he punched his pillow. "I'm not jealous of Bhaijaan, OK? Are you mental?" 

     "You're not jealous of _your_ Bhaijaan, but you are jealous of _my_ Jeeju!" Humaira laughed.

This was pure gold. Just wait when she told Aapi.

     "And you're calling me mental?" 

     Ayaan pulled her under him. "Shut up, Jeeju ki saali."

     "Hey, don't you dare call me saali," Humaira protested as she resisted his kisses. 

     "I didn't call you saali, I called you Jeeju ki saali—JKS!"

     "OK, that's so much better. But you know what, Ayaan? I was only cheering for him because he was losing."

     "Really?" 

     "Really," Humaira stroked his bruised ego. But only temporarily. "But I think our babies (again? Get babies off my mind!) are going to be running around naked because their Abbu will be terrible at changing diapers—they'll keep falling off!"

     "They will not!" Ayaan objected. "Cos. by then I'll have practiced on Bhaijaan and Mona darling's baby."

     Humaira giggled. "Good job! But I still can't believe that you're jealous of Jee——!"

 

  

 

Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012): "Abhi Mujh Mein Kahin"


	112. Uthta Sa Kalma Hai Ishq Koi

 

 

     "What's so funny?" Asad asked Zoya the next morning as he got ready for work. 

     "Ayaan!" she said as she finished checking her phone messages. "Apparently he got jealous when Humaira was cheering for her Jeeju yesterday." 

     "Now that is funny," Asad remarked. "Maybe he needs to meet General Jeeju and Mukka Ahmed Khan--it'll make him behave for a few hours." 

Zoya giggled. 

     "At least," she agreed as their eyes met in the mirror. "Aw Jahanpanah, you really love your nicknames don't you?"

Asad pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her from the back--doing so from the front was becoming harder and harder.

     "I only love the names you call me," he nicked her ear before sucking on the lobe.

     "Like Jahanpanah six packs?" Zoya hissed.

     "Umm mmm ..."

     "Akdu Ahmed Khan?" 

     "Hmmm ..." 

     "My shahi tukra?"

He smiled. He had nearly forgotten that one. 

     "Mr. Khan?" 

     "Love that the most," he ground his hips against her to show her just how much he loved that. 

     "No, I mean Mr. Khan, I thought you said you were getting late! Shoo, chop chop, you should get going already!" 

     Asad frowned. "It's all your fault for distracting me," he groused. After a martyred sigh he picked up his computer bag to leave. 

Dobby smacked his lips and smirked up at him. 

     "And, Asad?" 

     "What?" he turned around, grumpier than a hungry Dobby. No, there was no such thing as a hungry Dobby; it was always a hangry Dobby.

     "Don't you like it when I call you, Asad?"

     Those lips curled into a slow smile--its beam colliding with the gleam in his eye. Setting the bag down on the chair he pulled her back into his arms. "I love how each time you call me Asad it's a shared secret between us." He brushed his nose against hers ever so lightly and Zoya sighed. "And a promise ... it's as if you re-christen me ... re-make me ... make me all yours, all over again."

     "Good, I've been told that Zoya Farooqui kuch bhi kar sakti hai!" she managed to retort smugly before he silenced her with a kiss. 

     "Say my name," he whispered against her lips.

     "Asad."

     "Again."

     Her voice dropped becoming breathier. "Asad," she rasped. 

     "Good girl. But I love it even better when you say my name as you're about to come."

     She moaned. "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan! Any more talk like this and you really will be late."

     He snickered. "No, really. It drives me crazy!" He sucked on her upper lip and it drove her crazy. "Those added syllables ... the throaty purrs and cries are just mmm, mmm delicious!"

     "Asad, go! ... no ... don't," she sighed and he was disarmed--clean bowled. 

     He rocked on his heels and removed his tie. "Screw it. So I'll be late."

She was too turned on to laugh or crow in victory.

Zoya's eyes glazed over as she watched him undress. Her eyes followed his hands as they skimmed his belt buckle. Her blood simmered.

     "I nearly saw your seventh pack that day, Jahanpanah six packs," she teased softly. She loved reminding him of his Akdu days when he howled in frustration each time she drove him mad.

     "Yes Mrs. Khan, you did have a terrible habit of walking in on me at the worst times!" 

     "At the best of times, you mean!"

Asad's eyes darkened. 

He framed her face in his hands; his knuckles brushed her swollen lips. 

     "That one time when you tripped and ripped my shirt buttons open? ... God! For a second I could only think of what I wanted to do to you. What I wanted you to do to me ... this mouth ..." He bent his head to drug her with his kisses. "I must've had at least half a dozen cups of coffee the next morning."

     "Why?" Zoya asked in distracted puzzlement.

     "Because I didn't sleep a wink that night. Each time I closed my eyes I had visions of you ... under me ... kneeling in front of me ... naked and hot and wild ... calling my name."

     Zoya moaned and her head fell back, "oh God, Asad! You too?"

He sniggered in satisfied revenge and shut her up for good. There really was no time to waste on banter and what ifs and if onlys. 

Nor on foreplay.

Dobby felt a hangry fit coming but then he got distracted by the purple and black bra that sailed his way.

The blood rushed ... skin burnished. 

Their slick bodies shimmered ... marinating in the soft sighs and groans that filled the room.

Teeth skittered ... a hickey bloomed.

 

It was in the car that he realized that he'd forgotten his tie. Asad hoped he'd find a spare one in his office because otherwise the entire world would see his wife's possessive brand on him. 

And they'd know exactly why he was late. 

A notification pinged on his phone. 

And now thanks to his wife he even got honked at when the light turned green at the signal.

Because he'd been too busy drooling over the latest selfie of her: a silhouetted Zoya was leaning forward, her lambent body in shadow. Her eyes still looked drugged. Tousled hair fell over her bare shoulders. She wore nothing except his loosely knotted tie--one end caught between her saucy teeth. 

     "Tied up in you," her text sassed in infinite longing. 

Vixen!

 

Back home in San Fransisco Omar was bouncing off the walls.

Najma would be leaving for the US in a week. She was ecstatic and miserable at the same time. While she was able to share her misery with her mother and crib about missing the delivery and not seeing her niece or nephew, she hung around Zoya to ask eager questions about America--what will I do all day long? I won't know anyone! What if everyone thinks I'm dumb? Will I become fat? 

     "Join a gym or go walking and biking!" Zoya responded easily. "There are so many things to do. Public libraries within walking distance, parks, community centers that offer classes on everything from pottery to yoga to tennis ... walking trails ..."

     "Is it safe?"

     "Very! But still, always have your phone with you, call 911 if there's any trouble." 

     "It's that easy? The police don't hassle you? Don't take forever to get there?"

     "Nope! Their response rate in getting to the scene is 5-7 minutes--at least officially." Zoya sighed. "Look, I'm not going to lie. The police in the US are known to be trigger-happy. They also may not seem minority-friendly." Her eyes grew remote. "Specially lately ... it's as if there isn't a day when you don't hear about an officer-involved shooting. The system isn't always fair. But generally, you can count on them. Omar will let you know more about the specific area you guys are in. I hope you never have to encounter them though," Zoya said as she kissed Najma's forehead. 

Asad walked in just then from office and stood still as he heard them talking. He cleared his throat. 

     Najma looked up guiltily. "Hi Bhaijaan! Zoya and I were just talking. I'll let you freshen up," she rose to leave. 

     "No Najma, stay," Asad told her. "I ... we want to talk to you."

He looked at Zoya and she pulled her sister-in-law down to sit by her. She understood what Asad wanted to say. They had discussed the subject often and wondered about how to broach the topic to Najma. This looked like the perfect moment.

Najma's eyes widened. She looked from one to the other sensing some kind of a grim revelation to come.

     "What is it? Is everything OK? The baby? Omar?"

Najma's eyes filled. Dread soaked her gut. Instinctively her hand grabbed the dupatta end to cover her mouth with it--if she stopped saying her fears out loud, then nothing bad would happen, right?

     "No, no, Najma, everything's all right! We don't mean to scare you." Both Zoya and Asad rushed to reassure her.

Asad strode to the closet from which he withdrew a folder. 

     He pulled up one of the chairs in the room and held her hand. "Don't be scared. We just want to talk to you about how to take care of yourself in the US."

     Najma frowned. "Take care of myself? What do you mean? Omar will be there to take care of me."

     "Of course." Asad answered. "But this is a just-in-case kind of precaution."

He handed her the folder.

Curious, Najma flipped through it. Nothing made sense. It had a photocopy of her passport and her trust fund card. On another sheet were names, addresses and phone numbers of local mosques and a couple of Bhaijaan's friends who she knew were settled in the US. Good. Zeenat Aapi's numbers and address--cool!

But lawyers? Doctors? Immigration specialists? A women's shelter and organizations? 

Baffled, she looked up at both of them again. Alarm bells were setting off in her head once again. 

     "Zoya? Bhaijaan? What is this?" 

Zoya still held her hand and Asad bent to clutch the other one.

     "We know that Omar loves you. We only wish you the very best and all the happiness in the world. This is just a back-up plan to have if something goes wrong."

     The folder slipped from Najma's nerveless hands. Tears spilled down her pale cheeks. "What are you saying Bhaijaan? How can you even think that!"

     "Shh!" Asad hugged her to him. He hated doing this. She'd been so happy just a few minutes ago and he'd come and burst her bubble with fear and mistrust. 

     He wiped her tears. "You trust me, right?" She nodded her head and her tears splashed on his shirt. "I never want to see you in pain. I'll kill anyone who makes you cry." 

     "Bhaijaan!" Najma protested.

     "No, listen," Asad continued. "We all love Omar and know that he's a gem of a person. But I can't let you leave and go so far away from us without giving you some kind of a backup plan or safety net in case of ..." 

He lifted her fist to his lips and kissed it.

     "You saw what Ammi went through. But you didn't see what I saw because I was older. If I can help it, no woman in our family is ever going to go through that again!"

Asad exhaled. He felt humbled. 

Thank god Chhoti Ammi had brought up this issue and made him realize that because of their parents' past their generation had the responsibility (the possibility?) to be even more alert. They had the tools and knowledge to not let history repeat itself"to knock history flat on its back if it even tried. 

Najma's head fell into the crook of his neck. She was beginning to understand some of his concerns too. 

Typical Bhaijaan! 

She nearly smiled. Bhaijaan was just being Bhaijaan--his usual over-protective self.

But she cried harder when he went on. 

     "You will keep this safely with you where you can have access to this folder 24/7. Take pictures of each page with your phone. Zoya and I have already done that with ours. As soon as you get the green card stamp or whatever, make a copy of that immediately and keep it safe in here. Email or message the picture of that to us too."

     "But ..." she still didn't want to believe that he could be right. Why were they saying these terrible things?

     "No Najma. I'm going to put my foot down on this one. You will, you must do this. For me."

Asad couldn't sit still anymore. He shot up to pace about the room in repressed fury.

     "I hated Abbu for nearly twenty years. I should have hated the system more and done something else besides keeping you and Ammi over-protected and locked in a golden palace. We are incredibly lucky that Omar and his family are beautiful, wonderful people, but still---" 

     Zoya cupped Najma's tear-stricken face in her hands. "Your Abbu is a wonderful person too but terrible things happened. Both your Ammi and Abbu paid a steep price for it--you and your Bhaijaan did as well."

Zoya's eyes welled up too.

     "What Mr. Khan is trying to say is that, this is his way of making sure that you can protect yourself, watch out for your rights. And never ever feel helpless! Remember we saw that show about those Indian girls who got married to green card holders or US citizens and were mistreated when they got there? Aapi knew someone--she was really smart and strong--a PhD., teaching at the university. But her husband broke her arm once and locked her out of the house. Thank god she divorced him and is back in India doing really well for herself now." 

She kissed Najma.

     "I hope nothing bad ever happens to you. But we just want to give you the tools that will add steel to your spine--please let us. This way no one will be able to mess with you! They'll be like Allah miyan, don't take pangas with this girl!' And then when they find out about your Wolverine hulk Bhaijaan---!" 

Asad smiled. Trust his wife to put it in just the right light--truth clad in sparkly hope topped with fantasy sprinkles. What else could he ask for.

     "Yes," he added. "This isn't about mistrusting Omar. Never! This is about ..."

     "It's about giving you steel-plated armor so you won't be dependent on anyone."

Zoya jumped in again and Asad shook his head. Why bother? She was much better at painting a clearer picture--bedazzled with glitter. 

     "You will be the mistress of your muqaddar instead of its victim--a super woman. A Jhansi ki rani!" Zoya clapped her hands and almost bounced in delight.

Najma giggled through her tears and Asad's smile widened--being interrupted by his toofan express of a wife didn't matter; what mattered was that Tamatar was back to being her rosy self.

     "Zoya, looks like you've opened a Jhansi ki rani ki dukaan!" Najma teased.

     Zoya looked up at Asad and grinned. "Yes, totally! I plan to start a factory that'll manufacture Jhansi ki ranis! Now listen, learn driving ASAP and send us a copy of your license too." Zoya held up a hand to shush Najma when she tried to protest again. 

     "This isn't about Omar, remember? We love him--I've known him longer than I know you guys. Bachpan se! This is about you--just you! Till the world changes to become safer and more equal for women, we'll be a power-team and have each other's backs, deal?" 

     "Deal," Najma promised as they both shook hands on it and bumped fists.

     "So you promise to come to my rescue if my husband troubles me?" Zoya asked as she batted her lashes at her husband in question.

Najma laughed more when she saw the expression on her brother's face.

     "Umm, Zoya, I'll have to think more about that!"

Zoya made a face as Najma and Asad bumped fists and high-fived now. 

     "By the way Najma, your Bhaijaan has also talked to both Maulvi sahebs and Imams at the mosques in your area," She winked at her nanad.

     "Oh god," Najma groaned as she slapped her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. She'd be notorious even before she stepped in the country. 

Gee thanks a lot, Bhaijaan. 

So embarrassing--he always did that. Even the first day she went to college: he'd already talked to the prinicipal and her professors. In person.

Najma looked up in alarm at her bhabhi.

     Zoya nodded knowingly. "Umm hmm ... on Skype!"

     "Nooo!"

     "Yeees!"

     "Umm Zoya, on second thought, yes I will support you against anyone who troubles you! You let me know and together we'll kick butt!"

     "Shabash mera cheetah!" Zoya crowed.

  


     "The Hulk? Really?" Asad asked after Najma left; his lips twitched in mock-anger. 

He loosened his tie after hanging up his suit jacket. No, he hadn't found a spare one in his office closet. He had made Prasad give him his. Thank god! And a blushing Prasad had only been too eager to please.

     "Hunk! I meant hunk!" Zoya cried. "Heart-throb wala hunk! But obviously I couldn't say that in front of your sister!"

     "Good girl. Now come here and give me a hug so I can say hi to the baby."

She did, but only after dislodging Dobby who felt increasingly proprietory over Zoya's belly these days. It had become a favorite roosting perch of his and he often purred in confusion when batted by the baby's kicking from under him.

     "By the way," Asad said. "We owe Prasad a brand new tie no thanks to you!"

     "You're welcome!" Zoya quipped brushing her nose with his.

 

Baby-proofing Dobby had been on the list of pre-baby projects too. In her research Zoya had found much on the myths and reality of raising babies with cats. Raziya had expressed fears of the cat being jealous of the newborn and probably scratching it or sitting on it. Why not shift Dobby to the Siddqui house, she recommended.

But Zoya didn't like that idea. And Asad hadn't taken too long to agree with her. Life would certainly be easier without Dobby. 

But not the same. 

So in the sixth month itself they had begun to acclimate Dobby by playing baby sounds and cries randomly to get him used to having the baby around. Both she and Asad now applied baby lotion to their hands before petting him or playing with him--to get him used to the smell of the baby this way. And Asad was beginning to spend more time with him so that Dobby wouldn't be jealous of Zoya's time with the baby. The bed was already off-limits for the cat--the squirt bottle now a nasty nemesis. And if he did misbehave too much, then yes, Dobby was headed to the Siddiqui house for a lambi judai timeout. 

In between cleaning his paw Dobby watched Asad kneel to kiss Zoya's tummy and murmur daddytalk. Baby sounds played on the iPad. The cat hopped on to the rocking chair. He had come to like it now and often jumped up on Zoya's lap when she sat in it. But in the first few weeks he must have lost one of his nine lives when his tail was nearly lopped off by it as Zoya tested it out.

  


The rocking chair had been a surprise for his wife.

Asad had ordered it to be delivered in their absence when he'd taken her away for their anniversary night last month. They hadn't really planned anything beyond a dinner and a drive to their favorite hilltop vista point. But Siddiqui Saheb and Raziya had insisted on the getaway and given it to them as their treat.

     "We couldn't be a part of your wedding," her Abbu had patted her head. "This is our belated wedding gift." 

     When Zoya had begun to protest, Raziya had glared at her and put a finger on her lips to mime shutting up. "Chup!" 

     "But---!

     "Bas! We've decided and it's final! Ya Allah, yeh ladki! Why are you always so contrary?" Raziya had scolded. "I'll tell Zainab," she muttered. She remembered Zeenat's words. There was a lifetime to look forward to of a contrarian Zoya--and then a new generation of mini-Zoyas. 

Insha'allah!  

When Zoya pouted Raziya had pulled her in a hug and kissed her forehead.

     "Enjoy this time. When the baby comes you'll be exhausted." She slicked the hair back on Zoya's forehead. "The first few weeks are the hardest. You'll feel that you're nothing but a machine. Your relationship with Asad will change too. I'm not saying that it'll happen to you, but sometimes men get jealous of the baby." 

Zoya's eyes had widened in alarm. They both had glanced at Asad right then who was talking with Siddiqui Saheb. They were discussing plans and designs for the crib. Dadi had forbidden the assembly of the crib before the baby came but that didn't stop the men from getting the supplies ready. Siddiqui Saheb was already carving parts of the head rail. He was doing this despite protests from his daughter about the state of his hands. Rashid was helping with planing and varnishing. It was as if it were an unsaid atonement for both fathers--a necessary penance for these hands before they held their grandchild ... and touched the face of true grace. 

     "Jealous? Nah! That would be too incredibly foolish for Akdu Ahmed Khan!" Zoya announced and Raziya had laughed. 

But Zoya now understood the deeper significance of this gift. It was their one last chance to enjoy their time alone as a couple. Once the baby came they'd have to plan hard to wrangle rare moments like this. 

A luxury hotel and spa ... couple's massages ... candlelit dinner on a private terrace ... millions of roses in their room ... It would be the perfect bubble of privacy and intimacy ... the perfect celebration of their pre-baby togetherness. They had bachelor and bachelorette parties didn't they, then why not a pre-Ammi and Abbu party? If you went a little crazy celebrating going from single to double, then why not, double to triple?

Asad hadn't been able to resist showering her with rose petals before they'd made love that night.  

     "You love doing this, don't you?" Zoya had teased him. Her fingers drew his face, tracing over his eyelids and nose and lips. 

     "It's our thing," Asad reminded her. "From our second meeting to now, flowers have loved being a part of our story."

Asad had picked a rose and similarly traced the features on her face with it.

Their anniversary gifts to each other had been unusual too.

Asad had debated about a heart shaped charm for her bracelet. But hearts were too overdone.

He'd finally settled on a rose gold infinity charm for her bracelet instead. It could also double as a pendant if she wished. But knowing Zoya he knew she'd wear it most on her bracelet.

He'd also given her a Yin and Yang charm on the thinnest of gold chains. He had to keep it simple. Any thing studded or jeweled and it would never see the light of day.

     "The chain is for when you want to wear this or any of your charms as a pendant."

     She'd happily jiggled her wrist to make the charms dance. "That's us, right? Yin and Yang!"

     "Soon we'll have to get you a brand new bracelet for more charms," Asad had teased. 

     "Umm ... maybe when the next baby comes?" Zoya had cocked her head to the side and Asad had nearly gagged.

She'd laughed richly up into his face.

     When they'd returned the next day he'd held her back and whispered in her ear, "there's one last surprise."

     Zoya had bounced in glee when he'd slipped a silken blindfold on her eyes. "Mr. Khan, please tell me you don't always carry that around with you!"

     "On some days I have to," Asad said as he led her into the room. "It's multi-functional--I can use it to blindfold you, gag that mouth of yours, or bind your hands as need be." 

     "Asad, that's so mean! But wow, I love the way you think--we'll try all those tonight!" 

He pushed her down gently into the upholstered rocker.

     Her hands gripped and then ran down the plush sides. "What!" He swiveled it and Zoya flung the cloth off her eyes. "Oh my god, this is so perfect. So comfy!" 

     Asad knelt by her side at eye level. "I know it's been hard getting up and sitting down." 

When he was around he always offered her his arm but on her own she scooted to the front and then twisted sideways to haul herself out of sofas and couches. In fact these days Zoya preferred to sit on the dining chairs--higher, straight-backed, and not as deep--they were just easier to get in and out of. 

     "And we can use this later when the baby comes, for midnight feedings and whenever I want to rock the baby to sleep and you're too tired."

     "Promise?" Zoya asked.

     "Koi shaq?"

     She stroked his cheek. "I can't wait to see you be the best daddy in the whole wide world! On some days I'm even sure you'll make a better mom than me. But you know what, Aunty was saying that sometimes husbands get jealous of babies. Will you ever get jealous of the baby?" 

     "I might." 

     "Asad!" Zoya gasped.

     He laughed softly and nuzzled her. "You'll have to promise to look up at me too once in awhile. What if you get too lost in the baby and forget that I exist?" 

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan! Like that could EVER happen!"

 

Her gift to him had been priceless--it had left him speechless. No one had ever done anything like that for him. She must have spent hours making this! 

Zoya had actually had a lot of fun doing it.

     "It's really for the baby," she'd whispered when he'd looked up, eyes shiny with unshed tears. 

Somehow she'd painstakingly created a thick leather-bound scrapbook with pictures and collages of him as a baby and a young boy. It was really hard to find pictures of him from his high school and college days. She'd made frantic facebook appeals to his friends, classmates and cousins to send her pictures. Thank god Ayaan had some great pictures with his favorite Bhaijaan. But the best part was that she had been able to add sound to the scrapbook! She had gotten Aapi to order sound strips and then ship them over and then had Dadi, Rashid, Dilshad, Ayaan and the girls record messages or comments for each picture.

On the first page, in ornate calligraphy, she'd hand-transcribed a quote from Khalil Gibran in Urdu and its English translation: 

          When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."

          And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. 

There were other pages in the book dedicated to pictures of school awards and trophies, ribbons and badges and even snippets of some of his essays and schoolwork. There were report cards and an array of glowing teachers' notes. In fact, she'd even managed to track down a teacher of his! It was his English teacher who had once found him too boring to win a girl's love. 

Zoya had got her to record a message for Asad. 

     "Hello, roll number 7, seat number 3, standard 4th B," Mrs. Braganza said in the recording. She went on to remind him of his love for frogs and apologized for ever thinking that no girl would marry him. "Looks like you proved me wrong." She went on to bless both of them and wish them the best. 

      "Aw, my Akdu was once a frog prince!" Zoya teased him as he listened to the recording again. She had wanted to include so many of their special moments ...

But she'd save that for later, for a more private album! 

For their eyes only!

But still, she hadn't been able to resist a few pages on his life since she'd entered it and made it "roshan* and gulzar," she'd written and added a footnote to explain the asterisk: "And I don't mean Hritik Roshan either!" 

There were cheerful captions on these pages along with more profound quotes interspersed with quirky Zoyaisms.

     Gibran's quote on marriage "Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music" had been annotated with a sound strip which when pressed blared out Zoya singing: "maine mari entriyaan re, dil mein baji ghantiyaan, tang! tang! tang!" 

Asad had thrown his head back to laugh uproariously when he saw the caricatures and memes.

Where had she even got someone to do this? This was genius!

     "You actually told someone about us ... about these moments?"

He should have been horrified.

What must have the caricature artist thought about when his wife had made this strange request! But this was just too perfect! Memorable moments forever captured in just the right momento. 

Asad hugged her tightly dropping a kiss on her head. 

As he flipped through more pages he nodded in agreement and approval at more Gibran quotes. 

          And stand together yet not too near together:

          For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

          And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

Yes, that's what made their marriage work, right? Not swallowing each other up in a tempest of ego clashes no matter how different they were. Being whole and complete and letting the other be equal and complete too: being the Yin to the Yang--and forever caught up in an infinite embrace. 

He might have been wary of hearts being overdone; but his wife certainly was not. On the last few pages she had collected all their favorite shers and love poems from Rumi, Ghalib, Neruda, Faiz Ahmed Faiz and many others, and made collages in giant inter-twined hearts. Asad grinned. Oh well. Come to think of it, hearts weren't that terrible, right? Not cheesy at all. 

This was hysterical.

As an added bonus Zoya had dragged him to meet his teacher the next day.

She thought that Asad would be embarrassed to meet Mrs. Braganza, and that too with an obviously pregnant wife. But Asad had stood taller and wrapped his arm around her snugly.

     "This is my wife," he'd introduced her. "I would have still been that boring perfectionist if she hadn't come along." ("Or stepped in front of my car," he muttered for Zoya's benefit only).

Back in the car he had exhaled loudly. 

     "A blast from the past, huh?" Zoya joked.

     "Those days were tough," Asad said slowly. "And Mrs. Braganza was tougher. But I think she pushed me harder because she was fond of me. She had higher expectations from me."

     Zoya stroked his hand on the gearshift. "I'm sorry, baby. I thought it would make you happy. I didn't mean to bring you down." 

     He turned around to face her. "No, I'm fine."

     "Asad?"

     "Hmm?" He was merging into traffic.

     "When the baby comes you will take a six week-long paternity leave."

     "Six weeks? Isn't that a little extreme?" 

     "No," she sniffed. "And as the baby grows older I order you to do every crazy and silly thing that kids do without worrying about the mess."

     "What!" Asad laughed. "But why?"

     "Because I want you to have the childhood you missed," Zoya choked through tears.

     He pulled over and tried to hold her as best he could. "Hey," Asad soothed. "Where did that come from?"

     "I want to punch everyone in the face who made life hard for that little boy who played with frogs, marbles and tiger masks."

     Asad thumbed the Yin and Yang charm on her bracelet. "If that missed childhood gave me what I have right now, I'd go through it all over again--e v e r y single minute of it."

He held her tighter as she sobbed into his shirt.

 

A week after the godh bharai ceremony Zoya had howled louder.

     "What?" Asad asked through a smile. "I thought you'd love the surprise!"

     "How could you!" she screeched in a full-blown tantrum. She had wanted to fling herself on the bed dramatically. But that had been impossible given her delicate condition and indelicate temper.

Zoya bawled even louder. 

Asad shook his head. He thought she would fall into his arms and kiss him breathless--ecstatic with what he had managed to do for her. Just for her. He would surely get some sugar tonight. 

But here she was being a hormonal drama queen. 

For months he had been arranging this. It hadn't been easy. He'd sent many feelers around, told Prasad and Ayaan to be on the lookout. Finally they'd found out that Mahendra Singh Dhoni was going to be in Bhopal for an exclusive charity event. Somehow Asad had been able to wrangle passes to attend. He had known of his wife's crush on the Indian skipper well before their nikaah after all.

Last year they'd even had one of their famous all-American and Bhopali blowout fights because of Dhoni. First she had humiliated him by beating him at a cricket trivia quiz. Both Ammi and Najma had found that hilarious. Then, despite his strictest of instructions, Zoya had snuck away with Najma to watch a live cricket match. He'd seen them cheering and dancing on TV for god's sake at one of Dhoni's signature helicopter shots that lobbed the ball well over the stands!

Incredibly foolish!

And to top it all, she had lied to his face and got Najma to lie too! Pretending to go shopping indeed! He'd tripped her up with a trick question: and how many runs did Dhoni score? An over-eager Zoya had gushed and spilled the beans. He'd been livid. And in his usual Jahanpanah-mode he'd said unforgivable things to her. 

Asad frowned. 

He'd made her cry that day. She had even left home and he'd had to go after her and rescue her from Bhopal's finest gundas yet again.

Thanks Dhoni.

Not!

And still he had tolerated his wife's "unhoni ko honi kar de, honi ko anhoni" nonsense! Quite graciously in fact. Which husband would buy a rival's jersey just to please his wife? Just to see that dimple glow on her face? And now, in a fit of magnanimity, he had even arranged a meeting with her rockstar and here she was having a nuclear meltdown.

     "Zoya? Wha---?" 

She punched a pillow and threw it at him.

Asad was helpless with laughter.

     "But what I have I done? At least tell me meri ghalati kya hai?"

     "Look at me!" she hollered. "I'm as big as a house. You did this on purpose. You want me to look like a bloated battleship when I meet my Dhoni!"

     "Zoya, come on babe---"

     "No you've always been jealous of my love for Dhoni!" 

     "Please! Jealous, my foot!" 

     "This is your revenge!"

Asad couldn't help himself. He laughed so hard that he rolled off the bed. 

     "Mr. Khan!" 

     "No, you're right," Asad wiped his streaming eyes. "I did plan it all. I knew he was coming this month so I got you pregnant last year just to make sure that he would see you in this condition. Yep, I'm such a super planner that world class cricketers bow to my mating schedule."

     Zoya sniffed. "I didn't say that," she muttered. Her hair still fell over her face.

     "What? Sorry, did you say something? I couldn't hear because I'm cheering so loud at my diabolical plan's success." 

     "I said ..." She sniffed and sat up to wipe her face on her shirtsleeve.

His shirtsleeve actually. 

     "You said?"

     "I said I'm sorry, OK?" Zoya flung another cushion at him. "But you can cancel the meeting. I'm not going to let him see me like this!"

     "Zoya, come on! You can't do this. Do you even know what strings I had to pull to arrange this? He meets thousands of fans every day. Do you think he cares how fat or thin you are?"

     "He might not, but I dooo!" Zoya went back to wailing. 

     "Aw, come here baby," Asad sat down by her and tucked her head under his chin. "You are so beautiful. And no one thinks you're fat. If they do, they'll have to meet Mukka Ahmed Khan. But you have to admit it was some brilliant revenge, right?" 

Zoya giggled but it sounded more like a sniffle.

     "Really Mr. Khan, you have a mating schedule? Is it like a timetable? Do you get alerts on your phone? When was I going to be informed about it?"

     "You've been penciled in for tonight after dinner."

     "Penciled in? I better be all over it, and that too with a permanent marker!" 

     "You are. On my heart, and here." Asad extended his palm.

     "Oh really?" Zoya snorted.

Nonetheless she kissed her initial on his palm as she always did. It was a ritual. A cherished one.

     "You love brandishing that in my face don't you?" 

     "Of course! As if you don't use your puppy face to manipulate me? Besides," Asad continued. "This scar is my trump card. My ace of spades--hukum ka ikka!" 

     "Please, Jahanpanah is nothing but his begum's ghulam! And there's been a change of plans. I want me some mating right now--pencil that in on your schedule!"

     "Jo hukum mere aaka." 

     "Nice punning skills, Jahanpanah!" Zoya kissed him hard on his mouth in reward. 

     "Should I let Dhoni know?" 

     Zoya arched an eyebrow. "What, that he's been bumped off our royal schedule?" 

     "That I'm jealous as hell of him," Asad breathed against her skin. 

     "You're crazy!" 

     "About you," Asad teased.

     "But did you really get us passes to meet hot, happening, Mahendra Singh Dhoni?"

"Umm-hmm. Though why I bothered I don't know," Asad groused. "Hot and happening hoga apne ghar mein. He better stay out of my bedroom and your head! I'm going to tear up those ridiculous passes. What was I thinking!"

     "I love you, Mr. Khan." 

     "You're sure?"

     "Of course I'm sure! Why would I say it otherwise? Allah miyan what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan? Do you really doubt m-----?"

 

Dhoni bear drooped. Dobby swatted him off the settee and well over the stands. 

His fans cheered: Chhakka! 

Twitching his tail, the cavalier cat curled up for his sixth nap of the day. Or was it the seventh? Who knew.

He winked at Asad.

 

 

 

Song in title:

The Dirty Picture (2011): "Ishq Sufiana"


	113. Khuda Jaane Ye, Main Fida Hoon, Khuda Jaane Main Mitt Gaya

  

     "How long did you take to make this?" Asad asked as he thumbed through the pages of his scrapbook for the hundredth time. 

     "I can't even remember. I was planning it forever, but I think I might've started making it just before Mangalpur, Part Two,' " Zoya said using air quotes.

She loved to watch him pore over her gift. He had been doing that almost every night since she gave it to him. Zoya laughed when she heard him mutter, "I'm beginning to fall in love with Mangalpur!" 

     "So should we go back there for our second anniversary? Apna Dhaba, here we come!" 

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, Mrs. Khan? Never in a million years! Besides, this time I might actually break Chhotu's bones." 

Somewhere in Mangalpur Chhotu's left eye twitched madly. 

 

     "Did you read the article I sent you, Abbu? Wouldn't that be a great thing to do at the university?"

     "Haan beta, I passed it along to the board. We'll discuss it at our next meeting. In the meanwhile see if you can prepare some talking points that'll convince them." 

Although she'd taken a backseat from all the work being finalized for the university program to fight against sexual violence, Zoya was still its research backbone. And just yesterday she'd come across a study done by Canadian researchers: when educated about risk and trained to recognize triggers, and fight back, the incidence of rape could be lowered. It was just the empirical evidence they were looking for to convince nay-sayers and doubters. 

Zoya had contacted the researchers hoping to replicate the study's success. 

Already they were getting inquiries and pledges from some girls' colleges across the country. With the help of some other local women's organizations they were also drafting a petition to the state legislature--Madhya Pradesh was after all one of the states in the country with the worst track record on women's safety. A recent statement by sports star Saina Nehwal had drawn more attention to the crisis. They were trying to get her on board as a celebrity spokesperson. Aamir Khan too had chosen Bhopal as the epicenter of the issue by launching a one-stop crisis center helpline called "Gauravi." 

Awareness was growing; and so was the will to ignite real solutions. 

The Mangalpur incident earlier in the year had made them all aware of the raw power of social media to shine a spotlight on an issue and force official action. Given Zoya's expertise she was concentrating on web design and social networking--she wasn't the twitter, facebook, instagram and whatsapp ki rani for nothing. 

For now Humaira had taken over from Zoya in coordinating the logistics for a program that would be one of its kind in the country. With Nuzzhat's street theater troupe they were already advertising the necessity of such intervention on school and college campuses and local malls. 

They were hoping to launch their first three-day seminar and workshop at the start of the coming academic year. The mushrooming waitlist was both exhilarating and terrifying. 

What if they failed? 

While Nuzzhat's college had become the laboratory for this social experiment Zoya had wanted to extend the tools of empowerment to the kids at the orphanage. The on-site computer center construction was done, the first classes already underway. 

This was Zoya's real baby--teaching the kids coding and programming. In America tech firms like Google and Apple were offering free coding classes for women and minorities, an initiative called #YesWeCode was blazing a path to connect tech and social justice leaders to train urban youth. Then why not try to get these abandoned kids in a little corner of Bhopal started early? Some of the kids had shown a remarkable aptitude for tech. Fingers crossed, if she could sustain the momentum for another year she'd think of hosting her own youth coding bootcamps and hackathons. She was in thoroughgoing agreement with that article in Bloomberg Businessweek, "the world belongs to people who code. Those who don't understand will be left behind."

Nope, nobody was going to be left behind. Not if Zoya Farooqui Khan had her way. 

Zoya sighed as she closed her laptop and stood up to gaze out of the arched picture window. Her hand massaged her lower back more out of habit than necessity. 

She itched to do so much more. Being stuck at home for all these days grated on her. Once the baby came she'd have to take a full-time sabbatical from her two pet projects.

     She ran a restless palm over her stomach. "Only doing all this for you, baby," she whispered. I want you to come into a better world where the powerless have ... a voice ... a kickass support system ... 

No, that wasn't completely true.

She wasn't just doing this for the baby. 

She was also doing this work for herself. She was born to do this. And Asad agreed.

     When discussing a name for their organization he hadn't hesitated in suggesting: "just call it Jhansi ki Rani Foundation!'" 

She'd loved that too. 

     "Aww, that's perfect! MA! Though I would have wanted it to be Jahanpanah and Jhansi ki Rani Foundation. JJKRF!" 

     Asad's eyes had shuttered. "Babe, JJKRF already exists. Its paperwork is our nikahnama." His lips had quirked and he did that head shake thingie to point to the bed. "This bed is the head office of the foundation and this is our first campaign," he said as he bent to kiss her belly.

     "Maybe, we need to schedule a meeting for our foundation, hmm?" Zoya teased.

     "Oh, a mating you mean. Done!" 

     "Asad!" She couldn't help giggling. "You're so bad and becoming badder by the day."

     "Let's discuss my performance review in the conference room," Asad pulled her to the settee after shucking off his kurta. " ... and I'll show you how bad I can really be. You be the secretary and take notes." He proceeded to unbutton her shirt. 

     "Please Jahanpanah, your sexist fantasies need to end right here. I'll be the rival businesswoman who threatens your empire," Zoya ran a fingertip down his chin and throat to plant a row of butterfly kisses on his collarbone. 

Asad hissed when her tongue flicked out to lick him and her teeth bit down before sucking on his skin. Uh oh. The smitten capillaries burst again and another hickey loomed. These days a swollen Mrs. Khan was bent upon marking her territory.

     "A primal businesswoman who's becoming a vampire, you mean," he muttered before tucking a finger under her chin to lift her face and kiss her deeply. She moaned, thrilled with the kiss ... and the smartass wordplay.  

 

The pages on Aapi and Jeeju were done for the baby book. And with help from a local book binding service the refurbished baby book looked seamless; it was as if the newly-added pages always belonged there.

As planned, Zoya had also made a scrapbook for Najma for her to take with her to the US. Like Asad's it too captured all the moments of her life as a baby and toddler right up to her nikaah. Working secretly with Dilshad she'd tried to make it a memorable parting gift.

And it had been fun to listen to Ammi tell stories about Asad and Najma as kids while they worked together. In fact, Zoya had even recorded her long sessions with Dilshad on her StoryCorps app. What better way to make new memories for the next generation than to record their parents and grandparents' voices and stories! She'd share the link with Najma later so that when she felt lonely or missed her mom, she could click on it and listen to these conversations.

Dilshad had become teary-eyed reminiscing about the past. While the current happiness had sopped up most of the miseries of yesterday, some forgotten spasms resurfaced now and then.

     "A neighbor of ours took this photo and gave it to me," she said of a picture that showed a little Najma riding piggy-back on her brother's shoulders. Zoya had included the picture in her husband's scrapbook too. 

     "How old is she in this one?" 

     "About five. Najma loved it. Whenever she'd get upset or hurt, Asad would tickle her and carry her around the neighborhood. Everyday was a new adventure. They would pretend to be tourists or explorers or archaeologists, or even detectives. People would smile looking at them."

     "Allah miyan, how cute!" 

     "When he returned from school and finished his homework he would teach Najma everything he'd learned that day." Dilshad smiled. "He brought broken pieces of chalk from school and used the wardrobe door as his blackboard." 

     "Thanks to Mr. Khan, she was probably the only kid in her kindergarten class to be learning at a fifth-grade level," Zoya mused as she touched the edges of another photograph of the siblings.

She listened, rapt. This was such a gold mine of Jahanpanah history and research! Zoya re-checked her app to see if it was recording correctly. A hand crept up to rub her tummy in circles. 

A glimmer of a smile broke through Dilshad's tears.

     "Pata hai, Zoya? Asad would read books and comics and tell Najma these fantastic stories about faraway lands. He'd make her laugh. I don't know what I would've done without him. If she had any kind of a happy childhood it was because of Asad. I was too stressed and busy in those days." 

     "I was so wrong about him in the beginning, Ammi. Why didn't you tell me all this? I called him emotionally challenged, pathar dil, and what-not!" 

     "Sometimes telling isn't enough. You have to find out for yourself. And he was wrong about you in the beginning too--so you're even! So many times I told him how wrong he was about you. But neither of you was ready to listen to reason in those days! You had to knock heads like two mountain goats not willing to give the other an inch." 

Goats who'd morphed into horny bunnies, Zoya sniggered to herself. 

     "But he really was Akdu to me, wasn't he? Always on his high horse, gnashing his teeth about tehzeeb and tameez! How women should behave and dress--Oh. My. God. Ayatollah Ahmed Khan handing down farmaans and fatwas for Ms. Farooqui!" 

     Dilshad covered her face. "Allah! I don't know where he picked up those quaint notions from!"

     "Probably from all the books and comics he was into!" But their smiles slipped somewhat. 

They knew exactly where Asad had picked up those terrible lessons from. For a young boy who had taken on the mantle of a self-appointed protector for his mother and sister, hyper-conservatism may have seemed the only logical refuge. And as he'd grown older, the concrete vault around his heart had only been more reinforced. 

 

     "Ayatollah!" Asad couldn't freaking believe it. Another nickname? And by god, this had to be the worst of the lot.

Zoya groaned silently.

Funny how that teeth-gnashing thing made a comeback.

Shoot ... she should have edited that recording before eagerly getting Asad to listen to it. But she just wanted to show him how the app worked and how cool it was that Ammi was talking about him and Najma when they were kids. 

     "I'm sorry, sorry, sorry!" she rushed to soothe his ruffled feathers ... and hackles. "My bad!" she held her ears and made kissy faces. 

When he still wouldn't relent Zoya huffed.

     "Allah miyan what's wrong with you Mr. Khan? Do you remember your temper from those days? You were like a constipated dragon that had swallowed a volcano! Your daily tehzeeb lectures were pretty insane too. Hmm ... let me see ... who was it who said: 'numaish paschim ki ada hai, sharam purab ka gehna. Iss mulk mein auratein issi gehne se sajti hain?' Jeez!" 

Asad covered his face with an exaggerated groan.

     "But Ayatollah? Constipated dragon? What the hell, Zoya?"

     "Fine, you've been demoted." She kissed him in apology. "You've come a long way, baby. Me too, I guess. We were both so 'Pride and Prejudice.' " 

     "So now I'm Mr. Darcy?" Asad asked, a smug eyebrow raised. "Thank god! At least that's much better than---"

     "Mmm ... I love that! My own Mr. Darcy! Though you know, you were mostly the pride AND the prejudice!" 

     "And you were musibat AND mushkil," Asad struggled to find suitably alliterative smack talk.

     "Please, I was your muqaddar! AND murad! Your minnat, AND mannat! And you better not forget it, Mr. Khan!" 

Damn, she was good. 

That cheeky reference to the qawwali at the Dargah when he first saw and fell for her, was sheer brilliance.

There was no competing with that agile mind of hers! And not to forget the wicked winking dimple. 

She was always way better than him at pretty much everything. And way righter too. 

Damn.

  

Seeing off Najma at the airport had been a hot teary mess. This ruksati was so much harder to bear. Dilshad and Ayaan were going with her to Dubai to make sure she got on her US-bound flight safely. Asad would have gone too but Zoya was too close to her delivery. Although her due date was still a few weeks off, no one wanted to take any chances.

Asad hugged Najma to him as both she and Zoya sobbed at the separation--lambi judai sure was a bit*ch. 

     "Apna khayal rakhna and always remember, we're here for you," he whispered through a choked throat. 

     "Tell Omar to behave himself or super jodi Mr. and Mrs. Khan will knock his teeth in," Zoya added.

Najma smiled. 

     "Be happy, be you," Zoya kissed her forehead. She whispered their favorite mantra from "The Help" in her favorite sister-in-law's ear: "You is Tamatar, you is smart, you is kind, you is important." 

Najma hugged Zoya sideways and repeated the version that she'd crafted just for her favorite Bhabhi: "you is cheeky, you is my best friend, you is smarter and kinder."

Heads together they wept. This was so unfair. Why couldn't San Francisco be closer to Bhopal?

     Najma kissed her fingers and placed them on Zoya's stomach. "Bye baby, Phuphi loves you so much. I'll see you soon and spoil you rotten." 

     "God promees?" Zoya asked.

     "God promees, hum sach kehta hai!" Najma sang with her fingers clutching at her throat, echoing yet another favorite Hindi song of theirs. 

Miserable arms around each other, Zoya and Asad watched Tamatar walk away from them to start a brand new life.

When Najma turned around for a last goodbye wave she jiggled her large handbag for Zoya's benefit. In it she was carrying her scrpbook and customized snow globe. She'd lose herself in them on the long flight all the way to the US--it was a slice of home she was carrying with her over the impersonal continents and oceans; and this cargo was just as treasured as her copy of the holy book.

She shook the snow globe over Asia and then Europe as the airplane thundered farther and farther away from home. Thank you, Zoya. The sparkly snowflakes rained and dusted over her favorite family photograph that Zoya had inserted in there. The snow globe was a special surprise that she'd left by Najma's breakfast plate yesterday morning. 

She loved it so much! Getting Bhaijaan to pose for this picture had been the hardest thing to do. She and Ayaan Bhaijaan had begged and pleaded with him. "Just one, please Bhaijaan!" He had agreed only when Zoya gave him the look. And only to erase that tiny frown that had appeared on Ammi's forehead.

     "What a sweet picture! Is that your family?" the aunty sitting next to her commented.

     "Mmm-hmm," Najma said softly as she watched the falling flakes. "I'm going to miss them so much!" 

     "Who is that?"

     "My Bhaijaan, our rock. No, our family's bedrock. You know what, he didn't always use to smile like this ..."  

  

Zoya had to force Asad to go to work these days and not come rushing back in the evenings.

     "I want you here when I really need you and that'll be when the baby comes. I don't want you here standing on my head and lecturing me about safety and health and diet! Sheesh, you may as well put a nanny cam in here to monitor me like a prisoner!" She frowned when she saw the speculative look on his face. "No, I was kidding! Please, no nanny cam!" 

     "But what if you need me? The contractions start, or your water breaks?"

Zoya sighed. She didn't know which was better: a clueless husband or an over-informed and hyper-vigilant husband. And to not even have Ammi and Najma to be a buffer between her and her Akdu's escalating anxiety! 

Pure, unadulterated na-insafi this was. 

     "Mr. Khan, you'll be just a phone call away. Stop being so paranoid." 

But he'd put his foot down. He'd work from home till Dilshad returned from Dubai.

     "Fine!" Zoya pretended to be miffed. Secretly she was thrilled to have him all to herself. Besides, she knew that he missed Tamatar terribly but had no emotional vocabulary to talk about it. "But you better not deduct these two days from the paternity leave!"

Asad looked up from his laptop to argue.

     Zoya wagged a furious finger in warning. "Or you'll be on the longest sex-fast of your life, mister!"

     Asad's heart sank. "Fine!" he groused. "And she dares call me Ayatollah!" He still hadn't gotten over that slight. 

     "Mr. Khan, I heard that!"

     "Good girl, just checking to see if you needed a hearing aid!"

     "Hmmpphh! Watch it, or you'll be needing a walking aid." 

Asad spluttered. 

     "You're flirting with fire, you know," she mock-scolded him. "I'm this close to declaring a sex curfew!" 

     "Nooo!" 

     "Exactly ... just as I thought." She batted her lashes at him. "Now, how about that massage you promised me?" 

Asad's eyes lit up.

  

Raziya had given Zainab a full oral report of the godh bharai ceremony and the hoopla led by the kids. She flipped through the pictures on her camera commenting on each. Now she was busy making lists for the delivery and childbirth.

     But she couldn't resist one more complaint against their damaad. "Asad is just not budging. Won't listen even to Siddiqui Saheb or Rashid. Hadd hai! It's a parent's right to bring their daughter home to take care of her in these days. Zoya's right to call him Akdu." 

She rubbed the stone and smiled. 

     "But he's a wonderful husband. You should see how well he takes care of her. Humare zamaane mein aisa nahin tha! Husbands were scared to stand by their wives and worried about being seen as hen-pecked. Maybe if Siddiqui Saheb had been firmer, my own insecurity wouldn't have ruined everything ..."

Her conscience rumbled. 

     " ... thank god she has him. For every pain and tear I gave her, Asad stands up to shield her ten times more! You would've been so proud of him." 

Raziya closed her eyes and raised her hands in prayer.

But dread still continued to nip and chip at her heart. And she could only share this gnawing fear with Zainab.

     " ... I'm scared ..." she whispered to her confessor as if terrified that saying it aloud would make her fears come true. "What if  ... ?" She couldn't bear to go on; not even tell Zainab about her deepest, darkest worries. Looking back at the past yielded nothing but a dizzying vertigo of regret.

A passing squirrel stood up on its hindlegs and stared at her, its tiny hands arrested in mid-air.

Should she just say it? But what if it came true? 

The squirrel's whiskers twitched knowingly. 

     "She needs you most at this hour. When the baby comes what if Zoya sees me and hates the sight of me? I can't go in front of her! I wish I was dead!" She burst into tears.

For days Raziya had been harboring a new anxiety. She felt frozen in panic, was often lost in thought and ate sporadically. Her blood sugar dipped and spiked like a volatile stock's price index; her body felt clammy; her gut clammed up. 

She felt a woman damned.

Yes. She deserved it. 

They had all gone way too easy on her. She had been spared the true kaffarrah of a sinner. She should have been publicly stoned or lynched for her sins.

She certainly had no right to be in the presence of a child whose mother she had scarred and whose grandmother she had slayed. Would she die on the spot, struck by lightning if that child raised its eyes to look into her face? They would be the eyes of god ... 

What would that child see when it stared into her guilty soul?

  

A week later and Zoya could see that Dilshad missed Najma terribly. She tried to hug her mother-in-law from the back.

     "Do you want to see her nikaah video?" Zoya asked softly.

     Dilshad sniffed. "That'll make me cry even more," she whispered.

     "Aww." 

Zoya pouted. Her mind raced trying to find ways to cheer Dilshad. 

She snapped her fingers.

     "I know! Let's have a missing Tamatar party!" 

     Dilshad frowned. "What's that? And I really don't feel like having a party."

     "Ammi, it'll just be the two of us. First we'll make her favorite foods ... watch her favorite films ..." She nattered on making plans and Dilshad smiled for the first time in many days. 

If she dared stay sad any longer her bahu would make it her mission to plan new and unique forms of entertainment for her. And Zoya's missions had all the finesse of a puppy in a candy shop. There would be side-splitting laughter and a cuteness overload. And a big fat sticky mess.

Thank god! 

She looked up as Zoya dragged her towards the stairs and up to Najma's room.

     "Beta, be careful! Asad will kill me if anything bad happened to you." She cautioned. "Kahan le ja rahi ho?" She picked up Dobby so that he wouldn't trip them up in his collaborative enthusiasm to gatecrash the party.

     "Please Ammi! Just trust me." 

     Dilshad's eyes widened in alarm. She remembered Asad's favorite warning about his wife: "be very afraid when Zoya says, trust me!' "

Allah!

     "Let's play with Najma's things! It'll be such fun."

Play? 

     "Remember you promised that you'll show me Mr. Khan's and Najma's baby clothes. And I want to play with her dollhouse. I love it so much! You have to tell me all about it again."

And Dilshad let herself be diverted.

Funny, how for nearly 10-15 years they'd kept silent about those days of the kids' childhood but now it was as if she was talking about it everyday. And in the retelling, the happier memories broke through the surface clearing away the cobwebs and clutter of the sadder ones. 

In the past few weeks they had already donated Najma's gently used clothes and accessories to the older girls in the orphanage. After all Najma couldn't take all of India in two suitcases with her to the US. Hana had told them that everything Indian was now available in America.

     "Just bring what you love and need," she'd told Najma over the phone.

     "Tell me about her favorite red suit," Zoya encouraged Dilshad. Najma had refused to part with that. The dollhouse was sitting on the desk--Zoya pulled up the chair to settle in it. 

Dobby promptly hopped up in her lap.

     "Asad got that designer suit for her on her fifteenth birthday. He'd been saving up for months! Things had just started to get better that year. She was so happy when he let her have a little party with her friends." 

Zoya stroked the slightly-warped sides of the dollhouse as she heard the note of pride in Dilshad's voice. She'd already peeked through the tiny door and windows. This past month, she and Najma had freshened up the miniature furniture and re-papered the walls. Siddiqui Saheb had promised to build brand new furniture for it. 

     "Ammi, I hope Tamatar's friends didn't make eyes at Mr. Khan! I'd pluck their eyes out, right Dobby?"

He gave it some thought and agreed.

Dilshad laughed. Thank god for Zoya! No longer were those dusty memories tinged with pain; they were now edged with the sun, freshly cropped with dimples--refreshed just like that dollhouse.

     "I love this dollhouse so much," Zoya mused. "Tell me again how long he took to make it." As Dilshad got ready to retell this oft-repeated story Zoya held up a hand. "No, wait, wait, let me record it."

Out came her phone and on went the app. 

     "I was really mad at Asad for bringing used cigarette boxes and gum wrappers home. He told me not to worry, that he'd make---"

     "Aaahh," Zoya cried.

     "Zoya? Kya hua beta? Are you OK?" 

     "Ammi, it hurts!"

     "Where? Abhi? We still have 10 days before your due date!" Dilshad's mind had gone blank.

She tried to recall Asad's instructions and daily reminders. She rushed to massage Zoya's stomach; it was tight as a drum. 

Dilshad gasped. It was time. The baby wanted to join in the play and gatecrash the missing-Tamatar-Phuphi party. 

But Zeenat hadn't even come yet--she'd be landing tomorrow. How could it be time?

Dilshad's poise vanished; dread flooded in.

When they had done rehearsals for this moment at Asad's insistence as he timed them with a stopwatch, Zoya had always been on the ground floor. 

Oh my god! 

Dilshad's panicky fingers remembered to call Asad on his cell.

     "Ammi?" 

     "Asad? Asad, it's time. She's having contractions!" 

     Asad slipped into General Jeeju mode. "Ammi, it's OK, we've practiced this. Just stick with the checklist. Start timing the contractions, I'll be there in 20 minutes." He paused as he heard squawking noises from the other end. He was already rushing out the door. "Why are you crying? Is Zoya OK?"

Dilshad sobbed in panic. Even Zoya got worried as she tried to breathe through the pain.

     "Asad!" his mom cried. "We're upstairs!"

He was there in under 12 minutes.

He'd scold them later for being upstairs. Right now they had to make sure to walk Zoya carefully down the stairs as she moaned through the pain. She had made it half way down the landing by sliding down on her butt step by step. A worried Dilshad hovered around feeling useless. When Asad had burst in through the main door Zoya was breathing hard between the waves of pain. 

This was still early labor and the contractions were 17-20 minutes apart. But soon they'd have to leave for the hospital. Thank god they'd already packed a maternity bag last weekend--also at Asad's insistence.

He had already contacted her doctor. 

     As he sat her down on the rocking chair, Zoya gripped his hand. "Asad, I'm scared!"

     "Shh, there's nothing to be scared about. I'm here," he faked confidence now. But when he'd heard Ammi cry on the phone the bottom had dropped out from his stomach.

     "No, I mean, this is it. There's no turning back now!" Zoya panted. "We're going to be parents. What if I'm a terrible mom!" 

Some of the stress left his body; he actually laughed.

     "Mr. Khan, it's not funny!"

     He kissed her nose. "Shh, you'll be perfect. Now let's concentrate on breathing through the next one, OK?" He put the bags in the car before coming to get her for the slow drive to the hospital.

Thank god she had Asad, she thought for the millionth time. How did women do this alone? How did her Ammi go through this all alo---? 

No, she'd promised herself that she wouldn't go down that road.

Zaid or Amna, whoever's in there you better be healthy, she begged before all thoughts were swept away by the next rolling spasm. 

Asad had his own fears. 

With the coming intensified contractions would his wife turn into one of those pregzillas you saw on TV who raged against their husbands and yelled "you did this to me!" at them?

He glanced at Zoya sitting in the back seat with Dilshad murmuring soothing words and stroking her hand. She wiped Zoya's forehead with a damp washcloth. 

At the red light he looked back at Zoya again. He could tell by her strangled moans that she was holding the screams back. Tears ran down her face.  

His eyes stung.

He had his answer.

No, she wouldn't be one of those wives yelling and clawing at her husband. The silly woman was actually trying to hide her pain from them and being a goddamn Jhansi ki rani! 

     Before helping her into the wheelchair brought by an attendant Asad held her to him. "Stop trying to be a hero," he whispered in her ear. "You can yell at me or hit me if you feel like it." 

     "I don't feel like it," she sobbed into his shirt. "I love you. Thank you for being here."

     "Zoya? What is it, babe?" This was not like her at all. "Why are you crying? Is it hurting a lot?" 

     "It would hurt a lot more if I didn't have you here with me."

     "Shh, why wouldn't you have me here? Where else would I be? Come now ... be careful. And breathe!"

It was a few hours later when the pain got much worse and he heard her calling out for her Ammi that he understood. Thank god the epidural had been safely administered. Earlier he'd been skeptical of it; why add an unwanted layer of medical complication? 

But now Asad breathed a sigh of relief. 

He couldn't bear to hear her muffled screams. He couldn't bear to see her bite down on her lips ... her knuckles ... again and again. It was that typical Zoya gesture of wanting to protect him from worry that brought him to his knees again. Sometimes she was too fierce for her own good.

And why was he even surprised? 

That moment when she had every right to be the drama queen, his wife, ever the unpredictable contrarian, decides to be the silent suffering martyr.

Incredibly foolish. 

He had wanted to crush her in his arms but the nurse bulldozed him away.

The rest of the family was here. Ayaan had got a traffic ticket for speeding to get to the hospital. He hadn't stayed to argue or charm his way out of it. Not worth it. Siddiqui Saheb was wearing down the corridor tiles with his pacing.

Shireen and Dilshad clutched hands. They had already traded stories of the labor times of each of their kids. Of course Ayaan had taken 21 hours and Nikhat had been trouble-free. 

Raziya huddled listlessly in one of the chairs offering silent duas and pleas. When they'd been told of the sudden crash in Zoya's blood pressure after the epidural, she'd prayed relentlessly: take me, keep her and the baby safe. 

Zainab watch over her, please! I'm sorry ...

Unaware of her Jeeju's churning helplessness and mom's quiet despair, Humaira was rabid from excitement and pride. Her eyes still shone seven hours into her Aapi's labor. Even the prospect of more waiting hadn't dimmed her delight. She randomly hugged Nuzzhat or her mom because she couldn't sit still for more than five minutes.

The women had been allowed in to visit with Zoya for half an hour. Raziya had hung back. What if Zoya recoiled from her? But she hadn't been able to resist a glimpse of her either.

     As everyone filed out of the room, she gripped Zoya's hand in hers and raised it to her eyes. "Zainab should have been here, not me," she wept. "I'm so sorry, so sorry ..." 

Zoya cried too. Yes, she missed her Ammi so much right now. She wanted her by her side so bad. For a second she felt anger at the loss and nearly turned away from the woman who had engineered it.

     The nurse tried to hustle Raziya out. "Please, patient ko aaram karne dein," she ordered. 

     Raziya tried to slip her hand away to leave but Zoya gripped it tighter. "Aunty, I miss her so much. Why did she have to die? Why can't she be here to see my baby?" 

     Raziya fell on her knees. "I wish I would've died. I wish Allah gave me a thousand scars and all of your pain. Allah mujhe dozakh ki aag se bhi na bachaye!"

     The nurse tried to shoo her out. "Please, you are upsetting her. It's not good for her in this condition."

As the door closed on her face Raziya saw a distraught Zoya weeping helplessly.

     She saw Asad talking outside to another nurse and grabbed his sleeve. "Please, go to her," she urged him through tears. "She needs you."

And turning away Raziya raced down the solitary stairs and out of the hospital doors. Her mind didn't know it but her steps dragged her to Zainab's side.

     "If you want, I can ask her to stay away," Asad held Zoya. She'd calmed down in the circle of his arms.  

     He knew she was feeling fragile. "You have every reason to resent her. Anyone would understand that--even her."

     "I don't resent her," Zoya murmured. "I just wish things had been different."

     Asad raised her hand to kiss the bruises. "I know." 

     "I mean, so many times I see glimpses of my Ammi in your Ammi," Zoya continued softly. "And don't laugh OK ... ? Sometimes I see Ammi in Aunty too. All those godh bharai things, Ammi would have done it just like Aunty. I know she visits Ammi's gravesite almost daily and tends to the flowers and offers chadars. The caretaker there was telling me that she spends hours chatting to herself by Ammi's side."

     Asad brushed his lips against her temple after pushing her hair back. "You are incredible, you know?"

     "I don't know ... At some crazy moment I wonder if Ammi's spirit ..." Zoya sighed. Her hand stroked her tummy. "I just want our baby to be healthy ... and happy, surrounded by---"

The nurse knocked and they disengaged.

     "Insha'allah," he whispered. "And I don't know if your Ammi's spirit is anywhere else or not, but I do know that you are your Ammi's spirit." He rested his palm on her stomach. "And mine. I can't tell you how proud I am of you, how much I love you."

     "Sir, if you could please step outside, we have to check for dilation." 

 

The baby seemed reluctant to come today. They'd been waiting for hours and Zoya was tired from watching TV and tapping through her iPad. 

But she had to flash her eyes at Asad when he dared to ask the doctor if the epidural had somehow made the baby sluggish or prevented his wife from pushing the baby. 

Oh really, Jahanpanah? 

Don't you dare, her eyes warned. 

Allah miyan, he had already made too much of a scene on vetoing any talk of a C-section. Asad had rattled off all the literature and stats he'd read up on it and his wife had shaken her head and hidden her face. Jeez, Dr. Jahanpanah was on the scene and ruling court. If she tried hard enough, she'd possibly hear him proclaim, "Order! Order!" before he passed judgment.

She glared at him. You're scaring the baby, Zoya's slitted eyes added.

But Asad was on a roll. 

He'd already asked a thousand questions about the early delivery--would the baby be OK? Would the lungs have formed properly? What if it meant that something was wrong?

     Earlier, in private, he'd even expressed his worry to Zoya, "maybe we shouldn't have made love last night."

     She'd rolled her eyes. "Please Mr. Khan, just settle down, OK? You've read up on this more than me. But trust me, babies come early sometimes. In fact Ammi said that you came a week early too. The baby's just following in your footsteps."

She smacked her head as she realized something.

     "Oh my god, it IS following in your footsteps! Mr. Khan do you know what that means?"

     "What?"

     "It means that very soon we'll have a mini-you stomping around the house." 

     Asad paused and looked at her in irritation. "I do not stomp!"

     She tilted her head and looked at him archly. "Oh really? Soon we'll be joined by a mini-Akdu in diapers! No wait, a chhotu Jahanpanah!" 

     Asad snarled. "No Chhotu! Never chhotu!" 

Zoya laughed at his tantrum. How quickly that nerve on his forehead arced and danced! Soon he would be stomping.

     "Yes, a chhotu Jahanpanah," she crowed.

     "Zo---!" 

     "I can't wait!" Zoya squealed as she clapped her hands.

Maybe that's just what the baby needed to hear. 

Asad was once again unceremoniously thrown out of the room as the nurses rushed about with the supplies. Outside, Humaira was dispensing hand sanitizer by the gallon.

     "No one's going near Aapi or the baby loaded with filthy germs," she declared in her best General Jeeju imitation. 

     "Haan haan why not, I don't know how you kids survived because hamare zamaane mein toh hand sanitizer nahin tha!" Dadi teased her grand-bahu. 

Rashid laughed in giddy delirium.

 

Zoya would not remember much of what happened next but she would never forget the baby's first hearty cry. Oh yes, the lungs had formed all right, Mr. Khan.

When Asad was ushered back into the room the baby had been cleaned up and swaddled in its receiving blanket and cap; it dozed in Zoya's arms who was crying softly. Asad leaped over to whisper the adhan in his son's right ear before kissing Zoya's tears away. 

     "He's beautiful," an awed Asad said tracing the baby's features with his finger.

He drew an enchanted circle around his son's face and gently traced the fluttering eyelids, the button nose and petal lips.

Asad's own eyes were damp. He rested his forehead against Zoya's temple and let out a soft gasp as the baby's tiny fist clenched its daddy's thumb. The white edges of its paper-thin miniature fingernails gleamed--slivers of the moon at each tip.

     "Manicure kara ke aaya hai," Nuzzhat would say later when she would first lay eyes on her nephew"after both its Dadis and Par-Dadi had counted all the perfect little fingers and toes. 

     No doubt that pronouncement would make Ayaan mad. "He's not some prissy-ass metrosexual! He's a Khan, a sher, OK! Aur issi baat par ek sher ho---"

     "Nooo!" Everyone would yell and wake up the napping baby. He would roar to silence his fans. 

     Asad and Zoya looked down at the closed eyes and rooting mouth. She too traced his cheek and lips with her knuckle, "welcome home, Zaid. You is gorgeous," she whispered lifting him to brush his nose with hers. 

The door was flung open and she looked up.

     "Aapi!"

     "I came straight from the airport. Allah miyan, my baby!" sobbed Zeenat. 

A startled Zaid roared to give his mom and Nani some healthy wailing competition.

Keep it down guys, he seemed to say. It's been a rough ride. 

Or at least that's what Zoya imagined him saying as she rocked him.

And each time her son dozed she would watch his rising and falling chest just like she watched his father's and sing softly: in the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight.

Wimoweh ... wimoweh ... wimoweh ... 

Or as they used to sing the song from "The Lion King" when she was a kid: a whim away, a whim away, a whim away, a whim away ...

Whoa. 

She was a brand new spanking mama and no longer a kid. 

It scared the crap out of her. 

But only until she looked up into Asad's face as he held Zaid. Thank you Allah miyan, she would never tire of this sight. 

He looked at her just then; their eyes met and held.

     "Congrats Jahanpanah, you're Abbu Ahmed Khan now," she whispered.

She cried too as his eyes filled. 

No, she would never be alone. Asad would be right there next to her. 

 

 

  


Song in Title:

Bachna Ae Haseeno (2008): "Khuda Jaane"


	114. Thehre Huye, Lamhe Mere, Nayi-Nayi Gehraiyaan Le Rahe

 

 

 

 

     "Happy birthday, Mr. Khan," Zoya said as she handed a freshly-fed and diapered Zaid to Asad the next morning.

Asad beamed, too overwrought to respond.

A perfect birthday gift indeed!

When the doctor had given them the tentative due date seven months ago, they'd each marveled at how close it was to Asad's birthday.

     "Aw, Abbu and baby will have their saalgirahs in the same month? Not fair, Mr. Khan!" 

Her eyes had glistened when Zoya pretended to be upset about this conspiracy against her. But when Zaid came barreling through ten days before that date, it was quite clear: mom and son were in a mad rush to give daddy the best birthday present ever. 

But Zaid wasn't content to share his birthday. Nor was coming a day later much of an option. 

His prenatal personality was already a family conversation piece: he kicked exactly on the dot, exactly three hours apart--not a second before and not a second later--so punctual was he that you could keep time by his _in utero_ movements. Zoya just sighed in resignation when a smug Dilshad would grin broadly and say: "dekhna iske pait main bhi ghadi hogi!" 

     "Chhota punching bag dena padega iss ko first gift mein!" Najma had joked when Zoya lifted her shirt to show them the clear imprint of a fist on her tummy.

The boy's post-natal personality was bound to be just as exceptional.  

Like his mom he was a problem-solver; the kid did have Zoya in him after all--by the spadefuls! But the Asad in him was no shrinking wallflower either: Zaid kept time and made his entry in this world on the dot too: the time recorded on his birth certificate was 8:10 pm. 

No, Zaid would be his own star, and not have his thunder stolen from him even if his dad was the bestest Abbu in the whole world. He'd make an entrance one day before to not just greet his dad and be the ultimate birthday gift, but also to clinch his birthright: his birthday would always precede dad's by a day.

And that's why Dilshad had cried the most at Zaid's audacious pre-poning of his grand entry--and it wasn't just because she was a brand new Dadi now. Sure, these were happy tears; but she cried more because after almost two decades her son got the birthday celebration he'd long deferred and fully deserved.

Only she and Najma knew that Asad had never celebrated a single birthday after Rashid left them nearly twenty years ago.

Asad treated that day as any other day--coldly intent upon erasing its history. It was as if each birthday not marked was some kind of quiet revenge against a father who had turned his back on them. In his own retaliatory way, an eight-year old boy had decided that he would turn his back on the date he'd entered this world.

That had been the birth of the emotionally-challenged Akdu Ahmed Khan. 

 

Only last year for the first time in so many years he'd grudgingly allowed Zoya to hold a small party--but just for family.

It had taken her forever to convince him. Never demonstrative, Asad shied away from being the center of attention. She just knew he found birthday rituals of cakes, candles and songs embarrassing--her Akdu could be more sharmeela than a nayee naveli dulhan on her suhaag raat.

Well, speaking of suhaag raats ... OK, so they'd taken a luscious detour. 

No big deal. 

     But later Zoya had framed his face in her hands, kissed him hard and scolded: "the party's not for you, it's for me, for us. I want to celebrate this day--every year with YOU. You'll do this for me--and that's final, Mr. Khan!" 

     Asad had given in to this bullying, "fine. Just for you, Mrs. Khan." 

It did feel good to be pampered and spoilt rotten for a change. 

     But he'd grown somber when she'd reminded him: "It's not just for me. For Ammi too. Do you realize how much you hurt her by not letting her do something special for you on each birthday?" 

No, he'd never realized that. He hadn't thought about how his anger on behalf of his mother had hurt his mother the most. When he'd forbidden Ammi to make any special dishes on that day he thought he was saving them money. Why spend extra on meat and milk and sugar and expensive spices for a special feast? He didn't know that his mother would save up for days before to sneak in at least one special dish for him. 

     Dilshad pinched his cheek as he held Zaid now, "happy birthday, beta. Khush raho." Up on her toes, she blew the air in blessing around her son and grandson.

     Asad ducked his head in apology for all those angry years and lost feasts, "shukriya, Ammi. I'm craving your phirni today. Will you make some--just for me?" 

     Her eyes misted as she laughed up at him. "Abhi bana kar hi aayi hoon! It's cooling in the fridge."

Snug in his warming blanket and cap, and unaware of discordant family pasts or missed feasts, Zaid snuffled and sighed happily in his Abbu's grateful arms. He'd just been fed and burped and now it was time to settle in for a cozy nap as his daddy hummed to him. 

Being the ultimate birthday present to the best Abbu in the world was hard work; he needed to catch up on his rest. And hadn't he heard his Badi Dadi say that babies needed all the sleep they could get: they did their best growing up then? 

And he was so going to be a big boy!

But yesterday, however unfocused, it had been an unblinking stare. 

 

When first setting eyes on his dad, Zaid had gazed long at him: so this was the face of the voice he'd heard so often. It was the voice he'd heard clearest, closest; his mom's voice came from a distance--a bright, pealing and gurgling sound. But this voice was deeper. And steadier. It told him stories and sang songs, it shared special secrets and promised him the whole wide world.  

He hadn't needed to look too much at his mom.

The touch, the smell and the cooing sounds were enough to tell him everything he needed to know. 

The other voices were familiar too. He'd heard them before.

Each pair of hands that had cradled him at his birth was accompanied by a pair of glistening and dripping eyes. It would be much later that Zaid would figure out that not all eyes are naturally wet all the time.

And also that if those eyes weren't dripping then it was clear: he wasn't related to them.

 

Eyes had dripped across the oceans and continents on Skype and Facetime too. Zaid was oohed and aahed over by admirers across the US. His green card carrying Phuphi had sobbed.

     "Phuphi loves you sooo much!" 

     "Phupha too!" Omar added. "And just between you and me, I'll let you call me Oompa Phupha--after I've shown you 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.' It's tradition." He was already planning what he'd do with his nephew when Zaid visited America. "I'll take you to Disneyland and Legoland. And we'll formally make a Jedi out of you!"

Omar looked at Zoya and said in his best Yoda imitation: "the force is strong with this one." 

     "Thanks Omi-Wan," she replied. 

The Indians scoffed at this Star Wars nerd chat. Only Ayaan knew what they were talking about and smirked broadly in approval.  

But thanks to its American ambassadors, the Star Wars lore was slowly becoming more familiar in one corner of Bhopal. When they'd brought the baby home he wore the same pale yellow onesie his Phupha had sent a long time ago--with the same words written across the front: The Force is Strong with This One.

     Omar had already commented on the picture Zoya sent him with a caption under it saying: "thanx Omar Phupha! May the force be with you." 

     "I wish I there to hold you, you are so sweet!" Najma gushed. "Ammi, he looks just like Bhaijaan's pictures from when he was a baby, hai na?" She pressed her fingers to her lips a thousand times and then to the screen when her nephew was held up for her. 

Zoya had expected Asad's relatives to say that the baby had taken after his father. But she pouted when Anwar and Omar said the same thing too. 

     "Yep, chhota Mr. Khan," Omar had teased holding up a thumb and forefinger close together.

And Asad had blushed crimson--that quip about chhota Mr. Khan had brought dangerously erotic memories to mind.  

     "Great, I do all the hard work and Mr. Khan gets all the credit," Zoya muttered, unaware of the heat that flamed on her husband's cheeks. 

Thank god, Asad breathed easier. He had to say this for Zoya: she almost always got him into trouble by frying his circuits but she always helped him out of it too! 

     So he'd come to her rescue as well: "But I read that babies' faces change. And Zaid's eyes are just like Zoya's," Asad hurried to correct everyone else. 

Aw, her Akdu was trying to make her feel better. 

Zoya gazed fondly at him.  

If they were by themselves she'd have planted a big juicy smooch on his smacker.

Asad blushed upon reading her mind.

They couldn't look away.     

     "Ahem," Humaira cleared her throat noisily and Zoya and Asad's gazes unlocked. Reluctantly.

     "Haan haan, kyun nahin, Zaidu has Mona Darling written all over him!" Ayaan teased his Bhaijaan. Teasing Zoya was an added bonus: one teer and two nishanas was always MA.

As expected he was slapped upside the head by both his wife and sister-in-law.

Omar held two thumbs up in approval. 

     "Raabert! Please do NOT call him Zaidoo!" Zoya threatened. "Jeez, you may as well just call him Jadu like that alien in the Hritik Roshan film." 

     "Hey Jadu was pretty cute!" Nuzzhat piped in. 

     "Please, he was pretty blue," Zoya countered.

     "How about Zee?" Omar suggested. "And he can sign off like Zorro!" He made swishing signs and sounds.  

     "Except here Zee will be pronounced as Zed," Asad reminded the Americans. They made a face--alphabetic patriotism kicking in on auto-pilot.

     "And in Mumbai it'll be Jhee or Jhed!" Ayaan crowed and leaped far away to pre-empt being slapped upside the head again. 

     "But why would you even shorten Zaid to Zed—wouldn't that be redundant?" Nikhat asked serenely. "And in Mumbai, even Zaid will be Jhed!"

Everyone roared with laughter; the Americans didn't get this joke at all and frowned at being excluded from the desi humor. What the heck was this Jhed business about?

      "Guys," Omar couldn't stop himself. "What's this Jhed stuff you're yakking on about?"

The Indians laughed again.  

     "Omar Jeeju," Humaira told him. "We sent you an Indian translator and culture interpreter. Free mein! Ask her." 

     "Stop all this all of you," Dilshad scolded. She didn't like them making fun of her grandson's name. It was the best name for the best baby in the whole world. 

     "Besides," Zeenat added. "When he goes to school, Zaid's friends may call him ZAK."

     "Zack? Why Zack, Aapi?" Zoya asked.

     "Simple! Because it's the acronym for his initials--Zaid Ahmed Khan--Z-A-K!" 

     "Cool! I wish I had cool initials like that," Ayaan muttered. He looked at Asad and ran a hand through his messy hair. "An acronym for our initials sounds like someone saw a spider and made a terrified sound--AAK!"

     "At least it's better than our initials," groaned Nuzzhat. She looked at a nodding Nikhat. "Our initials sound like someone trying to stop a sneeze!"

     "And not succeeding," her sister added softly.

     Ayaan and Nuzzhat rounded on their parents and cried in dismay, "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you people? Why would you give us such uncool acronyms!"

 

 

Meanwhile the unaware subject of this discussion and debate was passed from grandparent to delighted grandparent before making it back to his proud papa; the gifts that his grandparents and uncles and aunts carried were piled high on his Najma Phuphi's bed. A million duas were whispered over his little head. Taawizes thick with Quranic verses were pressed to fervent eyes and slipped under his sheet.

The crib had turned out beautifully--after all it had a rich legacy to support as the first way station for many a Khan-Siddiqui baby to come. It would soon be marked by tiny scratches and nicked by baby teeth; but for now its rich dark wood stain glowed from having been planed and polished to perfection by Zaid's Dadu and Nanu.

Dobby had already been trained to keep away--with the squirt bottle that now showed some bite marks from when he had tried to murder his nemesis.

Introducing the baby to Dobby had been a brief moment of tension. No one knew how he'd react to a brand new person who would be hogging all of Zoya and Asad's attention from this point on. 

Zoya handed Zaid to Asad and picked up the cat to prevent a jealous episode. She stroked his fur and kissed his nose. Then she held him close to the baby and everyone held their collective breaths.

This would be the test to decide Dobby's fate--whether he'd stay at the Khan or the Siddiqui house.

Would he be a good boy and share his parents' love with a mini human?

Dobby's eyes widened when he saw the baby; his head tilted to the side and the tail twitched in confusion.

He sniffed.

And then he sniffed some more.

He sniffed the baby from head to toe.

Then he got bored with this bundled up hairless thing.

Hmmph.

Not another kitty? Good. The smell was familiar. Better.

Just stay off my bed, OK? _Mi casa, es NO su casa! Capiche_ *?

Dobby meowed and wrapped himself around Zoya begging for a belly rub.

They all exhaled.

For now the peacefully co-exsting Dobby would be staying. 

 

Once they came home Zoya finally understood what Raziya had meant about her body becoming a machine.

No kidding.

She had no memory left, nor any sense of personhood. She was spoonfed highly-fattening and warming foods to enable muscle repair and milk production, brutally massaged and encased in strips of tightly-wrapped cloth around her waist to bring her body back to shape; Aapi oiled and lightly combed her hair brooking no dissent; and Dilshad forced reinforced liquids down her throat every hour or so.

Zoya would soon grow to hate zafraan and ghee.

And, ya Allah, those saunth laddoos! Foods with unheard-of ingredients she couldn't spell or pronounce were her daily regimen.

     "Fayeda hoga, beta," she was told to shush her fussing. Centuries of tried and tested cultural customs were crammed down her unwilling throat. All of her gripes and attempts at independence went unheeded; for once Zoya Farooqui kuchh bhi nahin kar payee. 

She was wrapped up and smothered in a bossy maternal cocoon of old world wisdom. The moms knew best, she didn't as yet, but would slowly grow into it--it was as simple as that. 

The baby was brought to her only when he needed feeding. During the day she had no idea who changed, bathed or massaged him. A friend in the US, also a new mother, would tell her how lucky she was. All she had to do was rest to recover from the exhaustion of childbirth.

Not so in America.

     "So zip it, and enjoy it all you can," her friend advised. "And Zo, don't tell me how good you have it there. I hate you; I'm so jealous!" 

How good she had it? Really? Allah miyan what's wrong with everyone!

     "No head baths."

     "No vigorous brushing of the hair."

     "No brushing of the teeth."

     "No chilled water or drinks." 

     "Nothing spicy or gassy." 

     "No ice." 

     "No this."  

     "No that." 

     "Eat lots of lauki, tori and yes, add ghee, ghee, ghee." 

She had just three things to say about this: Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.

These prehistoric post-pregnancy rules must have been made to ruin a girl's life. 

     "No AC ..."

It was a warm and nourishing ... prison sentence.

     "Kaley pani ki sazaa," Ayaan had joked when he'd heard her griping about it to Humaira. 

If the mom brigade had their way Zoya would be a rank hot mess who was being fattened for only one purpose: feeding an eight-pounder shehzaada. 

     "No AC!" Zoya had yelped in dismay. "Aapi, are you shitting me! It's a freaking 150 degrees in here!" A true American girl at heart, she still understood hot and cold only in Fahrenheit.

     "Shhh, stop with the bad language! It's not good for the baby to hear." 

     "Aapi, it won't be good for the baby to have a stinky and cranky mom either."

     "Ya Allah, yeh ladki!" 

     "Aapi, that's just nasty," Zoya groused another time when confronted for breaking the rules on brushing her teeth. 

Since the beginning Zeenat had snorted knowing full well that Zoya would protest and dig her heels in.

Deep.

     She'd tried to explain the logic behind the desi confinement practices: "Zoyajaani, your entire body has gone through a severe trauma--the blood loss, the muscle shift and tearing ... your organs were pushed around to make room for the growing baby ... remember how Badi bi was talking about inter-dental spacing""

 

     "Aapi, please!" OK fine, she understood some of the wisdom behind it all--heat retention for quicker recovery--but she wouldn't be caught dead with unbrushed teeth. Or hair.

Gross.

And organs being pushed around! What was her body--a room where all the furniture had been pushed up against the walls?

Jeez.

Incredibly foolish.  

     Zoya would roll her eyes when Raziya and Zeenat clucked and gloated: "and that's why girls spend the first post-partum month at their parents' house! You kids laugh at these old customs but there's some deep-rooted cultural wisdom to them."  

Please, she'd retort in her head. Thank god I have Asad to hold me at night and make me feel human and feminine or I'd have gone batshit crazy with the 24/7 estrogen atyachar. 

Thank god Asad had put his foot down and refused to let her be anywhere else but by his side. 

Because the nights were her favorite time--free of the Dadi-Nani bossing and bullying. It was their special time together as a tiny family unit.

Asad and Zoya chatted softly over the sleeping baby scared to interrupt his spiritual trance. In synchrony they rushed to hold him when he whimpered or cried. They stroked his soft skin, felt his heartbeat race and traced his facial features with enchanted fingers. 

     "This is Zaid's face," Zoya would croon as she circled this slice of heavenly grace. 

     "These are Zaid's eyes," Asad would feather his fingers over the baby's eyelids. 

     "This is Zaid's cute little nose," she'd draw around it. "And Mr. Khan look, did you ever see such perfect dimples?" 

     "And these are Zaid's lips," they'd say together as one would trace his upper lip and the other his lower.

The baby's lips would pucker in his sleep.

And they inhaled his baby scent.

They marveled at his long lashes, high cheekbones, and fluttering lids and lips. What glory did he see behind those closed lids? What cosmic whispers did he bear secret witness to?

They just couldn't get enough of those tiny fingers and toes. They rained a million kisses on the curled fists and perfect little feet. 

Zaid would sleep on, at peace with the daily worship. But just when his parents would become too comfortable with the idea of him as a farishta he would wail to remind them that he was still an infant who needed feeding. And burping.

And changing.

Practicing on dolls at the godh bharai ceremony had done nothing to prepare Asad for the real thing. A squirming baby is not as cooperative as a doll. And then this real-life kicking and screaming baby came with some additional parts.

A gigglng Zoya had supervised the first change in its full pomp and ceremony. The supplies had been lined up correctly but were now tipped over in the chaotic aftermath.

She'd repeated the instructions that they both knew in theory.

But the new parents they forgot one important detail. 

     "Damn!" Asad yelped the first time. In the hurly-burly of changing Zaid he'd forgotten to cover him with the diaper and was squirted immediately for his short-term amnesia.

Zoya laughed even though it hurt to do so.

Aw, poor Jahanpanah. 

     "Remember, they told us to cover his little pecker. I guess girls don't have this problem."

     "Pecker?" Asad snorted as he powdered. "Is that what we're going to be calling it?" 

     "Pecker, pee-pee, peeper, thingie, whatever ... What name did you have in mind, Mr. Khan?" 

     "Umm ..." 

     "Chhota Mr. Khan?" 

     "Zoya!!!"  

     She laughed holding her sides. "Shh! OK, now remember the next step. Tuck his little stinger down so he doesn't pee out of, or over the diaper."

     "Stinger?! My son is not a bee or a scorpion!"

     She giggled. "Neither is he a WASP**, thank god!" Zoya joked to herself. A non-American, Asad didn't get the political dig. "I know," she soothed her husband who looked at her quizzically. "He's a Leo just like his Abbu, and I love him the more for it. But you're just trying to trick me into saying the word, right?"

     "Right," Asad leaned close to kiss her nose.

     "Gandi baat! Gandi baat! Gandi, gandi, gandi, gandi, gandi baat," Zoya sing-songed and flashed her eyes at him. 

     Asad groaned. "Don't play with fire, Mrs. Khan, or the forced sex fast is going to be that much harder to bear." 

     "How much harder?" she teased as she ground against him.

     "Babe," he grabbed her for a long drugging kiss. "Behave."

 Her fourth night back from the hospital Asad had painted her toenails. 

And that was the other reason why she was grateful that Asad hadn't let her out of his sight to spend the whole month away at the Siddiqui house. Because only Asad seemed to understand why she felt so fragile or emotional, and why an ad or a silly song could make her weep.

     "Shh," he'd held her the first time it happened. 

She and the baby were in the back seat. They were taking Zaid to the pediatrician for his first check-up and some song on the radio had set her crying. Asad had pulled the car over, wrenched the back door open and pulled her into his arms.

Zoya'd been mortified. What if she always felt like this? What if she felt nothing for the baby? And it was as if Asad knew about her silent terrors.  

     "It'll get better," he'd whispered into her hair. 

Thank god, I snuck in a good hairwash and deep conditioning, she thought. 

     Asad was still trying to soothe her. "Your mind and heart are just catching up with everything that your body's been through. I can't even imagine the superhuman strength it must have taken to do what you did." 

     "You mean like squeeze out a watermelon from a hole the size of a lemon?"  

     Asad laughed. His Zoya was returning. "Babe, you're no lemon," he joked as he looked across to a napping Zaid in his carseat. "And that's no watermelon."  

     "No," she sniffled. "That's a miniature human being and I have no clue how to take care of him."  

     "We'll figure it out together. After all we have the Ammi army on our side and tons of internet research to tell us what to do, right?" 

     "Right." 

     He lifted her face to wipe away the tears with his handkerchief. "Look at him. He's well-fed, clean and content--well, at least for the next ten minutes. That's why he's napping so peacefully. You're already doing a great job."  

Zaid seemed to agree for a second. But then he woke up wailing and blindly seeking his mom. Zoya rushed to unbuckle him and clutch him to her.  

     Asad smiled. "He heard us and wasn't content to be just talked about. Or may be he objected to being called a watermelon." His heart raced at seeing her dimple. 

     "Zaid wants to be part of the conversation. Mrs Khan, it seems he takes after you." 

     "Please Mr. Khan, you better not say a word against my baby. He's my chhotu Akdu and I love him to pieces," Zoya announced as she settled the fussing baby in for a feeding.  

     "I told you not to call him chhotu!" Asad cribbed half-heartedly.   

He would never get over it. Just a few days in and both mom and son had got this routine down pat. Some intuitive wellspring drew them toward each other like a splashing wave seeking the still shore or the tide turning to the beckoning moon.  

He would be jealous; but where was the time to look away from this vision of grace? Besotted, Asad watched Zoya drape a dupatta over her shoulder for privacy as his son suckled in the snug and sure embrace.

Asad climbed in the back seat too. How could he resist? He loved to hold Zoya from the back as she fed Zaid. These moments were precious and he'd miss them once he joined work. Asad would watch his son's tiny hand cup his mom's bre*ast possessively. And Zoya wouldn't be able resist lifting Zaid's hand to kiss it.

Those nails were now trimmed.

Asad watched Zoya lovingly trace each mini fingernail. He clamped his own hand over both of theirs and whispered a favorite couplet from Rumi: 

          "If anyone asks you

          How the perfect satisfaction

          Of all our se*xual wanting? will look,

          Lift your face and say,

          Like this."

     "Like this ..." she repeated after him in prayer. Zoya sighed as she leaned back against him.   

     She could already feel the tension ebbing from her. "Asad ... "

     "Hmm?" he mused, still mesmerized by the sight before him. His eyes tracked Zoya shifting Zaid to her other side. As usual, the baby protested the interruption but soon latched on to continue his mid-day snack. His parents watched his face and played with his hand. Their fingers pried open his clenched fist and traced the tiny lines on his palm. 

     "Sing or hum for us." 

Asad exhaled. His breath fanned the hair at her temple. He didn't know if Zoya did this to deliberately include him in this intensely exclusive mother and child ritual.

But he welcomed this exquisite re-threading of affection.  

Zoya loved it best when he hummed; she'd feel the vibrations of wellness gently course and rock through her as Asad wrapped his arms around her and the baby. The first time Asad had hummed softly, Zaid had paused in his feeding; his eyes had popped wide open in some psychic recognition. His fist had curled around his father's thumb and the circuit was completed.

  

     "But how do they know?" Zoya wanted to know the day after they brought the baby home.

 

     "They just do."

 

     "They must have lookouts at the hospital!" she guessed.   

The Hijras had turned up the next day to offer their blessings and demand money at the birth of a son. Zoya had heard about this Indian tradition once but never given it any thought.

But this live action was fascinating. 

Asad had forbidden her to come out before them but Zoya was dying of curiosity. There was a whole group of them!

She could hear loud singing peppered with robust arguing. 

Zoya edged closer to the door to catch a glimpse of this India. They wore brightly colored sarees, brassy jewelry, bindis and bangles ... sequins and gajras ...  

They were muscular but preferred to be addressed as women. They'd named themselves after popular Bollywood heroines--there was a Rekha and a Madhubala, a Madhuri and a Shilpa ... 

This was a brand new version of girl power and it was uniquely Indian. Zoya loved it! 

She whipped out her phone to shoot the perfect video for her social network sites. Zoya would have loved to interview the girls (as she now thought of them) but she knew Asad would pop a gasket and turn into angry Jahanpanah in a second.  

But Zoya was Zoya. She would find a way to find out more about this community. 

She watched Asad and Dilshad negotiate with them. Asad caught her eye and frowned, upset that she'd come out of the room.

Go back, he signaled her with a signature head-shake.

Please, she pleaded deploying her puppy face. 

Please, that doesn't always work on me, his massive eyeroll signaled.   

Oh really, Mr. Khan!  

Zoya heard Ammi finalize the money to Rs. 5,600 talking them down from 10,000.  

Zoya joined her hands together and stuck out her lower lip begging Asad to give them a little more. Zeenat watched too and sniggered. Her son-in-law didn't stand a chance. Pretty soon he'd be soft, gooey putty that could be rolled and kneaded into any shape. 

Zoya really hoped that her silent skit worked--it always did on Aapi and Jeeju. She had intuitively figured out that this was the hijras' main source of livelihood. Why not give them a little extra? 

She proceeded to widen her eyes--the picture of innocence. 

Asad exhaled and shook his head.   

You'll spoil them, he wanted to tell her.  

Please! Her lashes fluttered.  

Aannnh. 

His head fell back in defeat. Asad tapped Dilshad on the shoulder and told her to go inside. He'd deal with them.

     "How much did you give them?" Zoya asked him when he was done. 

     "8,000."  

     "Aw, nice! See, I always knew you were a softie. There's a thin line between the angry young Jahanpanah and my heart-of-gold super hero!"  

     Asad looked down at Zaid who was fast asleep in his crib. He leaned to stroke his son's cheek with a knuckle. "It was worth every penny. They gave him extra blessings and duas." 

     "And their blessings pack an extra punch, right?" 

     Asad laughed. "Yes, they do. Or at least that's what we commonly believe in India. I see you've been busy researching."  

     "It's their main source of income, Asad. It must be so hard to go begging and fighting door to door for a few bucks, to be the universal laughing-stock and so stigmatized!" 

Asad sighed. He sensed a Zoya-Farooqui-kuchh-bhi-kar-sakti-hai moment coming.     

     "Yeah. You could say it's the only form of social acceptance they have." 

     "But isn't that an excuse to not integrate them into mainstream society?" 

Asad shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. 

     "So, I guess Jhansi Ki Rani Foundation will be doing something about this pretty soon?"  

     "You bet your sweet ass, Mr. Khan!"  

He grunted in dissatisfaction. My sweet ass has only one thing on its mind and sadly I'm not getting it, he pouted at the forced celibacy. 

     Zoya tsked in sympathy, "poor baby." And she didn't mean her son.

   

If the rest of the family was anxious about Dobby's reception of the baby, Raziya had been walking on hot coals petrified about her reception by the baby.

If Dobby underwent his qualifying exam and litmus test, she dreaded failing hers. Would the baby start crying if she held him? Should she even hold him? Did she have the right?

Each doubt was a sledgehammer to her brain.

Each worry a septic splinter under her skin.

She'd hung back in the hospital room. And in the glee of the moment no one noticed.

Except for Zoya.

Her antenna had picked up and registered a similar anxious tremor. She didn't know if her maternal instincts would freak out and not let Zaid be anywhere near Raziya--the woman who'd slain his Nani.

She didn't want to be that woman who nursed doubt and superstition which became toxic with each passing moment.

But she wondered about herself.

Would the baby change her feelings? Would she be suspicious of Aunty whenever she was around? Would her attachment to the baby rock the fragile peace that had been painstakingly knitted and woven over the past year?

Tanveer's hateful face flashed before Zoya's eyes. The woman was going to kill them as Asad had held a pregnant Zoya in the gudiya factory. And Aunty had thrown herself in front to take a bullet meant for the three of them. And then when Tanveer had lunged that final lunge to stab her, Raziya had again launched herself on the madwoman and killed her ...

No, the baby would change nothing ... he'd cement everything.

The baby was here because of this woman ... even if her Ammi wasn't.

     "Aunty?" she'd called out to her when she'd seen Raziya hesitate in the doorway and cover her face with the dupatta. 

Everyone went dead still then.

Zoya had looked at Asad and he'd nodded. Did he remember that scene from the factory too? He stroked the baby's head, then he walked to the door and gently led Raziya to the bedside.

     And Zoya handed Zaid to her. "Aapne isse zindagi di. Don't you want to see his face? Zaid munna, say hi to Chhoti Nani." 

Raziya sobbed as she pressed her lips to the child's forehead.

Yes, she was dying to see this face. She'd died a hundred deaths in anticipation.

This face ...

This face was to be her redemption ... or exile ... In this face she saw Zainab's face ... and Zoya's.

Strangled duas and quls spilled from her lips; she blew the air around him to ward off all evil spirits.

Chhoti Nani? She looked into Zaid's knowing eyes. Your Chhoti Nani will be your shield ... and your sword if need be. She will be the cool shade on the hottest day ... the warm winter sun on the coldest.

She laughed, guilt-free, when Zaid cried for his mom. 

     Handing him back to Zoya, Raziya bent to kiss her head. "Mashallah, kitna pyaara hai! Bilkul chand ka tukra. Nazar na lagey," and she rubbed kajal behind her grandson's ear in typical mom fashion. "He's just like his Ammi--100% MA."   

And she wept as she held Zoya to her heart.

Thank you, Zainab.

 

The baby's seventh day rasms and functions went smoothly--or as smoothly as they were possible under the circumstances--a baby that woke in fits and starts surrounded by doting adults who often became babies themselves was bound to generate some dramatic moments.  

The decision to have Dilshad perform the Tahneek or ghutti ritual had been unanimous. If it was true that the baby imbibed the traits of the person who chewed the date and pasted the pulp on his palate, then who better than his Dadi: the picture of pure strength and grace?  

Zaid seemed to agree. His tongue darted out to taste the sweetness and his Dadi's blessing. 

He was the perfect angel and slept peacefully through his head shaving. The shorn hair would be weighed and a matching amount of silver or money would be donated to the poor.  

But Zoya was deathly anxious about the circumcision. 

Her poor baby, it would hurt so much! He'd been kept hungry for this reason and boy, was she hurting too! Her breasts felt tight and full and Zoya was just a little less cranky than her son.

When she heard Zaid's full-throated wail she burst into helpless tears and ran out blindly to clutch him to her. 

Her eyes blazed.

How dare they! How dare they hurt her baby? Here she'd trimmed her nails and removed her rings and bracelet so that the baby wouldn't be scratched in any way and there they were, mutilating him! And right under his father's nose too!

When Asad handed the crying baby to her she couldn't help but beat his chest with an angry fist. How could you let it happen? Asad wrapped his hand around her wrist to stop her. 

He kissed her fist.

His own eyes were wet. 

     "I'm sorry," he whispered to both mother and son. 

One hand holding the baby who had now quitened as he fed hungrily, Zoya wiped Asad's tears with the other; and he wiped hers.

They pressed their foreheads to each other. 

Asad kissed her wet lashes.  

     "I nearly died when---" he struggled to whisper. 

     "Shh," Zoya soothed, her hand on his lips. "I know, baby. It'll get better soon. Ammi said so."  

They'd taken their anxieties to Dilshad who'd talked them off the ledge by telling them that the wound would heal in a week and the baby wouldn't remember a thing. 

     "I'm sorry I hit you," Zoya added as she kissed the fresh tears away. 

He laughed softly so he wouldn't disturb the baby and re-kissed her knuckles. 

     "Only you, Mrs. Khan, are allowed to hit me. Any one else, and they'd better watch out." 

Zoya giggled as she shifted the baby to the other side.

     "Exactly! Nobody better mess with my Akdu. Not if they want to get cold-cocked, they don't." 

     His lips quirked in mischief; Asad stroked her cheek with a finger. "Babe, I thought we weren't going to use those kind of gandi-baat words." 

     "M I S T E R KHAN!" 

 

 

* _Mi casa es su casa_ : Spanish for "My house is your house."

_Capiche_ : Italian for "Do you understand?"

** WASP stands for White Anglo-Saxon Protestant and is a term used to refer to the ruling class in the US to indicate the concentration of wealth and power in the hands of a few white Americans.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Agneepath (2012): "O Saiyaan"


	115. Main Pyaasi Hoon Mujhe Bhar Le Apni Baahon Mein

 

 

 

By the end of the second week the cracks were beginning to show. Asad was being a total bear and he knew it too--a moody bear that hadn't gotten lucky for a good fortnight or more.

The frequency of the cold showers had gone up. 

How many tantalizing glimpses of bare breasts and flashes of lush nipples could a man withstand before cracking? In fact these days he often left the room softly swearing under his breath when Zoya was feeding Zaid.

He'd taken to running in the mornings and going savagely at his punching bag in the evenings. 

Zoya wouldn't even tease him any more so miserable did Asad look. He exhaled so often that it was almost embarrassing in public. When she held his hand in sympathy he dragged her to him for a quick nuzzle and then pushed her away roughly. 

That permanent scowl, his trademark from the good old Akdu days, was in danger of making a full-blown comeback. But she didn't have the heart to scold or glare at him. She felt the pangs of forced virginity too. This must be what makes husbands jealous of infants, she thought. 

He loved Zaid, there was no doubt about it. But did the kid have to be so clingy?

     "Mr. Khan, he's only 17 days old," Zoya reminded him one day, very patiently. 

     "I know," Asad covered his face in shame. "I'm such a jerk." 

     "Aww baby, don't feel so terrible. It's OK to feel neglected," she rushed to comfort him knowing that he felt guilty about his crankiness. "I can ... you know ... help you take care of business," she said softly on the 27th day after he'd emerged cursing under his breath from a particularly long cold shower. 

     Asad groaned, hand pressed over his eyes. "No, I can hold on ... I think. You've been through so much and I've done nothing but sit on my hands basically! I feel terrible just wanting you so bad and for even thinking of sex when your body has barely recovered." He held her by her shoulders, "and get this, I want us both to be able to enjoy our reunion sex and not just do it because of my needs or urges. But very soon I may just have to take you up on that offer!" 

     She laughed. "Any time Jahanpanah! I miss you too, you know?" Zoya went up on her toes and kissed him. 

     "You do?" He asked in guilty wonder.

Asad was seriously terrified that childbirth would have put Zoya off the magic of sex for a long time; and he wouldn't have blamed her. The power and endurance of the female body floored him. And why would it even want to please the male body in the aftermath of such marathon trauma? He felt ashamed for even thinking of sex and not realizing the heaviness his repressed desire placed on Zoya. And come to think of it, he was just surprised that women didn't undergo PTSD in the wake of birthing. Or maybe that's what post-partum depression was all about. 

     "I do," Zoya sighed. "I miss you so bad!" 

She had her own fears. When would her body return to shape? Would Asad be repelled by her? Why did he leave the room whenever she fed Zaid these days? 

     "Thank god! But babe, in the meantime you've got to let me rejoin work or I'll just spontaneously combust into a pile of horny ashes." 

     "No!" She looked at his face--it was taut with tension. "OK, fine," she pouted, not even momentarily amused by the image of horny ashes. A part of her quailed--was she being too clingy? Did he not want to be with her and the baby? 

     "But start small--half a day, hmm? Baby steps."

     "Half a day of sanity and then a half-day of being a sex-starved saint? I'll try." Asad leaned in to kiss her after fingering the infinity and Yin and Yang charms on the slender chain around her neck. "I love you," he breathed.

Zoya started to cry.

     "Zoya? What happened? Are you OK?" Asad swept her into his arms and carried her to the rocking chair. She clung to him as he held her in his lap.

Dobby wandered by and hopped up to perch by his shoulder. It gave him the perfect view of all three of his favorite people. Yes, he'd come to love the little hairless bundle that mewled and sighed and made interesting sounds and smells. The first time he'd heard the baby cry, Dobby had run to hide under the bed. Subsequenty he went closer to sniff and do a thorough inquiry. He seemed to like what he saw. 

     "What is it? Tell me," Asad asked dropping kisses on her head and tucking her hair behind her ear. 

     "I'm scared." 

     "Of what?"

     "That things will somehow be different between us now ..." 

     "I'm scared of that too." 

     "You are?" Zoya's eyes widened in panic and she sat up straight to look at him.

Oh my god! 

     Asad played with her fingers. "I'm scared that you won't enjoy sex as much any more." 

     "What? Why wouldn't I?" 

     "It's arrogant of me to even think of it when you may not be emotionally or mentally prepared for it. What if you hate me for putting you through all this?"

     "Asad, are you crazy? Both of us wanted this. And I could never hate you! I never hated you even when you were the emotionally-challenged Akdu Jahanpanah to me in the beginning." 

     "You mean we'll be OK?" 

     Fresh tears pooled in her eyes. "We will ... if you aren't revolted by my body." 

     "What? Why would I be revolted?" Asad asked in confusion. 

     "I feel flabby and saggy in places--they're stretch marks. It'll be a while before I get my pre-pregnancy body back. In the meanwhile all I've left is a mom bod."

And you've been avoiding me, pushing me away. Now you want to cut your leave short and go back to work. 

     "What's a mom bod?"

     "A mom body that's forced to wear mom jeans because nothing else fits," she grumbled. 

     "I love your body, mom bod or pre-mom bod," Asad nuzzled her neck. He shifted her so she could straddle him. His hands ran down her sides greedily and feathered under her shirt.

Zoya hissed; her blood heated. Asad's hands grew bolder. They snaked up to undo her bra and cup her. His thumb skittered across a nipple and she moaned. 

     "You're my goddess, my wonder woman, and the mother of my child. That whole package is sexy as hell!"

     "Really?" 

     "Really!" His hands slid down and dug into her butt to drag her against his hardness. "And that mom bod made your breasts even more glorious. Why do you think I have to leave the room these days when you feed Zaid? It's because if I don't, I'll rip him away from you and take you right then!"

     "Asad!" she moaned in shocked desire. 

     "Umm-hmm. It's pretty crazy, right? I sound like a total monster."

     "No, you don't. I was the one freaking out that you no longer found me desirable."

     "Babe, is that even possible? I'm dying to touch you, to taste you, take you. The things I want to do to you!" He ran an impatient hand through his already mussed hair. "I found you desirable that first day I saw you. Even when you bit my head off!"

     Zoya batted her lashes down at him and undid the first button on his shirt, "Mr. Khan, you're lucky I never bit your head off," she drawled. 

     Asad threw his head back and laughed. "Thank god for that!" He looked across at the crib where Zaid was sleeping. "Or, how would Zaid have blessed us with his presence or kept us miserably apart?" 

Zoya parted his collar and nibbled on his collarbone. He buried his face in her cleavage.

     She took his hand in hers and sucked hard on a finger. His head fell back as Asad groaned. "Zoya ... don't baby. I'll die right here." But his other hand crept up her bare skin.

Zoya shuddered. 

     "Good. Then I'll be right here to hold you in my arms. You've taken such exquisite care of me all these days. Let me love you back, Asad."

She slithered down on her knees.

     "Zoya!" 

     "Shh ... "

 

Ha! She'd actually managed to close the snap on one of her looser mom jeans. Thank you Allah miyan! Maybe that cloth-corset thingie the Ammi army strapped her into daily had its benefits after all.

Mom wisdom ki jai ho!

Come to think of it, all that fattening food was going straight to the baby and not her as she'd dreaded.

She looked down at Zaid napping in her arms. He was plumping up nicely, reacting to his surroundings and responding to voices and hugs. She still couldn't get over how tiny he was or how perfect. He'd begun to track her and Asad with bright eyes and made the most wonderful cooing and gurgling sounds. Yes, he cried. But that was just his way of telling them: feed me, change me, I feel gassy, I'm sleepy.

She touched his hand and Zaid's fist clamped around her finger.

Zoya's heart swelled.

His dad did brag about his son's power grip and call Zaid his little tiger. It was a powerful grip indeed.

She'd take a mental picture of this moment for her mental scrapbook. Click.

But she took real ones too to post for Jeeju and Najma--Zaid's biggest overseas fans. 

Zoya hummed softly to him as she walked around the room. She'd read him Dr. Suess later.

     He'd look at them intently, without blinking when they read, "Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You?" Sometimes his lips would pucker up at each sound or his eyes would widen. But pretty soon he'd fall asleep after going through the list of all the mooing, meowing, bow-wowing, chirping and clip-clopping sounds. 

Ayaan Chachu called him his little Squirt or Chhota Sher depending on his mood--and because Zaid had also squirted him the first time Chachu changed him. His Phuphis and Khala called him Golu-molu despite frowns from his dad; when he wet his pants they called him Gilu.

Ah, the names a kid could pick up!

And the grandparents?

Allah miyan!

Just waiting in line everyday to spoil and coddle him! Because like his parents Zaid had superpowers too. Don't believe it? Then why was he wearing this onesie today that read: I can melt my grandma's heart. What's your superpower?

And why wouldn't he have superpowers? Having a Teflon armor from eight grandparents' duas and tikas and having them tell you how perfect you were, could give a kid wings. No Red Bull needed, thank you very much. 

 

Asad and Zoya wanted to take Zaid to the Dargah--so many red strings to untie--but no one would let them.

     "Don't take the baby out, nazar lag jayegi," was the loudest refrain. 

And maybe even this maternal wisdom was not wrong: infections, germs, bacteria, viruses, cooties, buri nazars ... who knew what was lurking out there to sneak up on our Zaid?

But he did need his first immunization shots after the first month.

     And Zoya wanted one other place for him to visit: her mom's resting place. But there were fresh worries and debates. "No, it's not proper to take a baby there ..." "What if ..." "Ask Maulvi Saheb ..."

Many family conferences later with renewed negotiations and signatures on dotted lines, they finally had their permission from the mom council. "Avoid crowds," "don't let anyone hold the baby, or touch him," "stay away from sick people," "cover him up," and other motherly cautions followed them out to the car and echoed in their ears till they drove away. After Zaid had been protected with multiple Dadi-Nani kaala tikas of course.

  

 

Siddiqui Saheb and Raziya were to meet them there for more grandparental protection. 

     "Aw poor Jahanpanah," Zoya teased as Asad held an umbrella for shade over her and the baby. "Reduced to being a chhatriwala mulazim! Our very own khidmatgar, hai na, Zaid?"

     "What if he gets sunburn?" Asad said. He tried to peek at Zaid whose face was covered by his Ammi's net dupatta. "You know the moms will kill us." 

     "Please, babies look delicate but they can be resilient too. And I already put some baby sunscreen on him, so no worries. But thanks! I sure appreciate the shade." She reached out to pinch his cheek. "You're the best Jahanpanah ever and together we can take on any Ammi army!" 

     Asad grinned. "Yeah, we'll just hold up Zaid in front of us like a shield and they'll melt like butter left out in the sun." 

     "Aa gaya mera bachcha," Raziya cooed when they reached them. She proceeded to tuck Zaid into her arms, kiss him and blow the air around him as well as put a kaala tika on him.

Asad looked at Siddiqui Saheb and smiled. Raziya had just met them in the morning--and done these rituals already.

     Zoya laughed as she saw the look pass between her husband and father. "At this rate, saare Bhopal mein duaon ki kami pad jayegi if Zaid keeps hogging all the duas! And there'll be a kajal shortage too." 

     "Never!" Raziya exclaimed. "Hamare Zaid ke liye kabhi duayen ya kajal kam na padein." She looked down at the baby. "Hai na, chhota baby?" And I'll make kajal with my own barehands if ever there's a shortage. 

Zaid gurgled happily--he'd been fed, burped and changed and was now content to look up into yet another pair of adoring eyes.

     "Come Zaid, we want to introduce you to someone very special. Your Nani has been waiting to bless you."

 

Raziya had brought a phool chadar and cloth inscribed with holy verses that they would drape over the memorial. They spread the red and green gold-edged cloth over the stone and had Zaid bump the fabric with his tiny fist. For a heart-stopping second his hand seemed to get entangled in the phool chadar.

Fragrant petal wisps clung to his tiny fingers.

He babbled in his Nanu's arms as everyone kneeled and bowed their heads to offer prayers. Siddiqui's eyes misted and his glasses fogged over as Zaid looked at him directly in the eye. He'd felt that stab of guilt every day since he held Zaid for the first time in the hospital.

He felt judged by those eyes.

I know, I wish I had held your Ammi too like this in my arms when she was this small. I might have even been blessed and lived a spiritual life--and been closer to Allah.

He felt anger at himself and hurt on Zoya's behalf.

But he'd also promised his daughter that he wouldn't wallow in regrets. "We have today, and so many tomorrows to make up yesterday's losses," she had reminded him again and again. 

He removed his glasses. "Insha'allah!" Siddiqui whispered as he held up Zaid and brushed his old eyes against the itty-bitty forehead. 

Before leaving, Zoya held Zaid's hand in hers and together they touched the warm stone. The baby cooed and the birds picked up the cue; they twittered and flew into the setting sun. 

     "Say bye, Nani," Zoya said.

     "Mmm baa aaa," chirped an animated Zaid.

And his besotted mother was convinced that her son had actually said bye. And only her husband would believe and agree with her. 

 

On the 43rd day the gods, no goddesses of female body systems and maintenance, smiled down on her.

Zoya texted Asad.

He should be the first to know after all. 

But all of a sudden she felt shy and just a little insecure. So she just sent him a selfie. He'd get the message. That look said it all, right?

But of course this was the day that Mr. Khan had taken his stupid pills. The gods of male body reflexes were on strike. 

     "What's that face," he texted back. He was distracted, preparing for a meeting with a new client and glaring at Ayaan who was making paper planes.

Zoya nearly died. 

Really, Mr. Khan? I have to spell it out for you now? Does sexual telepathy no longer work on you? Have you become immune to THE Zoya Farooqui and her puppy face?

But her heart skittered in alarm. Are we done being Zoya and Asad? That heart-stopping chemistry is now history? Are we just going to be Ammi and Abbu now? 

     "AM, what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan!" she texted back after only a minute's hesitation.

Because here's the other thing: Zoya was fairly immune to self-doubt and insecurity--ain't nobody's got no time for that!

And she'd married and bedded the one guy on the planet who could make her feel even a smidgeon of uncertainty about herself. A minute is all her nature allowed for self-doubt. Then it just naturally bounced back like a crazy ball.

Her phone rang. Aha, so Mr. Khan was smartening up. Good Jahanpanah, even though he was a Tubelight Ahmed Khan. 

     "Zoya?" he thundered. "What the hell was that?"

No, that second part wasn't meant for Zoya. He was actually yelling at Ayaan who was balancing on one of the chairs and had tipped it so far back that gravity had to step in and do its thing or no one would take it seriously any more. 

Ayaan slammed to the floor, arms and legs in the air--as dignified as a turtle flipped on its back. 

     "Mr. KHAN!" Zoya growled and hung up on him. Here she was, horny as a monkey in heat and there her clueless husband was actually yelling at her.

You're not gettin' any, she screamed in her head. You can take a bajillion cold showers and stay celibate for all I care. You can become a goddamn saintly Peer Baba who dresses in green and blesses random strangers with peacock feathers at dargahs because you'll be so fucking celibate and I still won't care. 

Damn you, Asad. 

The steam coming out of her ears was making her hair frizz on end.

This is what she had primped and preened herself for? She'd been sneaking in little beauty makeovers all week--a mani and pedi, facial and hair, threading and waxing--so that they could have the most perfect post-baby sexy times.

And you pull this punk-ass stunt?

Damn you, Asad.

 

He was smack dab in the middle of the meeting when the bulb went on in Asad's head.

He did the math; he pulled up her picture on his phone. Yep, her message was pretty clear.

He groaned a monster groan. 

Everyone stopped to stare at him.

     "Sorry," he jerked out. "Stomach cramps," he added quickly, belatedly remembering to hold his side.

Stomach cramps? Where did that excuse even come from? Was he a little girl starting her period? God, his brain cells were fried thanks to forced sex fasts.

And given his current slow reflexes, that sex fast just got longer. 

Asad sighed. The real cramps were a little more south of his stomach but no one had to know that. And thank god the lights had been dimmed for Ayaan's presentation or everyone would have seen his face turn red, and then a bilious green.

Because he'd just replayed the phone conversation with Zoya and his exact words.

And tone. 

Oh.

My.

God. 

His wife was going to kill him. Asad almost grabbed his head in his hands.

He glared at Ayaan so hard that Ayaan stuttered mid-sentence. He saw the Mukka Ahmed face and stumbled backwards. In his brother's eyes he saw his limbs being torn from end to end and Ayaan grabbed a glass of water to gulp down his panic.

Oh crap.

And he didn't even know what he'd done wrong. But it must have been some mega shit for THAT look.

Ayaan dreaded the end of the meeting. After that signature Mukka Ahmed Khan glare he'd limped through his presentation with one eye on the closed door.

And he'd come up with a plan.

He'd run out the moment everyone pushed their chairs back and before the handshakes began.

And he had the perfect excuse too. He'd just yell, "family emergency!" and dash out. Once he returned an hour or two later, Bhai would have cooled down. 

     But Ayaan was left cooling his heels when the moment the first chair in the room was pushed back, his Bhaijaan leaped up, yelled "family emergency!" and dashed out the door. 

Hunh?

Wait, what? Oh my god, something terrible must have happened and that's why Bhaijaan was giving him the death stare.

     He ran after Asad. "Bhai! What emergency? What happened? Is everyone OK?" he called after his brother and jammed himself into the closing elevator.

Hands on his hips, lips pulled down in a grim line, Asad glared at him. He took deep breaths to decelerate the impending explosion. He didn't want another catastrophe on his hands. One train wreck was enough.

If Ayaan only knew the control it was taking his big brother to not rip his head off ... 

     "Umm ... woh ..." Asad's impatient hand brushed the back of his neck. "... actually, main ... woh ..."

     "Bhai! Sab theek hai na?" 

     "Ye ... es. Everything's OK," he managed to say through clenched teeth. 

     "Then why'd you run out like that? Did I do something wrong?" 

Asad exhaled. Yes, but--

     "No, you did great in there. I just have to go, OK? I just remembered something important I have to take care of." 

     "Great! But you're sure you're not mad at me?" 

Asad sighed.

     "Yeah, I'm sure." 

     "And Zaid and Mona darling are fine?"

Zaid is.

Mona darling ... not so much.

And if I stand here chitchatting with you I'm dead meat. Dead horny meat.

Very dead.

Very virgin.

Meat.

     "Just check on the client and do some hand-holding and damage control for me," Asad called out over his shoulder once the elevator door opened. "Please!" 

He sprinted to his car and peeled out of the parking lot before Ayaan could blink.

 

But if he thought he could rush home, jump into his wife's bed and get lucky then he had another think coming.

Unh-uh.

Zoya was in the mood for some Jahanpanah mincemeat today. And she would slowcook it too on a medium flame to make perfectly juicy keema out of it before molding it into seekh kababs and roasting them over an open flame.

Of course she wasn't taking his calls. Or answering his texts. Asad slapped his forehead as he wove through traffic and got honked and cussed at. Did a year and half of marriage and marital fights teach him nothing?

  

 

     "Arre Asad, good you came home early," Zeenat welcomed him at the door. "Go and freshen up, we have to go to Siddiqui Saheb's house." 

     He groaned on the inside but pasted a smile on his face. "Sure, Aapi. Woh Zoya ...?" 

     "Oh didn't she tell you? Ya Allah, yeh ladki bhi na! So scatter-brained this girl is. She's already there with Zaid. It was her idea to have the party in the first place. And you know how Siddqui Saheb and Raziya Bi can never say no to her ..." Aapi went away mumbling about spoiling grown kids and giving into each ridiculous whim of theirs. Just wait till she told Anwar ...

Asad hung his head in despair.

OK, so Act One of his punishment was becoming a little clearer to him. There was going to be an audience. 

He knuckle-dragged his way to the bedroom, the closet, and then the bathroom; he was ready to go in 20 minutes but not his mother or mother-in-law.

     "Itni jaldi kya hai?" Dilshad asked. "We'll go at 8." 

Asad shoved his fists in his pockets and rocked on his heels. Three whole hours of slow roasting?

Fine.

He'd make some phone calls.

     "Ammi, I have to pick up something ..."

     "Why waste petrol? That's what Zoya would say, ha na! We can do it on the way. I love how Zoya makes us think about ways to conserve more energy," she told Zeenat.

Zeenat beamed with pride.

He hissed with frustration. Asad's body vibrated with the effort to hold himself back from pacing or roaring. Or banging his head against the nearest wall. The energy radiating from him could power the house right about now. And maybe even the whole street. That would conserve energy, wouldn't it?

Chilled water. Yeah, he should have some of that. Because he knew it in his gut. The torture would only get worse from here.

Asad knocked back two glassfuls.

He wasn't a drinking man. Or he'd have himself some of that stuff too. He'd be needing it.

 

The whole damn family was here decked out in their colorful best. Some of Omar and Feroze's relatives as well.

Great. Just bloody great.

Silks and sequins, gold and diamonds, music, food, chitchat, laughter and all the symptoms of a successful party were on full blinging display to tighten the screws.

Asad's mouth twisted.

Hell, this was going to be hell. 

And then he saw her.

So this was how she planned to kill him.

Asad was close to mimicking the hangdog expression of cartoon characters.

And Tom was this close to jumping Jerry's bones and carrying her away to a corner for a curfew-breaking three-alarm tryst ...

She flicked her hair off her shoulder and his head nearly fell off his.

Zoya wore a black saree and a matching backless blouse with sheer sleeves. It had been a gift from him. That expanse of creamy naked flesh called out to him to brand her ... He wanted to lazily trail his fingertips over that luscious back. Asad knew she loved that. She seemed to have dozens of erogenous zones on her back each more sensitive than the other.  

Maybe he'd thumb the ridges of her spine. The goosebumps would flare up on her skin and her nipples would perk right up begging to be----

Those slender strings begged too ... they begged to be undone slowly to let him plant open-mouthed kisses on that bare back and let his hands slide up to cup her in the front. He'd flick her nipples with his thumb and squeez--- 

His dehydrated tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Zoya turned to adjust her palla and his breath caught at the quick flash of a thin black strap hugging her high on the waist. Was it his imagination or did she just deliberately snap her thong band at him? 

His eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head.

Asad clutched the bouquet of red roses to his front even more tightly.

 

She had her back to him but she knew the exact second when he walked in. Her antenna vibrated and that traitorous nervous system jangled to notify an alert. She felt goosebumps pucker up across her back. 

     And then Humaira piped up too, "ooh, look Aapi, Jeeju's here!" so there was no pretending that she didn't know. So yes, she had just hiked up and snapped the strap for his eyes only. Take that Jahanpanah and drool your beady little eyes out. 

The girls swarmed around Asad and oohed at the biggest bunch of flowers.

     "All the local florists love you, right Jeeju?" Humaira teased as she raised a mocking eyebrow at Ayaan. 

     Ayaan spread his hands in confusion, "what did I do?" 

Humaira harrumphed.

Terribly self-conscious of everyone watching them, Asad walked over to give her the flowers.

Zoya's lashes swept her cheeks.

Despite that brazen hussy act earlier she felt shy and insecure now. When she'd arranged this revenge blitz and dressed to kill she'd been ultra confident of her saucy dominance and stealth campaign. But she didn't take into account his revenge. He had no right to look that damn good. 

She'd dressed very carefully tonight, slashed on several sweeps of mascara to elongate her lashes and glossed her lips into a perfectly arched and pouty bow. For a second she'd debated the thong versus going commando. The thong had seemed like the perfect counterattack.

But now her eyelids felt weighed down by sandbags. 

So fine, he knew she could just eat him up alive in a suit. But to don a dark suit tonight? With a tie? Oh no, no, no, Mr. Khan, that was him just trying to slaughter her. Right here.

Halaal.

She saw Asad extend his arm out to offer her the flowers. 

Zoya transferred a dozing Zaid to Raziya's eager arms and accepted the roses. Asad's fingers brushed against hers; he let a finger linger on her hand. Zoya couldn't resist closing her eyes and burying her face in the flowers to hide her response.

     "Thank you," she whispered. Thankfully, the others melted away to admire the baby.

     Asad bent his head closer to hers, "I'm sorry." 

She kept her nose glued to the roses and lashes lowered to her cheeks. Zoya wanted to sass him back.

     "Why? What for?" she wanted to taunt. But no words came.

She swallowed.

     "I'm going to put these in water," she edged away.

     "Zoya!" he croaked.

She turned on her heel and he bit back another groan. When in god's name had she picked up these peep-toe fuck-me-hard heels? He'd never seen her in those. At least four inches if not five, they added an extra sway to her swinging ass as she walked away from him.

That ass--

He couldn't bite back that low growl. Asad's hands balled.

Genius. 

Ayaan loped over and began talking about stuff that Asad had no interest in listening to or talking about. He had just one thing on his mind. And Ayaan was getting in the way. 

Over his brother's shoulder Asad saw Zoya return from the kitchen and slow-walk towards Raziya. The saree pleats swished from one side to the other with each step. Did she know that he was watching her? Did she register the effect she had on him? Measure the magnitude on his pulse's Richter scale? 

He watched her take Zaid into her arms and settle on the sofa. As she crossed her leg, her saree rode up just a bit to reveal an ankle ... circled by a silvery anklet.

The raised foot rocked hypnotically. The red and black stiletto perched precariously on the arch of those delicious toes and swung left to right.

Left ... and then right ...

Left ... right ...

Aannnh.

He watched her bend over Zaid and play with his hand. She kissed it and held it to her cheek.

Asad couldn't resist this radiant vision of mother and child.

Leaving Ayaan talking about ... about something, Asad hurried over to their charmed side. He sat down next to her and bent his head over Zaid too. His hand played with the baby's as well.

     "I wasn't yelling at you. I was yelling at Ayaan."

Still she said nothing. 

     "Babe." 

Oh god, she was this close to giving in. The flowers had started to melt her and then when he came up to sit next to them and take Zaid's hand in his, she was all but done. She loved to watch his hand dwarf Zaid's. And that "Babe," in the soft growly voice was enough to make her want to drag her husband away and launch herself in his arms. 

     "Zaid," Asad called out to his son who was wide awake now. The baby's eyes tracked his father's face. He smiled a toothless grin--or maybe it was just gas.

     "Tell Ammi I love her and miss her." Zaid raised his hand to flick his dad's cheek. Asad kissed it. "And tell her that Ayaan Chachu was being a goofball that's why I yelled."

His heart lifted to see Zoya's lips curve in a smile.

     "Ask Abbu to tell us what Ayaan Chachu did?" Zoya told Zaid. Her curiosity won out over her anger. 

Asad's breath expelled in relief at his wife's forgiveness and renewed anger at his brother. 

     "He was being an idiot and fell flat on his back in the middle of an important discussion," Asad deadpanned. 

     "Mr. Khan! Don't call Raabert an idiot! And not in front of our son." Zoya gasped as she tried to cover Zaid's ears. 

     "He's my brother and I can call him anything I want." 

     "He's my brother-in-law and no, you can't!" 

     "Oh rea---?" 

     "Jeeju! You have to come dance with us," Humaira interrupted him by grabbing his arm to pull him off the couch. Nuzzhat grabbed the other one and together the girls hauled him up and away. 

Dance? Who the hell invented this form of torture? And just when he was making up with his wife? 

     But then he saw Nikhat who looked lost. "I'm just going to dance with Nikhat and then I'm going to go back to my family," he told Humaira and Nuzzhat sternly. 

     "Aww," the girls sighed in approval not minding his dismissal in the least as Asad accompanied Nikhat in some half-hearted dancing to "London Thumakda."

Everyone was happy to see Nikhat dance and laugh. Zoya watched too, wistful. But she had to giggle when she remembered the dialogue from the film about ending the "virginity ka vrat"! How appropriate. Her thighs clenched at the promise. She felt the satiny texture of the petticoat against her bare legs and shivered. Nice foreshadowing, DJ miyan!

  

They had stolen some moments of togetherness later when swaying to some forgotten music in each other's arms. She had burned in his arms. Raw lava could have been coursing through her.

He had spun her in his arms. Their eyes had danced, their bodies sizzled in anticipation of the coming consummation. 

But little did Zoya know that the ball she had set in motion would knock over unintended pins. And just when they thought they were home free. 

The evening was winding down. Soon they'd be home. Zaid would be out like a light and--

The plan was to put the baby to bed after a quick feed and change. Zaid was already sleeping through the night--he was such a good boy. 

And then they'd have the whole night to themselves.

There was so much catching up to do.

But then someone had a genius idea.  

     "Please, please, please, let us have a sleepover, please! It'll be Zaid's first night here. Please let Aapi stay here." Humaira, Nuzzhat and Nikhat had become pretty good at puppy faces too. At least five grandparent faces lit up too. 

Asad could have pounded his head to a pulp. Especially when he saw Zoya's deer caught in the headlight look. 

     "Umm ... we don't have all the baby supplies. I just packed what I needed for a few hours," Zoya stuttered feeble excuses. She looked at Asad in alarm. If she didn't get them out of this mess soon, Asad would kill her for sure or leave her here forever, undo his tie, and walk off into the sunset. 

     "Oh, we have everything here," Raziya boasted. "I always keep extras for whenever you come with Zaid. I've put everything in your room--it's all in there. And we've even put up a small crib in there for just such moments! Kitna maza aayega! Shireen and I will do everything--we'll massage and bathe him ..." she gushed and planned non-stop. 

     "And I want to change some diapers," Rashid added bravely. 

     "Me too," Siddiqui Saheb didn't want to look remiss. 

     Zoya grasped Raziya's arm as she tried to lead her to her old bedroom. "Aunty," she hissed.

     "Hmm?"

     "I can't. The things I need ... you know," she waggled her eyebrows trying to make her Aunty understand, "they aren't here!" 

     "What things?" Raziya blinked in confusion and then her brow cleared. "Oh, but you can borrow those things from Humaira, or the girls. They won't mind." 

     "No! You know, MY things. My ointments and medical supplies, for you know ..." Zoya gestured wildly and pretended to exaggerate her post-partum non-recovery. 

     Raziya frowned. "Abhi tak? I'll take you to the doctor tomorrow. This is not right. It's been more than six weeks already!"

Ya think? More than six weeks and she hadn't had any sugar ... hadn't felt her husband move inside her. 

Zoya would have used Dobby as an excuse but she'd been very particular to bring him along with her when she planned her revenge on Mr. Khan. And now that revenge was biting her back in the butt.

Karma, Zoya.

She could have slapped herself for being a big, fat idiot. 

Finally it was Asad who had to be the bad guy. He put his foot down and just flat out said no. No, he would not leave Zoya and the baby behind. There would be no sleepovers till Zaid had completed his next round of immunizations. Period.

Everyone pouted.

Raziya sniffed, already making a list of complaints to tell at Zainab's side. She was only pacified when Asad said that they'd both come spend the night with Zaid at the Siddiqui house--but two weeks from now. That's when his second round of shots would be done. 

     "Ek raat se kaam nahin chalega, then. Be ready to spend at least a week here." Raziya demanded. "As it is he didn't let Zoya come for the pre-delivery or let us do the godh bharai here ..." She grumbled as she went to her room to retrieve the gifts she'd got for Zaid and Zoya. A bracelet of black and gold beads went onto Zaid's wrists. And he got a whole set of a silver tumbler, bowl, plate, spoon and rattle too. 

     "Aunty please, you just gave him so much for the seventh day rasms!" Zoya protested.

     "You be quiet. This is between me and Zaid." That had been from Zainab's side. This was from her--his Chhoti Nani. She kissed his baby palms. "We'll have lots of fun when you come after two weeks. Nanu will read you stories. And I'll put ghee and badaam paste on your head." 

     "No!" groaned Zoya as she closed her eyes in despair. Not the ghee and badaam maalish! 

     The first time they'd come here and Raziya had returned Zaid to her, Zoya had nearly toppled backwards. "Ugh," she'd cried out. "What's that smell?"

     "It's good for the baby," Raziya had told her smugly. "Dimaag tez hoga." 

     "But he stinks!" Zoya had complained, hand to her nose.

     "Shh, aise nahin kehte!" Raziya had grabbed Zaid back and lovingly massaged his head with her palm. "Our Zaid will be the smartest and brightest boy in his class. Tum dekhna." 

     "And the stinkiest," Zoya had grumbled.

     "Hush! He's not stinky at all. He smells like an angel." 

     "Sure, if all angels work at a halwai ki dukaan up there."

     "Zoya! Ya Allah, yeh ladki!"

But that trademark stink followed Zaid home each time he came to visit his Nanu and Chhoti Nani. Everyone laughed at her sensitive nose. But she refused to hug the baby till that stench was washed out of his head. Zoya hugged him to her once he'd been slathered in baby oil and lotion. She'd inhale his baby scent deeply then. 

Thanks to the rushed party Raziya hadn't managed to get her hands on Zaid for his ghee-badaam maalish today. Thank you Allah miyan!

 

Back in the car, both Asad and Zoya had breathed massive sighs of relief. Sure, it wasn't that they hadn't been shameless little bunnies at the Siddiqui house--the pool was a silent witness to that. It was just that home was home. And being horny little bunnies in one's own bedroom was much better than being so in a guest room. 

Asad winked at her in the rear-view mirror and she blushed. She was sitting in the back next to Zaid's carseat. The baby was fast asleep.

That sleepover talk had been a close shave indeed. He couldn't wait to get home and seduce his wife out of that saree and blouse ... and thong.

And those heels. 

Or maybe he'd tell her to keep those on. Just those.

Sure, he had loved holding her as they danced, but that hadn't been enough. He recalled her perfumed softness as he molded her against him, her hot breath on his neck ... that soft sigh ... a bitten off moan as he'd pinched her waist--punishing her for that mouth-watering peek of a thong strap. 

Mid-dance his thumb had slid under the tucked-in saree fabric to seek and dig out the strap. He'd pulled it to snap back hard at ther skin and she'd clung to him and whimpered. Their hungry eyes had held in a desperate eyelock. And he'd slowly pulled her tighter to him and ground against her. 

     "Asad!" she'd cried softly. "Please, please, just take me!" 

Aaahhh, he'd growled under his breath. He wanted to. Right there.

But ...

Shit.

Asad just hoped he hadn't made a fool of himself in front of everyone. Because once he'd held her in his arms all tehzeeb and lihaaz had floated right out the window. He may as well have been a randy teen on prom night. And for once, even Zoya hadn't cautioned him with soft cries of "Mr. Khan, everyone's watching!" or "Allah miyan what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan!" No, she'd been a silent and smitten accomplice. God, he hoped they hadn't been completely shameless.

Asad wiped his brow and checked the rear-view mirror again. He'd been extra restrained while driving even though he'd wanted to jump every red light and speed through every check post. 

Thank god, they were almost home. 

But soon an ominous sound intruded on their lust-fueled fantasies and sexual haze. 

Whup ... whup ... whup.

Whap. Whap. WHAP! 

Asad's heart sank.

He knew that sound. The car couldn't carry the weight of all that musky anticipation.

Zoya's restless eyes collided with his in the rear-view mirror. 

They had a flat tire.

 

 

 

 

Song in Title: 

Rehna Hai Tere Dil Mein (2001): "Zara Zara Mehekta Hai"

 


	116. Mere Dil Pe Fateh Lehraane, Meri Rooh Ko Bhigaane, Ye Noor Kahan Se Aaya

 

 

 

     "AARRGH!" Asad did his best pirate imitation as he slammed a fist on the steering wheel. He slowly maneuvered the car to the side and pulled over. 

     "Asad calm down. It's nothing big. Don't be so upset!" Dilshad chided him for such a violent reaction. She'd never seen him lose control like this over a minor setback. They'd all glanced anxiously at Zaid to see if his father's outburst had woken him up.

No, Zaid slept on.

     "Yeah, Mr. Khan, it's no big deal. I can help you fix a flat tire in seconds. I know cars like the back of my hand, trust me." 

Asad took deep breaths. And even more deep breaths when he heard those words: "trust me." 

By that time Zoya had already unbuckled herself and opened the rear passenger door. 

     Asad wheeled on her. "No! Do NOT step out of the car. I'll do it." He unbuckled his seat belt. 

     "But, Mr. Khan---" 

     "Zoya, I said no!" he hollered as he got out. 

Zeenat smothered a giggle. 

Her son-in-law had wised up to Zoya's tendency to jump in and be the fix-it expert. Zoya's enthusiasm for mechanical projects was persuasive if not contagious. She and Anwar would cross their fingers but cheer her on. Then behind her back Anwar would bring in a pro to double check Zoya's handiwork. And surprisingly Zoya's workmanship held up.

Asad shrugged off his suit jacket and clawed the tie at his neck while muttering curses. This was not his day obviously. The universe was conspiring against him getting lucky.

Asad sighed.

Or may be this is what having kids meant. Though how did parents ever get alone-time to even produce a second child? 

His head felt fogged up with the evaporating fantasies of thongs and heels and the encroaching dread of changing a flat. When was the last time he'd done it? Did he even know the steps? Shouldn't be too hard, right? 

Asad shook his head to clear it.

He needed his wits about him. It was late and not too many cars were out on the street--which was good and bad. The flat was on his side of the car--one sideswipe by a drunken driver and it could all be over. 

He rolled up his sleeves and snapped the trunk open. But of course, Zoya wasn't one to stay put. Asad gritted his teeth when he heard the door slam and heard the rapid clicks of her heels. He saw her round the car as he was rooting around for the necessary tools and supplies. 

      "Zoya get back inside," he hissed. This no time for our trip-fall-catch routine. 

     "Mr. Khan, it'll go faster if I help. I know exactly what to do!" 

Of course she would!

     "I don't need your help! Now get back in."

     "But---" 

Asad pulled her by her elbow to the side and tried his best to talk calmly. Why didn't she get it? And why in god's name did the tire have to bail out on them right now! He had a good mind to kick it in a childish tantrum. 

     "Babe, it's past midnight. Do you even know what kind of attention you'll attract standing by a stalled car?"

Flashing that near-naked back? In those ball-burning heels?

He stifled a groan. 

Zoya's eyes had already widened in alarm. She sucked air. No, she hadn't thought of that. Allah miyan, what's wrong with this country? 

     Asad cleared his throat. "Do you really want me to take on Bhopal's finest gundas at this hour? Or do you want to get home in one piece for some hot and heavy action?"

     She bit back a moan. "Then I'm calling Ayaan so he can help you." 

     Asad's head dropped back and he sighed. "Fine. Do what you have to do. But just stay in!" 

If it kept her inside the car and out of sight, then yeah, anything was fine. She could call Dhoni too if it kept her happy--and safe.

     She'd just ended the call with Ayaan when Raziya called. "Why didn't you text? Have you reached home safely? I'm sure you forgot like always!" 

Zoya explained what had happened and Raziya fretted. She calmed down only when told about Ayaan coming to the rescue. She mumbled something about kids these days not listening to grown-ups and acting too smart for their own good. Couldn't they have stayed back at the Siddiqui house then this wouldn't have happened? She hung up abruptly after more grumbling--didn't she tell them that it was too late? Did they listen? 

     "Apni man-mani karte ho!"

     "Aunty---" 

Nothing.

 

And of course, Bhopal's finest gundas seemed to have a thing for Asad and Zoya too. 

Asad had jacked the car up and was removing the tire after loosening the lug nuts when two bikers swerved around the car drunkenly. The one in the back chugged from an open beer bottle and sang lewd songs.

Zoya's sinking heart echoed Asad's.

No, it wasn't that they couldn't take these losers on. The Jahanpanah and Jhansi ki Rani duo had taken on much worse and kicked serious butt. It was just that this was going to be one more annoying roadblock to delay a well-earned night of passion. 

Asad tried to ignore the men as they buzzed around like mosquitoes hoping that they'd get bored and drive away. He just prayed that they wouldn't get too close and see three women in the car. And please, Zoya, just stay the hell inside and don't try to be a hero.

The hooligans gunned their motors and started to play a cat and mouse game with a man who looked well-dressed and urbane--he'd make an easy mark and probably wouldn't put up too much of a resistance--these yuppies never did. They edged closer to Asad pretending to bump into him and taking several swipes at him. He jumped away to the side deftly dodging their attacks. 

Some stray cars zipped by, scurrying away from the potential of random violence. 

Asad gritted his teeth as he lunged away from one more drunken thrust and being fresh roadkill. He knew that a word from him could imflame the situation further so he stayed silent and avoided eye contact.

 

Inside the car Zoya was already rooting around in her bag for tools she could weaponize as Zeenat and Dilshad hyperventilated. Rifling through her purse her hand skimmed across Asad's Epi-pen. Would this work as a weapon? She discarded the idea after considering it for a second. No. Administering it would be clumsy and she didn't know how it would affect someone without allergies. 

Zoya glanced at Zaid.

Thank god he was fast asleep. Dobby mewled and scratched at the door of his carrier so she released him. He'd be less noisy when loose and possibly a weapon too; he'd proven his warrior credentials time and time again. 

Thank god too that she wasn't one of those girls who changed their purses regularly.

No, Zoya probably had fossils and rich ecosystems thriving in her bag.

Her hand wrapped around her favorite pepper spray. Thank you Allah miyan! And Mr. Khan, aren't you glad that I didn't listen to you and clean out my bag!

But she had one worry. What if the spray was too old and wouldn't work when needed? It had happened to her once much to her embarrassment--because she'd been trying to threaten Mr. Khan with it after her "Aap shakal se hi lecherous dikhte hain," comment. 

Zoya scrambled for the baby's diaper bag and looked in the pocket in which she'd stowed her make-up for the party today. Was there anything here that could come in handy? Yes, the hair spray can! She popped it out, shook and uncapped it. She handed her curling iron and brush to Zeenat and the can and nail file to Dilshad. 

"Ammi, here you go. Squeeze this into anyone's eyes if they try to act smart."

Sure, they'd locked their doors. But still. Zoya was terrified for both Asad and Zaid. She pulled out Zaid'd swaddling blanket and covered his car seat with it. What if these gundas smashed through the glass? At least the blanket would protect him from the flying glass. Should she unbuckle the car seat and put it down by their feet for better protection? 

Zoya prayed that Ayaan would come soon.

Raabert, hurry! 

Outside, the bikers continued trying to rattle Asad. They mistook his restraint for cowardice. 

Big mistake. 

As they tried one more slash at him, Asad grabbed the handle bar to stop the wheel that was inches away from crushing his legs. They must not have been very astute because they didn't see the muscles in Asad's arms bunch and flex as he held the handle in a fierce grip. 

     "Sambhal ke!" Asad said in as brotherly a tone he could muster. 

     "Abey, sambhal ke chal tu!" one of them slurred as the other laughed. 

Asad put his hands up and stepped back. May be if he didn't entangle with them any further then they'd get bored and leave. 

No such luck. 

When one of them grabbed his collar, Asad's patience broke. His fist whipped out to take the pillion rider out. The beer bottle smashed to the ground, the streetlight glinting off its dark jagged edges. 

The man's head snapped back as he toppled off the bike and fell flat on his back. The impact left him breathless; he cried out in pain.

The other guy was feeling brave. Outraged at his partner being taken out he revved to aim the spinning wheel straight at Asad. 

 

Zoya knew that this was her window of opportunity. She knew that Asad could take care of himself. But the guy on the ground was just stirring and would strike soon. What if he tried to go at Asad with the broken bottle and attacked him from the back? Not if she had her way! She sprang out of the car. He'd fallen behind the car--out of the sightline of both Asad and his accomplice.

     "Zoya!" Zeenat called out in panic. She tried to grab Zoya's arm. "Don't! Ya Allah yeh ladki!" 

But Zoya was unstoppable. She had a plan. She'd already snatched the hair spray canister out of Dilshad's hand and now aimed both cans at the clown's eyes.

And squeezed.

Thank god there was no malfunction this time.  

The man screamed and rolled in agony.  Zoya kicked some of the broken glass under him. It pierced his skin as he rolled over it and he yelled out and cussed some more. 

    "Serves you right, you---you luchha! Bloody kamina!" 

Before he could recover, she popped back into the car and locked herself in.

Zoya didn't realize that she'd been holding her breath until it whooshed out in relief. 

She turned to check on Asad. He was still grappling with the biker who he'd pulled off the motorcycle by now. The man's head snapped hard when Asad smacked his nose with the heel of his palm. 

 

The bike lay on its side, its wheels still spinning wildly. 

A truly incensed Asad had dragged the guy's helmet off and now whomped him hard on his head with it multiple times. He really wasn't in the mood to mess up his hands; he had better things to do with them later. 

One well-placed knee to the nose and groin--a shorter and swifter version of the girls' S-I-N-Ging--and this jerk was out too.

Zoya leaped out again to redo her spray and broken glass routine to finish off this guy too. With a cherry on top.

     "Zoya!" Asad hollered at her.

What was wrong with this woman? Why did she never listen to him? 

But hey, she was furious at these men too. For good measure, Zoya stomped on the goon's hand with her heel breaking his bones. Another high-pitched scream and he crawled blindly into oncoming traffic. Horns honked and wheels skidded and braked.

Curses rang out in the night. 

     "Mr. Khan, we've got to hurry before these morons come to. Now don't try to stop me from helping you!" She moved toward the trunk. 

Asad brushed the hair out of his eyes and blinked at her. Then again, when did this woman ever listen to him?

He was breathing hard. 

This was not the kind of hard breathing he'd had in mind a half hour ago.

 

They both turned on hearing the roar of another bike. More gundas? 

     "Zoya, get back inside. NOW!"

Asad seethed. This was seriously getting to be a bit much--a total dash mein bumboo to quote his brother. They were surely stuck in the middle of some third-rate Indian soap opera that procrastinated the lead couple's suhaag raat for months. Asad rotated his wrist and turned to glare into the fickle night. By god, he'd pound the next ass that messed with him to a fine pulp. 

Ayaan flipped his visor up and waved out to them. A guard from the Siddiqui house sat behind him. 

Zoya and Asad exhaled.

She hadn't been more relieved to see Raabert. Ever.

An equally grateful Asad shooed Zoya back into the car and together with the other men he had the car up and running.

     Ayaan shrugged his shoulders and pointed his chin to the guard who was helping put away the tools. "So annoying, Bhai! Mumani wouldn't let me leave the house without bringing this guy along. Can you believe it!" 

Meanwhile with some help from Zeenat, Zoya rebuckled Zaid's car seat into place. The good boy that he was, he'd slept through the whole drama. Good god, would he grow up watching his parents fend off gundas on a routine basis? She hoped not. 

Ayaan left after a complicated handshake with Zoya and a quick pat on the back by his Bhaijaan. Funny, it seemed Bhai couldn't wait to get rid of him.

When their eyes re-met in the rear view mirror this time, there were no more shy glances filled with promise; an impenetrable intensity crackled between them. It was a silent war cry; it would smoke everything that got in the way.  

    

Asad exited the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and another in his hand. He watched Zoya hum to Zaid in the rocking chair as he toweled his hair dry. Dobby dozed by her feet--far enough out of the rocking chair's way.

Zoya handed the baby to him and rose to take a shower too. 

Asad pulled her to his side with his free arm. 

     "You must be exhausted," he whispered. Asad tucked a finger under her chin. "Don't worry about me. Go take a relaxing bath and get some rest after that."

Zoya rose up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. Then she turned around to go freshen up.

Asad looked down at Zaid's face and all his fatigue and aches vanished.

To sleep like a baby was the best kind of sleep, wasn't it? But that watching a sleeping baby could be just as mystical, he hadn't known.

Until now.

Asad couldn't resist stroking the rounded cheek and smiled when he saw the parted mouth. 

Zaid's chest rose and fell in a timeless rhythm keeping some cosmic time. His perfect half-moon eyelids quivered and the dark lashes whispered against the lush cheeks. Asad bent his head to brush a kiss on the smooth forehead. He couldn't resist inhaling that perfect baby smell.

He looked down at his son and lost count of all time.

He didn't realize he was gently rocking the baby as he walked up and down the partially lit room. He stopped to stare out of the window feeling Zaid's slight weight in his arms.

 

Asad's trance was broken only when he felt a soft kiss on the back of his bare shoulder. Zoya wrapped her arms around him and the baby.

     "You're still up?" she asked. 

     "I got lost in him," Asad echoed her hushed tones. "Just looking at him is therapy." 

     "I know, right?" she whispered. "I was thinking exactly the same thing when I was rocking him right now. I could watch him for hours." 

Asad moved to lay a tightly swaddled Zaid in his crib and Zoya covered him up. She brushed the baby's hair off his forehead. 

     "Sweet dreams, baby," she whispered in his ear. "I love you."

 

When she turned around she couldn't help but smile to see Asad's tousled hair. He was watching her with his arms crossed over his chest. Zoya's hand rose to brush the father's hair off his forehead too.

     "Everyone's right, you know. Zaid looks exactly like you," Zoya remarked softly.

     Asad arrested her hand and held it to his cheek. He kissed her palm. "And you love it." 

     "Yes," Zoya said simply. She did. 

He pulled her to him and she sighed in his embrace. It felt so right to be held like this. 

     "Asad, you're sure you aren't hurt after that fight? I wish you'd let me ice down those knuckles." 

     "I'm absolutely fine. All these weeks of punching away at my sandbag sure paid off." And all that pent up sexual frustration. 

     "Yes, you were a lean, mean fighting machine," she murmured in his ear. They swayed lightly. "A pure joy to watch." 

But seriously, thank god those idiots weren't armed. Zoya shuddered to think what could have happened. They'd come under attack too often in the past--each grisly encounter flashed before her eyes on a sickening loop: Akram's farmhouse. Mangalpur. Agra. The doll factory. Mangalpur again--- 

     "And you were my pepper spray goddess--as usual," Asad drawled shaking her out of her spiraling descent into a cheerless reverie. 

     "Don't forget the hair spray," she murmured into his shoulder, inhaling his scent. 

     "Hair spray? You gave them a makeover too?"

     She giggled quietly. "I did what I had to do." 

     "You always do." 

They fell silent and held each other in the semi-darkened room. She felt him harden against her but had no energy for light banter. Any other time and she'd have teased him with a, "I know that's not a gun so you must be real happy to see me, Jahanpanah!"

But not now.

The crashing adrenaline had left her drained. Zoya sighed in contentment as Asad lifted her in his arms and laid her on her side of the bed. 

     He dropped a chaste kiss on her forehead, "you're dead on your feet. Get some rest." 

Zoya snagged his hand to stop him from walking away. 

     "Asad," she called out softly. "I need you." 

     "Shh," he whispered. "Later." 

     "Now." 

Why else would she be wearing her ivory satin slip that fell just a few inches below her happy place? And that peek-a-boo thong with its beckoning strings and straps that had yoked them together all evening in a wet clasp?

She sat up and tugged his hand to her breast. 

Asad expelled his breath that he didn't even know he was holding and sat down by her side. As he opened his mouth to protest again, Zoya covered it with her fingertips and shook her head. Her dark eyes spoke volumes--just love me, please. 

Those eyes were speaking the language his body craved to hear. With a groan Asad swooped to kiss her and press her down into her pillow. He understood perfectly: no words, just tender lovemaking, please. And hurry!

She ran her hands over the hard planes of his shoulders and warm chest as if she'd never touched them before. Her hand crept down to loosen the towel at his waist. She wanted to feel his weight on her, his heat on her--she'd missed that so much for so long.

Asad shifted to toss the towel to the floor and covered her body with his. Her soft moan of pleasure made his blood simmer. He feathered kisses along her jawline and then her throat.

Zoya arched her neck giving him better access. Her body shimmered silver in the moonlight. He flicked his tongue to tease the pulse at her throat.

Zoya's nails dug into his back. She parted her legs to cradle him. 

     "Zoya, I missed you so much!" Asad breathed.

His thumb hooked under and slid the spaghetti strap down as his mouth sought her cleavage.

Their heated bodies couldn't seem to make up their minds--when he slowed down she wanted him to hurry; when he hurried, she'd slow him down.

When he trailed kisses to her breast and sucked hard she writhed under him. She'd wanted this so bad. 

Asad gasped as pure sweetness flooded his mouth. He'd wondered about this new taste for months. 

     "Oh god, Zoya!" His eyes stung as he looked down at her. 

She watched his face. She'd wondered too about his response to this change in her body. 

     "You're so beautiful," he sighed as he dipped his head to tug at her again. Liquid desire blazed through and puddled between her legs. Her knees clung to his sides and Zoya's hands fisted in his hair. Her slip rode up to her waist. Asad hissed at the raw heat radiating from her. 

His hand moved to stroke her misted center but it encountered the thong. That thong! He'd forgotten all about it.

     Asad's mouth curved. "Good girl," he murmured. 

And just like he'd lowered her strap he hooked the thong with a thumb to pull it down.

Very slowly.

She thrashed under him. His mouth followed to drag it to her knees. Asad's teeth skittered across her undulating hips and then his lips moved up to drop tender kisses along her inner thigh. Her bolting pulse and drugged mind tracked that tongue slowly journeying up ... and closer. She wanted him to hurry; she wanted him to linger ... one firm, steamy lick ... and she was bucking wildly.

     "Please Asad, right now. Take me right now!" Zoya sobbed. 

He growled in the back of his throat as he rose to do her bidding. He'd do justice to their thong fantasies some other time; Asad flung off the silk and lace barrier not caring if he'd ripped it. He couldn't wait either--feckless gods and goddesses and crappy soap writers be damned to hell. He wanted to bury himself in her so deep that he'd see stars.

She cried out as he entered her and Asad froze. 

      "Zoya, are you OK?" 

     Breathing hard she kissed his shoulder. "I am, now. Don't stop, please!" 

     "Are you sure?" 

     "Yes, please!" 

And he couldn't hold himself back as he rammed in setting a demanding pace. Zoya bucked harder. She raked his arms as he moved deeper. 

     "Oh god, you're so tight," Asad panted. "As if it's our first time."

And she convulsed suctioning him hard. 

     "Zoyaaa!" 

She wept. 

"Did I hurt you?" A worried Asad asked when they held each other later. 

She'd pillowed her cheek on his shoulder.  

     "Never," Zoya sighed. 

     "Then why were you crying?" 

     "I missed you so much." 

     Asad tucked her tighter into his side and kissed her on the head. "Get some sleep now. There are no guarantees for when or how often I'll wake you up for more Asad-Zoya happy times." Hooking a finger under her chin Asad kissed her lightly on the mouth. "Cos. babe, I missed you more."

He grinned looking down at her. She'd already fallen asleep. 

But Asad stayed true to his word too. He gave her just a couple of hours to regain her strength. He wasn't going to waste this night sleeping. There were too many virginal nights to make up for.

He let her sleep late the next morning as he got ready for work.

She'd woken a little after 6 to change and feed Zaid and then crashed again. Zoya slept through the baby's next waking up and cooing. Asad carried him to Dilshad and Zaid had entertained both his Dadi and Nani. 

     Asad came back to brush the hair off her face and kiss Zoya, "hey sleepyhead." He took her hand in his and kissed the top. "Zaid's with Ammi. Sleep as long as you want." 

She mumbled something. 

     "Hmm?" 

    "What did you tell Ammi?" Zoya asked cracking an eye open. Her lids felt weighed down by dumbbells and pasted shut with super glue. She was too sleepy to feel shame at what her mother-in-law might think of her. 

     Asad smiled. "I told her that Zaid was fussy all night and didn't let you get much sleep." 

She mumbled again and turned over. The sheet slipped off her bare shoulder to give him a delicious peek. Asad's head bent toward her imperceptibly. He wanted to--- 

     "Hmm?" 

     "Blaming my baby for keeping me up all night when actually it was Zaid's Abbu!" 

     Asad blushed. He knew she'd say that. "Fine, you can punish me when I get back."

As he was about to close the door behind him, Zoya called out to him.

     "Asad?"

     "Hmm?"

     "Come home early. After all, Zaid supposedly kept you up all night too, right?" 

     "No babe, he wasn't the one who kept me up. It was Zaid's Ammi. And if you don't let me go now, I'll make sure that you don't get any more sleep." 

     "Shh, Mr. Khan, don't even think about it. I'd better be able to walk straight when I get up or I'm going to kill you." 

     He laughed softly. "Think of what I did to you with every step you take today ... with every breath. And get ready for Act two tonight. I have a bedroom wish list---" 

She groaned. She knew exactly what would be on the X-rated wish list of his. Her husband had dreamt up elaborate plans during his term of forced celibacy and she was to be the erotic laboratory subject. 

     "I love you," Zoya whispered. "And pick your poison--I'll fulfill two fantasies on that wish list of yours tonight!" 

     "Just two? I had at least four in mind." 

     "Asad!" She reached around and picked up the discarded thong from last night to throw it at him. He palmed it easily and shoved it in his pocket. 

     "I love you too." He closed the door softly after him. He'd already drawn the curtains so that the climbing sun wouldn't disturb her.

 

A pang of guilt stabbed him as he pulled out of the driveway. Had he been too exacting last night? But after that first session of mellow lovemaking and a brief rest, Zoya had come alive for round two. She'd straddled and ridden him hard and he couldn't keep his eyes or hands off those glorious breasts kissed by a moonbeam.

He got hard just thinking about them now. 

OK, may be the fourth time was too much. His errant tongue had darted and sought her hot center and she'd shuddered awake calling out his name.

She'd been so wet, balmy, so ready for him; he'd slid in for an exultant home run.

His shoulders still showed the marks she'd left on him; she'd punished him by digging her nails into his butt.

His pocket felt heavy with her scent.

Asad groaned and swung a U-turn. He didn't care about the blaring horns or the gaalis that came with them. 

When he got home Dilshad and Zeenat looked up in surprise.

     "Umm, I forgot my thumb drive--so I decided to take the conference call here." 

     They nodded and went back to gushing over their favorite grandson. "We'll take Zaid with us upstairs so we don't disturb you," Dilshad said.

 

He smiled when he heard Zoya in the shower.

She looked up in alarm when the door opened but smiled too when she saw Asad enter. Naked and hard. 

Asad walked into the shower cubicle and bent his head to take a slippery nipple into his mouth; he tugged hard trapping it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He'd craved this touch and taste all morning.

Zoya let out a whimper as she writhed under the shivery onslaught.

She felt the caroming sensations of that tug travel right down between her legs. Another one had her knees buckling. Only Asad's arms held her up. 

He pushed her to the wall pinning her hands up above her and interlaced her hands with his in a powerful grip that yanked her breasts up even higher.

The water splashed and laved over them unable to mute the soft cries and sighs.

Asad mounted her as their eyes locked in that eternal embrace and he began to rock her. She tried to wrap her legs around him but Asad wouldn't let her--he kept her pinned with his body. 

     "Asad, please, please, please! I need to."

He silenced all protests; it drove her nuts as he knew it would.

The sensations rippling through her were crescendoing and she felt powerless. She could feel the orgasm within reach yet it kept receding.

And he knew it too. 

Zoya twisted and churned. She clawed at his hands begging for a dual release from the torment. Finally he let her hands go to hold her by her wild hips hitching her higher, pounding harder; and finally she clung to his waist by her legs. Zoya contracted her pelvic muscles to punish him and Asad grunted with the effort to control their crash.

The multiple rounds over the past night had already made her flesh ultra sensitive. The slightest nudge as he cupped and kneaded her butt and she was falling. Spilling and falling.

And so was he. 

     "Oh baby, baby, baby!" Asad's voice cracked as he moaned against her throat shaking through the last throes of his passion. "The day I've had enough of you will be the last day of my life." 

     "Asad, shut up!" Her eyes stung all of a sudden. "Take that back! You take that back right now!"

 

     "Nahin, yeh nikaah nahin hoga!" 

Nuzzhat gasped. She never expected to hear these filmy words come from her mother's mouth. The words "no" and "nikaah" in the same sentence? Her mother must be possessed by some alien spirit.

     "Ammi, but----" Nikhat was aghast too. 

     "No!"

Rashid and Badi Bi were equally taken aback by Shireen's vehemence. And that too on such a topic. 

     "But Shireen, I thought you'd be so happy at this rishta. We know and love Faiz ... and now that the kids have finally agreed to marry then why would you object?" 

     "I do love Faiz. I have nothing against him," Shireen spoke firmly. "I would have never said no to this alliance. But I won't lose another daughter to the US." 

     "Par beta, these days there is Skype and Facetime ... they can come every year," Badi Bi tried to explain to her daughter-in-law. 

     "Ammi, if they want to get married so bad then Faiz can move to India and I would have no objection to this wedding!" 

For too long she'd seen Najma and then Nikhat pine away quietly for their long-distance husbands. She'd seen Dilshad weep tears of blood when Najma left and Shireen's heart had quaked. Soon she'd be in her shoes.  

Shireen rose and stalked off to her bedroom.

Nuzzhat too sprang up and rushed to lock herself in her room. 

     Rashid rose to follow her but Nikhat held him back with a hand on his arm. "Abbu, I'll go talk to Ammi. You check on Nuzzhat."

 

     "Ammi?" Nikhat knocked on the door and opened it to step inside. 

The room was dark; the curtains drawn. Shireen was sitting on the bed twisting her dupatta in her hands. Nikhat switched on a bedside lamp. Shireen sighed when Nikhat came and sat next to her and took her hand in her own. 

     "Ammi, you're not happy with my marriage? Is that why you don't want Nuzzhat to marry Faiz?" 

     "Nahin beta!" Oh lord. She hadn't thought about how this would affect Nikhat. She framed her daughter's somber face in her hands. "I love Feroze and Faiz. I would love to have Faiz as my other son-in-law. But I can't let her go so far away after you've gone. How will I live without you girls? Itni badi saza nahin do hamein!" 

     "But Ammi, Nuzzhat finally agreed! She and Faiz actually like each other now." It had taken months but finally they had these two exactly where everyone wanted. "Do you think she'll agree to marry anyone else after this?" 

Shireen's heart contracted. Yes, Nikhat was right. Nuzzhat was more headstrong and stubborn than her older daughter. She would stand up to her mother's decision and Shireen didn't know if she had the energy or the will to face the relentless offense Nuzzhat would mount. She'd already shown her mettle in arguing for and winning on the issue of her joining the street theater troupe.

     "I've already given them one daughter, don't ask me for another one." Shireen had made up her mind too. 

For as long as she could she would oppose this rishta. She had never taken such a bold stand and this was a hard decision to come to. She may have nagged to get her way in the past but eventually she always bowed to Rashid's will.

But she felt too strongly about this issue to not take a stand.

She didn't know how hard it would be to go against her family. She didn't have Dilshad's spine or spirit, nor Zoya's mad-hatter grit or courage ... But on this she was firm--not one more daughter. 

Nikhat saw her mother's squared shoulders and sighed miserably. Somewhere a part of her understood her mother's grief. As much as she yearned to be with Feroze she fretted about leaving soon for the US. This was her home, her family. And she would be paying a high price to be with Feroze. She probably wouldn't see her family in person for a good year or so. Skype and Facetime were all good and fine, but could you touch each other, feel a hug or a hand on one's head? Didn't she already know this from being parted from Feroze for so long? 

She gripped Shireen's hand tight. They sat in silence. Nikhat would not say another word to persuade her mother. A mother had a right to worry about her children--no one could convince her not to.

A part of her was actually proud of her mom standing up for a daughter--too often she and her sister had felt the sting of being mere sidekicks to their brother in their Ammi's eyes.

Nikhat also knew her sister best: Nuzzhat was strong-willed and smart. She'd find a way to her destiny.

But for now Nikhat resolved to quietly support both mom and sister--she had limited time with each. She would have loved a marriage between Nuzzhat and Faiz. But maybe the new lovebirds needed their own love story and its obstacles to forge an ironclad rishta. She'd silently root for it. But Ammi deserved to have her fears allayed too.

 

     "Ammi says no!" Nuzzhat texted Faiz. She'd figured out the time difference like the back of her hand by now. It would be early morning there. 

     "WHAT?? You're not serious," came the furious reply. 

     "I am. And apparently so is she."

He called up to continue their conversation. If he tapped any harder on his phone it was likely to shatter.

     "But why? Does she have something against our family? She loved Feroze Bhai!" Maybe it was him that Aunty didn't like?

     "She still does. But she hates the idea of both her daughters being million of miles away from her."

     "It's not millions of miles. And she should be thankful that New York is at least 3000 miles nearer to India than San Francisco." Faiz breathed a sigh of relief. So it wasn't him that Aunty was objecting to. For a second there ...

Nuzzhat sniffed. 

     "Nuzh, hon?" 

     "Faiz, if Ammi doesn't agree ... I might not be able to ..." 

     "Are you freaking serious?" 

     " ... I don't know. I've never really stood up to my parents on big things. Minor stuff, sure ... But this ..." 

     "Nuzzhat, this will probably be the biggest decision of your life. And you'll let someone else decide for you!' 

     "She's not someone else, she's my mother!" 

He just didn't get it. He didn't get what it meant to be a daughter--and that too a daughter in India. Invisible male privilege couldn't understand how hard it was for a girl to oppose her family.  

     "And she's kind of right, you know?" Nuzzhat continued to explain. "Why do you have to be so far away? Look at Ayaan Bhaijaan and Humaira--they have the luxury of seeing their families every day. But Najma and Nikhat Baajis don't. And if I marry you, then I won't either." 

Faiz fell silent. He really had no response to this. She'd known this before hadn't she? It was no surprise. He didn't just spring this on her. 

     "When Nikhat Baaji leaves in a month I don't know when I'll see her again. And I've never spent a day apart from her since I was born!" 

     "Except when she went on her honeymoon," he drawled softly.

     "Faiz, you know what I mean!"

     "I'm kidding. Of course I know what you mean. I feel the same way about Bhai." 

     "But at least you've had some practice being away from your family since you went to college." Nuzzhat was close to tears. When she heard Faiz sigh she felt guilty for unloading on him. 

     "Look, it's not as if we're getting married tomorrow," Faiz explained patiently. "Not before I've finished my post-grad and you've finished your studies. Aunty has a good two years to get used to the idea. We're just talking about an engagement, aren't we?" 

     "You don't get it. Two years may not be enough to get her used to the distance. And it's not easy for me to speak to my parents so openly about my own marriage. It's easier for you. You're expected to be independent and make your own life decisions." I'm not. 

     "Are you just venting or are we seriously talking about breaking up?" His voice was subdued but tense. 

Nuzzhat gasped. This wasn't the madcap Faiz who'd patiently courted her over the phone, Facetime and Facebook all these months, having ridiculous gag gifts delivered to her doorstep followed by flowers and chocolates. 

It was only last month that she'd finally admitted to herself that yes, she was in love with him. Maybe she'd always been in love with him. Even during their spats and leg pulling. Even when he'd winked at her at Nikhat Baaji's nikaah and announced, "why mess with tradition?" when everyone was teasing them about the Khan family one-nikaah-one-sagai-free tradition.

She'd probably fallen for him because of that outrageous sense of humor. And that temper--it flared up after a lot of simmering but cooled down faster than melted wax. Omar Jeeju was funny too; but Faiz had that extra zing of wry humor--it was snarkier and darker. It was a personality that develops when one grows in the shadow of a golden child--the elder sibling that could do no wrong. And Nuzzhat kind of knew what that was like, didn't she?

She'd tried hard to put up a stiff resistance all these months: I will not fall for him had been her silent mantra initially. It's too pat, it's what everyone else wants for us and I won't be that predictable. I won't let Naz aunty win. She'd hated the idea of the moms making plans for the next nikaah within the khandan.

That script of jhat-mangni-pat-byaah I won't follow.

Hah! The plans she'd made. The walls she'd built. 

And Faiz had smirked, teased, and shot them all down. 

     "Nuzzhat?" Faiz prompted her. She remembered what he'd just said. Breaking up? 

     "Can't I even vent without you thinking the worst of me?" She felt anger bubble up inside her. "Will I have to walk on eggshells with you each time I feel the need to say something that you find mildly upsetting? You'd better not expect me to be one of those quiet biwis who say nothing to oppose their husbands!" 

He laughed. 

     "Faiz, I'm not kidding! This is serious." 

     "I know, serious as a heart attack," he quipped. "I'm laughing cuz you just admitted to spending the rest of your life with me as my wife." 

     "No, I didn't." 

     "Yes, you did. If there was a replay button on our conversation I'd have replayed it back for you so you could hear yourself." 

     Nuzzhat frowned. "I just said that you like twisting my words to make me out to be the bad guy. I never said anything about breaking up. Or about marrying you."

     "You said that I shouldn't think that you'd be the kind of wife who walks on eggshells when expressing contrary views to her husband. That sounds like marriage talk to me." 

     "Any husband! I was talking generically and didn't necessarily mean you," she yelled at him in frustration.  

     "Oh honey, there's nothing generic about me. I'm the real deal, not a knock-off, and you'll be marrying me. Only me." 

     "Even if Ammi opposes our Nikaah?" Her voice had fallen and the uncertainty crept back in though her heart had done that twisty thing when he called her "honey." 

     "Even then. And I can't believe that you are willing to give up so easily without fighting for us. Maybe I need to rethink our nikaah. Do I really want to marry a girl who doesn't have the guts to fight for me?" 

     "FAIZ!" He'd just been so confident about their "real deal" status. So what happened now?

     "Don't yell at me." He felt a stab of justified anger too. "Do an honest self-check and tell me clearly--what's it going to be: us, or your mom's fears?" 

And he hung up without a goodbye.

She could have screamed. Here Ammi was going to give her hell and there ... there Faiz was now acting up. How was she going to juggle an upset mom and an offended overseas lover?

  

     "Zoya Bhabhi!"

     "Nuzh? What's wrong? Why're you crying?" Zoya was worried now. She was used to Humaira or Najma calling her in distress but not everyone's little firebrand. 

     "I'm not crying," she sniffed. "I'm so mad that I want to kick something!" 

     "Ooh, do tell!" her Bhabhi gushed. "OK, start from the beginning," she ordered as she settled with Zaid in the rocking chair. He watched his mom's animated expressions as she talked with his youngest Phuphi. He let his Ammi play with his fingers. She seemed to love that. And Zaid liked it too. He loved to feel her fingers throb and pulse against his when she joined his fingertips with hers. 

     "You know about Faiz and me, right?" 

     Who doesn't," Zoya teased. 

By now it was an open secret in the family. The only people who probably didn't know were Asad and Siddiqui Saheb. And even that might not be true. They all'd seen the chemistry in Mangalpur and Naz aunty wasn't one to keep silent about her jodi-making successes. Her social media accounts had blared the Faiz-Nuzzhat love story loud and proud. Najma had nicknamed them "Faizhat" but it was Zoya's portmanteau for them that had really stuck: "Nuff." 

     "So, what have Nuff done now?"

     "Naz Aunty called to formally discuss our engagement but Ammi now says no." 

     "WHAT?" 

Even Zaid blinked in fear. Why was his Ammi looking so stunned and shouting? He started to cry. 

     "Aw, poor baby! It's OK honey, Ammi's right here, and she's not mad at you." Zoya soothed.

He quietened though he continued to fuss a bit. Zoya gasped softly when she heard Nuzzhat sniffle at the other end next. 

     "Nuzh baby, what happened to you now?"

     "Bhabhi, Faiz calls me honey too ... but right now he's not talking to me!" she bawled. 

     Ah. Now Zoya got it. "So he's mad at you because Chhoti Ammi is against the nikaah. But why on earth is she even against the nikaah? Where is she even going to find a better damad?" 

     Nuzzhat took deep breaths and said in a small voice, "she says that doesn't want to lose both her daughters to the US." 

     "Aww," Zoya whispered. "I kinda get it, you know. I don't blame her." Zoya started to feel a crying jag come on. Weepy all of a sudden, she looked down at Zaid and clutched him tight to her. He wailed. And Zoya began to cry too.

     "Zoya Bhabhi, is everything OK? Zaid?" Nuzzhat wiped her own tears alarmed for the two of them. 

     "We're OK," Zoya croaked. "I just get all weepy and emotional these days."

     "I'm sorry I made you cry." 

     "It's not you, Nuzzhat. Aapi says that Zaid's only way of communicating with us is by crying. And me? Well, the doctor says it's hormones. Your Bhaijaan goes cross-eyed when both of us take off." 

Nuzzhat giggled trying to picture her Bhaijaan juggling two crybabies.

Aww.

     "How do you manage," she asked. 

     "I wouldn't know how to manage without Mr. Khan," Zoya mused. "Somehow he calms us down. He'll play the guitar or hum, and Zaid's eyes light up. He'll chirp and chant his own raag and they both take off on their own riff." 

     "Bhaijaan is a great husband, isn't he?" 

     "The best." 

     "Growing up I was always a little scared of him, you know? I kind of just assumed that he'd make one of those stern and conservative husbands." 

     Zoya laughed. "Truth be told, in the beginning so did I! But he proved us all wrong, didn't he? I couldn't have found a stronger champion or friend. He just somehow knows when to push back against me, when to spoil me, tease me, when to let me be myself, and when to fight for me." 

Zoya blushed thinking of Asad and mentally adding more things to that list: when to pin me against the wall and steal some sugar, when to sweep me off my feet and silence me ... when to charm me or push me into being a really bad girl that might need to be handcuffed or spanked---

They fell silent each thinking about the men in their lives.

     "Thanks Bhabhi," Nuzzhat said finally. 

     "What for? I did nothing." Zoya smiled as she watched a dozing Zaid"he clutched her finger in his fist. Tight. She bent to kiss his forehead. Sleep tight, baby.

     "You did everything. You helped me decide what I want." What I really want.

As Nuzzhat hung up she took a deep breath.

Who was she kidding? She wanted what Zoya Bhabhi and Bhaijaan had. And for that she'd need to roll up her sleeves and take charge of her life. Ammi, you better watch out--I love you, but I'm not going to back down and take no for an answer. And Faiz? Faiz, I love you too but you better smarten up! And you can forget about guilt-tripping me into thinking that I'm a weakling just cos. I don't always agree with you. Deal with it.

     She whipped her phone out and texted him. The fingers punching in the letters on the screen were as firm as her resolve. "When you're done being a sulky little goat, call me and we can discuss a plan of attack to get this show on the road--together. As a team." 

She giggled. That "sulky little goat" dig was so going to light a fire under his butt.

Five, four, three, two ...

Her phone rang on the dot.

     "Maaiiin," he bleated playfully.

Nuzzhat fell off the bed laughing.

See? He always knew the right buttons to press. And he knew how to be totally unpredictable. She really hadn't expected him to be so good humored about being called a sulky goat; she thought he'd be hopping mad. But then, that was Faiz--charming, contrary, and a livewire to boot. 

     "So goaty, how do we do this?" he asked. 

     "Goatee? I'm a beard now?" 

     "If I'm a goat, then ..." 

     "That still doesn't make me a goaty." 

     "Goatni?" Faiz teased. 

     "Haha, that's cute but I just checked--a female goat is called a nanny goat." 

     "Right, and a male is a billy goat. So nanny goat, what's our plan of attack?" 

She started to giggle.

     "Nuzh, what's so funny? Our plan of attack is to play a laughter track?" 

     "Get ready, Billy. Bakra hamesha qurbaan hota hai!" 

     "Main, aur qurbaan? Qubool hai!"

She'd laughed again when he said "main?" in that bleating goat voice. But Nuzzhat gasped and moaned at his softly promised, "qubool hai." She'd heard the smile in his voice and a fist of desire punched her smack in the gut.

Aww. What a sweetheart. Though she'd have to watch out with this one--he'd make sure to keep her on her toes. 

Well, she was no doormat either. Bring it.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Teri Meri Kahani (2012): "Allah Jaane"


	117. Hanste Hansaate, Yunhi Gungunaate, Chal Denge Char Kadam

****

 

 

But Asad hadn't been able to come home early.

His phone pinged at 6.

To punish him Zoya had sent him the video she'd taken of one of their honeymoon romps: The Mr. and Mrs. Khan's twerk-n-tease steam-a-thon aboard the Palace on Wheels. The soundtrack, their sighs ... the sights ... were all enough to set his phone and him on fire. He had tried to resist watching for all of seven minutes.

But he did have some down time on his hands.

And then she'd also appended a picture of herself in heels and nothing else--sure she'd strategically posed herself to hint at rather than display her nudity; predictably he'd salivated. 

     "Zoya, you're killing me," he called almost immediately. "Behave." 

Her merry laugh had chimed in his ear making him glower at the frozen time display on his laptop. 

     "Make me," she teased. 

     "I will," he threatened softly; she moaned. 

     "Haw Mr. Khan, you shouldn't be watching selfie porn at work! When're you coming home? I miss you."

     Asad sighed as he idly played with the stapler. His knuckles still showed a slight bruising. The Dettol antiseptic cream that Zoya had insisted he apply in the morning had long rubbed off. "Not before 7:30 or 8. Maybe even longer." 

     "Not fair!" 

     "I know. By the way, what did you tell Humaira? Ayaan's been bugging me all day about last night." 

     "Umm ... he already suspected and told her. So I just confirmed their suspicions," Zoya said in a small voice. If it were one of those old-timey phones she'd be twisting the cord around one guilty finger. 

     "Aannhh, Zoya! Why does everything need to be broadcast all over Bhopal?" 

She remained quiet, knowing that he was just venting. And because she really had no response.

But really Mr. Khan, it wasn't all over Bhopal. 

     "I didn't tell them everything that happened last night," Zoya mock-pouted. 

     "Oh really?" 

     "Umm hmm." Her dimples were already deepening. And if the phone had indeed been corded she'd be untwirling it from her finger--a sassy stripper unwrapping herself from a pole. "For instance I didn't tell them that the fight was just the appetizer seasoned with some pepper spray. Or that Mr. and Mrs. Jahanpanah enjoyed the main course and dessert much later in the privacy of their khwabgaah and hamam." 

     Asad's lips curved--how could they not. "Mmm, and what a multi-course feast it was!" He slammed the laptop shut and leaned back in his chair. 

     "What else didn't you tell her?" His eyes hooded as he heard her blow by blow recap of their lovemaking last night.

     "Did I tire you?" he asked with concern a little later. 

     "A little." 

     "Just a little? Then I'm obviously losing my touch!"

     She laughed, "really Mr. Khan! Always so full of yourself. But maybe you are a little rusty from not being sexually active all these days!"

     Asad groaned and brushed the hair off his forehead impatiently. "Don't remind me!" Thank god that curfew had been lifted. Even Prasad had begun to look a little tattered around the edges handling the boss' temper bursts in the office these past days. 

     "What're you doing right now?" he asked, taking a deep breath and mentally getting ready to switch back to office mode. 

     "Feeding Zaid." 

There was a long pause on the line. It wasn't that he was really jealous of his son's feasts. Or may be he needed an upper to get through the monotony of the next few hours. Asad lifted and turned his arm to check his watch. The stapler fell to the table with a dull thunk. 

     "Show me." 

 

Zoya was right. Ayaan had suspected.

     "Who're those clowns?" Ayaan had asked last night when he'd come to help his Bhai change the flat and seen the backs of two bleeding, howling losers disappearing into the night. 

Asad had just shrugged as he took a photo of the license plate on the gundas' bike--at Zoya's insistence of course. 

     "I want to forget this ever happened," Asad had tried to tell Zoya earlier. "Why take this to the police? Do you know how many times we'll have to go back there to make this stick?" 

Zoya had planted her fists on her hips and assumed her Jhansi ki Rani pose--back home her friends called it her Joan of Arc look. 

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan! That's why criminals go scot-free in this country--because victims don't follow due process! Think of how many other stranded passengers these two would harass if we don't report them? And I'm pretty sure we weren't their first victims either!" 

     "Fine," Asad had thrown his hands in the air and surrendered without too much of an eyeroll. It would be easier to listen than argue with her. And after nearly two years of knowing her why did he even bother to reason with her? 

So with a glass shard he'd severed the bike's primary wires at the ignition coil--that bike wasn't going anywhere any time soon. In a fit of passive aggression he'd even slashed the tires. He'd file a formal complaint later and the police could track down the felons from the registration--but if the goons did come back for the bike at least it would cost them a pretty penny to get it fixed. Would serve them bloody well right too. 

But Ayaan had known that something serious had gone down despite his brother's reticence in sharing details. Back home he'd told Humaira about his Mukka Ahmed Khan-in-action gut feel. For a minute there he'd even become nostalgic about the times when he and Bhai could take down an army of bad guys in perfect synchrony. Those were the days.

And Humaira hadn't wasted any time in getting details from the horse's mouth itself. 

     "Aapi! What happened last night? Give me the deets--did Jeeju get into a fight with some gundas?" 

Zoya hemmed and hawed. And a part of her bristled. Hey, it wasn't just your Jeeju--your Aapi kicked some butt too. 

     "Umm ... voh ... actually ..."

     "Aapi, you stop that right now! And anyways, I know you're dying to tell me." 

Zoya sighed. Yup, Humaira was right. She did want to do a post-mortem on their big post-Zaid gunda encounter. She had felt awesome. The pregnancy had restrained her--don't do this, don't pick up that. A part of her had wondered if she'd lose her warrior skills once she was a full-time mom. 

     "Aapi? Really? You're going to be like that? OK, then I'm telling Ammi and Abbu and you know what'll happen after that, right?" 

No! They'd ban her going out anywhere and would saddle her with at least 4 bodyguards.

     "It was so cool, Humaira! You shoulda seen us. Mr. Khan was being all seedha-saadha sadhu--keeping his calm (imagine that!) and hoping they'd melt away." 

And once Zoya started recapping she couldn't stop. 

     "Those jackasses had it coming! They messed with your General Jeeju and got their skulls cracked and teeth shoved down their throats. Of course I helped with my pepper spray. And I had to inaugurate my new heels by breaking some bones, right?" 

     "Of course!" Humaira agreed. She could imagine all the action going down in slow motion. She was outraged on their behalf but wished that she could have been there to assist--Humaira was the S-I-N-G queen after all. She had one worry though. "Aapi, those heels better be OK--I was planning to borrow them for my friend's wedding!" 

     "Of course they're OK!" her sister gushed. And blushed. Those heels had been a big part of Mr. Khan's fantasies--that's why she'd bought them in the first place. They'd already starred in her selfie torture for her husband. And she was pretty sure he had some grand plans for them tonight. Last night she'd been too tired to fulfill any of Asad's role-playing fantasies. He would exact revenge for their postponement tonight.

He'd said so as much.  

     "But Aapi, what about Zaid? He was fine?"

     "Thank god he slept through it all!"

     "Good boy!"

     Of course later in the car both she and Asad had been reamed out by Dilshad for trying to be Bollywood action heroes. "Ab ek bachche ke maan-baap ban gaye ho tum dono! Act accordingly. What if something bad had happened?" 

     Humaira let her know her mother's displeasure with them too. "Ammi was so mad at you guys! She kept nagging Abbu that he should have been stricter and ordered you all to spend the night here. Then this wouldn't have happened." Humaira giggled. "Ammi is convinced that Abbu's spoiling you!" 

Zoya covered her face. Oh man. They'd be raked over coals for this episode in the other house too once everyone found out about the drunk bikers. She'd have to convince Aapi and Ammi to not blurt out the truth.

But if they'd spent the night at the Siddiqui house then a lot of good stuff wouldn't have happened either, Zoya smirked to herself. Sorry guys, but we needed some alone time. It had been ages since I got naked and did the nasty with my husband. And no goons nor parental worries were going to get in the way. 

But no doubt, the lectures would come.

Zoya looked over at Aapi playing with Zaid. Once again superhero Zaid would have to come to the rescue to save his parents from the grandparents' scolding. One look at him, and poof! They'd forget whatever it was that they were mad about.

Good boy indeed.

     Humaira was still reporting on their parents' discussions. "Abbu LOL'd when Ammi said that. 'I'm spoiling her? You spoil her more,' he told her." 

     Zoya grinned. "And what did Aunty have to say to that?" 

     "Hmmmph!'" together the girls mimicked Raziya's trademark snort and burst out laughing.

     "Poor Abbu!"

 

     "Are you serious?" Even Asad couldn't believe Shireen's U-turn on the Nuff nikaah when Zoya told him that night. "Is it because of that old superstition that if two sisters are married in the same family they turn on each other?" 

     "Is there such thing? Never heard of it." Zoya asked. "No, it's just cos. she doesn't want yet another daughter millions of miles away from home." 

     "Hmm," Asad mused, fingers steepled under his chin. He didn't blame Chhoti Ammi. 

He felt a twinge thinking of Najma so far away from them. He missed seeing her at the breakfast table every morning worrying about new diets and how much she'd lost or gained in her daily weigh-ins. Nobody hogged the butter dish any more. It sat forlorn on the table--neglected. 

Asad sighed.

Nikhat would be next to go and be missed just as much.

And now Nuzzhat next in line?

Incredibly foolish. 

     Come to think of it, he'd been mildly surprised at Nuzzhat giving up her independence and opposition to marriage so easily. The first thing Asad had said to Zoya on hearing about all the nikaah talk, was, "she better not think of quitting her studies to get married. And they better wait for at least a year till she's graduated." 

     Zoya rolled her eyes. "Of course she won't! How can you even doubt that? They both've decided to wait not one but two years!" 

     "Good," Asad said and went back to answering his emails. But suddenly he raised his head. "You know, Chhoti Ammi isn't wrong for making a big fuss about this. It is a big deal. I can't imagine not seeing the girls for Eid or even every other day." The house was much quieter without Najma and Zoya's chatter and giggles, their collective ganging up against his akdu ways. 

Asad remembered Shireen's last visit to his office and her worries about the girls' rights in a foreign land so far away from home. He knew that Ammi felt the same way about Najma but he was impressed with Chhoti Ammi really taking a stand on this. He recalled that same day she'd been fretting at everyone eagerly pairing Nuzzhat with Faiz and how that scared her. So she was serious about that?

Nope, he didn't blame her at all. She was right to oppose this nikaah. A part of him felt opposed to it too. Why the hell did his sisters have to fall for Americans, he asked himself for the thousandth time. Not one, or two, but all three of them?

This was beyond incredibly foolish. 

The last time they'd talked about this mass exodus of his sisters for faraway lands he and Zoya had even got into a spat when she'd told him that foreigners in the US were officially called "Aliens;" he'd been really ticked off on Najma and Nikhat's behalf. 

     "Is that why Americans are so obsessed with films on Aliens? It's some ridiculous fear of immigrants, right?" 

     "Wow, Mr. Khan, those brain cells of yours are really working out! Have you been getting the badaam-ghee maalish too like our Zaid?" 

     Asad made a face. "No babe, my sex-starved brain is obviously overcompensating. But I hate the idea that my sisters will be so far away from us. That too in a country where for a few years they'll be regarded as 'Aliens!'" He made angry air quotes. "Now all three of them there, so damn far away!" Asad still couldn't wrap his mind around this new development. He punched his pillow in resentment. 

But he also knew that Chhoti Ammi's quest to stop this nikaah, however bold, was doomed even at its inception. Nuzzhat and Faiz were not Nikhat and Feroze; they'd bulldoze their way through her opposition with steely charm that even she wouldn't be able to withstand. But hey, Asad wouldn't mind ringside seats to see how long Shireen would stand her ground and be the bumbling villain in this love story. 

     "I know, it is incredibly foolish that all my sisters-in-law will be so far away from us," Zoya said softly. "Right Zaid? No Phuphis to spoil my baby!" Zaid agreed too. Did everyone's Phuphis go to the US after they got married? 

Asad nodded. It wasn't right that Najma wasn't here to hold and spoil her nephew. Zaid recognized Nikhat and Nuzzhat now. But when would he see his closest Phuphi?

If only ... 

     "Husbands should live closer to their wives' families so that the girls can always have a great support system near by," Asad continued. He looked up sharply when he heard Zoya giggle. "What?" 

     "So when are we moving to New York to be close to my Aapi and Jeeju?"

Ah. He always did forget that didn't he?

     "Then you can be an Alien too, Mr. Khan! How perfect! And Zaid can grow up with his Phuphis being on the same continent."

But then his Chachu and Khala and the grandparents wouldn't be close--it was a bummer either ways.

     Her eyes shone and that dimple peeped. "Hey, maybe I should've married Omar and then there would be no American-Indian wala separation drama in Bhopal! No inter-continental and cross-border nikaahs. Problem solved!"

Asad yanked her arm to make her face him. Zaid's eyes widened in alarm at his dad's grim expression. 

     "Aaj keh diya hai, dobara mat kaheyega," Asad growled, unaware that his fingers were biting into her flesh.

     "I was kidding Mr. Khan," she said softly as she stroked his taut cheek. She grabbed his face and planted a contrite kiss on his lips. "You know me by now. Wouldn't I have run away from every nikaah only to come to you? To only fall into your arms?" 

     "Hmm, you'd better. Or I'd whoop that ass however glorious it may be," he kissed her palm and settled back against his pillow. 

     "Asad!" she yelped--not sure if she was protesting the threat of spanking or the backhanded compliment. But maybe she deserved that so she let his crankiness go.

     Besides, speaking of which, they hadn't even resolved their discussion of Zaid's citizenship. "American mom, American citizen," she'd told Asad too smugly some time back. "Born in India to Indian dad makes my son an Indian citizen," he'd retorted.

God knows what passport the kid would hold. 

 

But all kidding aside, she felt torn too between her American and Indian family. Yes, she was far from home but at least she had Abbu and Humaira.

And Asad and Zaid.

Zoya bent her head to kiss the baby.

     But she missed Jeeju so much. She wanted so bad for Zaid to meet him. He'd be such a super-Nanu too. He baby-talked to Zaid every day without fail and told him stories about his mom as a kid. "Come to New York and in winter we'll make snow-girls (because Zoya had refused to make a snow-MAN) and snow angels," he promised. "In summer you can revive your mom's lemonade stand."

That lemonade stand was such fun! One summer as a nine year-old she and her friend had made enough money to treat themselves to a movie and snow cones. Jeeju remembered it fondly because he was in charge of dragging the wagon full of supplies and keeping an eye on them from a discreet distance. 

Zoya raised her head in surprise when Asad chuckled instead of frowning at being called an Alien or being reminded of his sisters being halfway across the planet. Or even her lame joke about marrying anyone else except for him. She'd gotten lost in her American childhood and Indian citizenship quandaries. 

     "What?" Zoya asked as she finished changing Zaid. He blew happy bubbles as his mom nuzzled him. "Share the joke with us, Mr. Khan!" 

     "Do you remember once when I was trying to tell you I love you and you wouldn't listen?" 

     "When was this?" Zoya asked still engrossed in Zaid's expressions as he tried to mimic hers--he was doing that more often these days. She widened her eyes and so did he. She made an O with her mouth and he giggled.

     Asad rubbed his brow. "Long time ago. Before we were married. Even before we got together."

     "Before the 'mat jao, Zoya' video, you mean?" Zoya asked tongue in cheek. He had her full attention now. And that was, after all, the watershed moment of their love story. 

     Asad laughed, "yes, before that." It felt like a lifetime ago. 

     "And?" 

     "You were setting the table for dinner and I was trying to get your attention to say that we're different but made for each other like a spoon and plate--that we complete and complement each other."

She'd looked beautiful that day. He'd wanted to tell her all day long, in fact he'd been prepping and pep-talking to himself for weeks; he'd even come home early from work that day ... But because of his daily waffling and "voh, main, actually" song and dance, Zoya was justifiably mad at him.

 

She laughed remembering that moment vividly and Asad couldn't resist joining in either. 

     "Nnn ... aaa," Zaid singsonged to be included in the merriment too.

     "Yesh, shpoon and plate! Abbu spoon and Ammi plate," Zoya engaged Zaid in a high-pitched voice as she played with him. His eyes were drawn to the shapes her mouth made. He grinned and flapped his arms. Did he perhaps remember the rhyme his Ammi often sang for him: "Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle ..." 

     "Spoon and plate? That was the best you could do? Really Mr. Khan, your communication skills were really MA then! Graduating from voh ... main ... actually' to hi, I'm spoon and you're plate. Let's get hitched!' "

He chuckled. When she put it like that it did sound absurd but he was kind of trying to convince her that they were made for each other ... like a spoon and a plate. Why in god's name couldn't he have come up with a better analogy? Because he'd been inspired by what she was doing right then—laying the table, that's why. He had thought it would be a nice ice breaker--a neat segue into what he really wanted to say. But as usual things hadn't quite gone the way he'd planned. In his head it had seemed like a good idea, in execution though ... it'd missed the mark--by a mile. 

Because when it came to expressing any emotion besides anger in front of Ms. Farooqui somehow he always got tongue-tied in those days. When not shouting at or shaking her, words deserted him.

Even saying sorry had been a challenge.

And then in the midst of his clumsy cutlery confession, Ammi had walked in to see Asad clutching the tableware uselessly. He couldn't even remember when he'd picked up the plates and silverware in his nervousness to get Zoya to listen to him. That had ended another feeble attempt to tell her how he felt.

     "Why am I the spoon?" Asad asked thinking back to what she'd just said. "I could well be the plate."

     Zoya's dimples deepened. "Think Mr. Khan! Spooning a delicious dollop of chocolate sauce or whipped cream into my mouth ..." She mimed the action--closing her eyes and moaning in satisfied pleasure.

She crowed when she saw him blush a furious red. Asad licked his lips. 

     "Yeah baby, that's why!" Zoya wiped her eyes after a hearty laugh at his expression. "But what made you think of that day all of a sudden? It was more than a year ago." 

     "That word 'Alien.' You were really angry with me that day and yelled at me for always reminding you that we were different."  

     "Yes. In those days when you said I was different from you, it meant that I was somehow deficient in your eyes."

Asad had the grace to blush.

     Zoya smirked. "Or deviant! And I said that we were as different as a human is from an alien!" Zoya remembered perfectly now. God! In those days he spared no opportunity in reminding her how different she was from him. "It was partially right you know."

     "That we're like spoon and plate?" 

     "Nooo!" she said through fresh peals of laughter. "That we were as alike as human and alien! Like Jadu from Koi Mil Gaya!"

     Asad cocked an eyebrow. "Un-uh, not Jadu. Like PK from PK.'"

     Zoya sat up, curious. "Why PK?" 

He waggled his brows and meaning dawned. 

     "Ohhh! Cos. he was buck-naked at the beginning! Nice job, Jahanpanah, I like the way you think! So tonight you're going to be the Alien from a faraway gola visiting this earthling. You can even use the guitar to cover up! Or we can play spoon and plate if you want," she added after she saw the speculative look in his eye. 

     "Deal!"

     But the ups and downs of their own love story reminded him of the original discussion of Faiz and Nuzzhat. "Why does a girl fall hard for a guy who chases and charms her? I really expected Nuzzhat to hold out longer." 

     "A girl falls hard because she feels flattered," Zoya grew more serious too. "And a girl worries that she might not get a better chance than the one right under her nose."

     "What?" Asad was horrified. "So, most of the love marriages on the planet are really girls saying yes to the first guy that shows any interest in them?" 

     "Not most. But a lot are. And I'm not talking of those ultra beautiful and glamorous girls who know the power they hold over men and make them drool. I'm talking of the everyday girl who's raised to think that if a cute guy even looks at her she should be grateful ... the girl who grows up worrying that if she doesn't marry then the world will come to an end." 

     "That's just depressing," Asad said after some thought. 

     "I know."

     "I hope Nuzzhat didn't say yes to Faiz because she felt grateful or desperate. She's much smarter than that. I doubt she'd take this step just because it's convenient to be married into the same family as her sisters, right?"

Zoya paused in her playing with Zaid. She had been tickling him under his chin and rubbing her nose against his cheek. 

     "No. I thought that too--I even wanted to tell Faiz to back off. I think Nuzzhat tried really hard to fight Faiz's chase and charm routine for exactly these reasons. And Faiz realized it too: she wasn't playing hard to get or being the friend-zoning diva. She was just very wary of how this love story seemed too easy, too scripted and convenient for everybody else ..." 

     "How come we didn't follow the chase and charm script?" Asad wondered switching back to appraising their own saga. 

Zoya laughed and Zaid blinked up at her in surprise. He smiled a toothless grin too.

     "Mr. Khan you hated me, remember? Why would you chase and charm a girl you despised?"

     "I never hated you." He should've known she'd say that. 

     "Liar!" 

That too. 

     "I never lie!"

     "Double liar! There's a coin in our drawer that would beg to disagree! And remember the day after our suhaag raat--you lied all morning to everybody so that you could get me home alone and---" 

Asad threw his hands up in the air. Fine, he'd concede that lying though why the woman couldn't see that he had lied only to be with her he'd never know.

     He grew serious and remote. "That first time I saw you ... it wasn't hate." 

     Zoya held up a hand and began ticking off each item with a finger, "first, if you'd really fallen for me at the dargah as you always claim, then you would have come chasing after me." 

Asad opened his mouth to object but she was quicker. Her head bounced in sync with the animated gestures.

     "Second, when we met later, you could have tried to charm the girl you supposably fell hook, line and sinker for, instead of running her over with your car and then fighting with her! Hai na, Zaid?"

Zaid gurgled and cooed in agreement with his mom.

Asad now held his head in his hands forgetting the immediate discussion. How many times had he told her: "supposably isn't even a word." Typical American arrogance of inventing words and then justifying their existence by writing your own dictionary and conveniently calling it a "variation" of the real word.

Incredibly foolish.

Her other oft-used fave was another doozy: "irregardless." Really? And no, it's "caramel," not "carmel," and "accessories," not "assessors." Americans!

     "It is so a word! And I can prove it," she'd argue a hundred times and pull it up on her blasted iPad. "See?" 

     "That's not even a credible dictionary. And anyways, it's not a synonym for supposedly,' and not used the way you're using the word." 

His laptop lay by his side, forgotten. He would never win that battle; he wouldn't even try.

     "I'm not the chasing kind," Asad said softly. "You know that by now." 

Didn't she know it too! The centuries this man had taken in confessing his love for her! She could well have been several continents away if he'd had his way with words. And Allah Miyan, thank you for that lie that kept her longer in India! Spoon and plate aside, he'd been most expressive in that "Mat jao Zoya" video which he hadn't realized he was recording. She planted a swift peck on his cheek in silent gratitude as she alerted to his serious tone.

Asad remembered the regret that had flared up in his chest when he'd opened his eyes at the dargah and found her gone. That paroxysm yawning in his heart had felt alien too. He hadn't been able to explain it away.

     "Those days I was too busy running away from the idea of marriage to go chasing after a girl." A smile tugged at his lips at another memory. "And how could I possibly charm a wild cat that was ready to claw my eyes out that day?" 

     "Asad!"

     "Babe, you know I'm right!"

She relented; she had read him the riot act that day, hadn't she? All the anger she'd felt against Aapi and Akram and the frustration at not being able to find her Abbu--she'd dumped on Asad that day. And then his 19th century views on how women should act and dress had really pissed her off even more.

     "But you could have tried to come after me ..." Zoya's voice tapered off. 

Yes, why hadn't he tried to find her when he'd opened his eyes and found her gone that day? No other woman had had this effect on him so he should have known that this girl was something special. He also knew that Ayaan had tried to find the mysterious girl they'd seen crying at the dargah. Then why ... 

     Maybe that's why. Ayaan. Had he backed off because Ayaan had expressed an interest in the same girl? He remembered that just before going to the dargah that day Ayaan had joked: "I hope that a girl never comes between us!"

How easy was it for Ayaan to say what was on his mind and how hard it was for him ...

But in his heart Asad knew. Even if Ayaan hadn't expressed an interest in that girl he still wouldn't have gone after her.

It just wasn't him. All his life he'd run away from girls instead of after them.

Fate intervened of course, thank god. And somehow Asad had happened to be driving along the same road that Zoya was trotting along having whipped herself up into a royal snit as she ran away from a literal marriage.

     "I ... " Asad cleared his throat. "I didn't even think of going after you. Maybe I thought you were a mirage ... or that it was Allah's will: I opened my eyes and you were gone. And I figured you weren't made for me ... and then I saw you again ... for a minute I thought my prayers had been granted. But then our fight confirmed the idea that we weren't meant to be." 

She scooted over to lay Zaid in his arms. Dazed, Asad looked down at him as Zoya stroked his cheek.

     She sniffed resting her head on his shoulder. "Stop lying to yourself, Asad. You were punishing yourself, right? Always thinking that you didn't deserve to be happy! Thank god for that lie and that video both of which came from the heart, or we wouldn't have had this!"

They looked down into Zaid's animated face.

     Zoya burst into tears for that man who'd locked himself away in a tight shell of dark anger because he thought he didn't deserve any better. And seeing her, so did Zaid. "Look, you've made us cry!"

     Asad pulled her tighter to his side. "I carried too much anger inside me in those days--turning my back on happiness meant that at least I wouldn't hurt anyone else ... Thank god you barged into my life to save me from myself!" He raised his eyes in prayer as he held his family in his arms.

He had really tried hard to resist their love story.

     "I literally fell into your bed and you threw me to the floor!" Zoya tried to lighten his mood.

     He kissed the top of her head. "What can I say? I must have been blind not to see that you belonged in my bed. Forever."

     "Right," Zoya admitted. The twists and turns their lives had taken before she got to this bed! "So when you really think about it, I was the Alien that Allah dropped into your lap!"

     "The extra terrestrial that kept falling into my arms every other minute," Asad added.

     "E.T. is home," she nuzzled his neck. Citizenship and nationality really didn't matter in the larger scheme of things, come to think of it. What mattered was that she was home.

Asad snickered at her twist on the film character's signature line "E.T. go home." He had no idea of the epiphany that had shimmered through her mind right now.

Zaid was still sniffling--not having found his happy baby groove yet. Zoya nudged Asad to sing to him. Brushing his nose against his son's Asad sang the American lullaby he'd heard Zoya sing so often.

          "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,

          When you're not happy, my skies are grey,

          Please don't take my sunshine away." 

     They looked at each other as Zaid babbled happily now, his tiny arms held in front of him and his eyes shining. "My skies were grey till you came along," Asad bent his head to murmur in Zoya's ear.

     She shivered as he nipped her ear. "Honey, your skies were dark--black and bitter just like your coffee--before I came along!"

Asad laughed and Zaid gazed up at him, riveted by that image. He loved to see his father laugh--this sight was his favorite, second only to him singing or humming.

     "Lighting up my skies like a meteor shower?"

     "You bet!" she nodded thinking back to that meteor shower night over a year and a half ago. As the stars had blazed and trailed overhead, their earthbound destinies had battled to tumble them into a tumultuous embrace.

Still humming softly Asad settled back in bed with Zaid on his chest. He loved to feel the baby's strong heartbeat against his chest. His hand patted his son's back, gently lulling him to sleep. Zaid's cheek fanned by lush lashes plumped up where it pillowed against his daddy's chest.

Zoya leaned on her side to watch them after removing the laptop from the bed. This sight was worthy of a mental snapshot; she took a real one to send to everybody on Whatsapp. "Goodnight from Zaid," she captioned it.

     "From dargah-gazing at aliens to doting daddyhood--you've come a long way, baby," she said to Asad.

His fingers laced with hers and Asad fell asleep too; he dreamed of a baby clad in diapers--was that Zaid, he couldn't be sure--kicking and flying in the air as he karate-chopped a hunter trying to kill a lion with a bow and arrow.

 

When Zoya lifted the baby off Asad's chest, his arms were reluctant to let go. She patted both papa and papoose trying her best not to disturb either's sleep.

     "Shh," she whispered in Zaid's ear as he mumbled at the separation. "Let Abbu sleep, he's tired." She watched Asad sigh and roll on his side.

     "Feeding time, baby," Zoya soothed. "Aren't you hungry? Come I'll show you the stars and we'll say hi to Nani."

Late at night, when it wasn't too cold or hot—"just right like Goldilocks, hai na, Zaid?"--she liked to sit with him in the backyard and point out a star she'd picked out as a child to signify her Ammi. That star had been her secret-keeper and confessor, her imaginary best friend and guiding light all these years. It was the star in the center of Orion's belt--Jeeju had pointed it out to her when he'd got her her first telescope for her sixth birthday. Since then, on many a warm moonless night they'd unfurl a blanket on the community park lawn and track constellations with her sandwiched snugly between Aapi and Jeeju.

Oh man, she didn't realize how badly she was missing him.

     "That's Nani," Zoya told her son pointing high up in the sky after straining to find her beacon. "And she's watching over us."

Zaid's lashes drooped after intently gazing at the stars in his mom's eyes. 

 

When she slipped into bed later as softly as possible so as to not wake Asad, she gasped and then giggled when his arm snaked out to pull her into his naked side.

     "I thought you'd be tired tonight," she breathed.

     "A quick nap was all Jahanpanah needed. Now about the wishlist ..."

     "Allah Miyan, what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan! It's past midnight."

     "Please Mrs. Khan, stop playing coy. Now picture this, I'm the scientist who's going to probe the Alien that was just captured and delivered to my top-secret lab."

     "Asa---"

     "Shh. Why're you wearing so many clothes? And where're the heels?"

     "Oh really? This is what you capture Aliens for? For sexual fantasies and midnight cabarets?" She hissed, her voice smothered by the kurta he was helping her out of.

     "And mind-bending experiments as my sexual slave. Ready?" he asked as he secured her handcuffed hands to the bed post and ran his own hands over her exposed body.

     "Always!" she writhed as his lips followed. "Will I be spanked for being a bad Alien?"

     "Yes. With a spoon!"

     "MR. KHA---"

 

     "Nuzzhat?" Dilshad asked as she opened the door to the fuming girl armed with a rolling suitcase one early morning.

     "Badi Ammi, I've had it with her!" Nuzzhat barged in huffing in outrage.

     "Kya hua, beta? Whom are you talking about?" Dilshad went to the kitchen to get the agitated girl a glass of chilled water.

     "Ammi, that's who! She's driving me nuts showing me albums of eligible boys from Bhopal and Indore. She's inviting a family over for dinner tonight. Can you believe it?"

The phone rang just then. It was Rashid asking to see if Nuzzhat was there.

     "Yes, she's here and she's hopping mad," Dilshad said. 

     Rashid sighed. "Dilshad, is it OK if she stays with you all for some time? It'll give us a few days of peace here. Mother and daughter have been going at each other non-stop and my poor Nikhat is caught in the crossfire."

     "Haan haan, zaroor," Dilshad calmed him down. "We'd love to have her here. It'll be like having Najma with us and there can never be enough people to change diapers!" 

     "Good," Rashid laughed. "Make sure you get her to do most of the changing. Akal thikaane lag jayegi!"

Dilshad frowned. She didn't undersand what Rashid was talking about but he'd hung up before she could ask for clarifications.

Kiski akal thikaane lag jayegi? Nuzzhat? But---

Zoya had walked in by the time she turned around and Nuzzhat was rocking Zaid.

     "Hi baby! Remember your favorite Phuphi?" asked Zaid's favorite Phuphi.

     "Mmm ... baaa," he sang.

Zoya gave Dilshad a quick update as Nuzzhat went in for her first diaper change of the day--all that cuddling and giggling had obviously squeezed the baby's tiny bladder.

A second later they heard a squeal and a shout, and ran to the bedroom.

Nuzzhat was hyperventilating with a hand clutched to her heart.

     "Nuzh, what happened?" Zoya asked as she rushed to check on Zaid. He smiled in naked glory as he spotted his Ammi.

     "Nothing," she stuttered. "Umm ... I don't think Bhaijaan was expecting me to be here."

Zoya blushed. Jesus H. Christ. She heartily wished that Asad hadn't walked in from the bathroom in his birthday suit. Because if he had then he would kill her.

And poor Nuzzhat would be scarred for life.

 

     "No I didn't, thank god," Asad told Zoya later. "But I was just about to remove the towel around my waist and it's a good thing she shrieked."

     Zoya giggled as she played with Zaid. "Haw, Abbu would have been all nangu baba shame-shame!"

Zaid chuckled. Or at least it sounded like he did if you used your imagination. He knew all about being nangu baba and shame-shame.

     "Aapi's been telling me forever that we we need a second changing station somewhere else in the house. I guess, she's right." 

     "It's all your fault, you know," Asad said as he fixed his cuff. "You could've given me a heads up." 

     "I was about to but I got distracted with telling Ammi about Nuff." 

     "So Nuzzhat's staying for few days?"

     "Umm-hmm."

     "And how will that convince Chhoti Ammi?"

     "We have a plan, trust me," Zoya's eyes twinkled.

     "Oh god," Asad groaned; he watched Dobby's reflection pause in the licking of his paw and wink up at him.

 

But Shireen wasn't giving in either. She threatened and cajoled and nagged till Nuzzhat agreed to come for dinner that night even if she stayed on at the Khan house for a few days. To ease and smooth things over, everyone came over to dinner from the Khan house. And they were greeted by some ladkewalas--an uncle and aunty and their son and daughter. Nice people. Shireen did the rounds of introductions her voice rising in alarm because Nuzzhat hadn't come with them.

     "Nuzzhat?" she asked Asad.

     "Umm ... voh ... actually ... Chhoti Ammi ..."

     "She's coming straight from her rehearsal," Zoya decided to help her husband out. Luckily Zaid was keeping everyone else diverted. "She said she'd be late and to start without her."

An hour later, lying in wait for her errant daughter, Shireen squeaked in dismay when she saw the strangest vision walk in through the door.

     "Ya Allah," Dadi exclaimed and clicked her prayer beads. But her lips twitched. 

Siddiqui Saheb's eyes bugged and Rashid slapped his head though he had to bite his lips to keep from laughing.

The guests turned and stared in horror.

Raziya found their expressions hilarious. She covered her mouth with her dupatta but couldn't restrain a snort from escaping.

They saw Nuzzhat walk in towards them dressed as the Hindu goddess Kali with theater paint slathered over her face. Her curly hair blew wildly around her face and the dark make up made her eyes seem ghoulish; she waved a trident in one hand.

     "Hey guys!" Nuzzhat walked up to the table and greeted everyone. Her tribal attire rustled and swished.

Ayaan gulped his food the wrong way and Asad had to slap his back so his favorite brother wouldn't choke to death thanks to their baby sister. 

     "Nuzzhat! What is this? How dare you dress like this and keep us all waiting?" Shireen said in her sternest voice. Ya Allah, she knew that Nuzzhat would protest but this was too much.

This, she hadn't expected.  

Nuzzhat bent over her father's plate and broke off a piece of kabab before popping it into her mouth. "Yum! But you know Abbu, I'm thinking of turning vegetarian."

There were more gasps around the room.

     "Ammi, the rehearsal for our play went on longer than usual. Is it OK if I get a tattoo?" She walked up to Shireen and kissed her on the cheek leaving a smear of make-up behind. "So sorry," she dimpled shyly at the guests. 

She would have looked pretty but the gory make-up made her look ghastly. Nuzzhat waved at the young man with the tips of her fingers and then winked at him. 

He sucked air and looked ready to flee. 

     Shireen fluttered her hands. "Umm, OK, OK, go get out of this ... this costume and then come join us." She shooed her youngest out of the room. It was a wonder she was still standing. That tattoo remark had nearly slayed her.  

     "I'm sorry for that," she apologized to the guests, her heart sinking.  

Before her daughter had walked in she was telling these kind people about Nuzzhat's sweet nature, her fondness for family, being a homebody, learning cooking and---

She hadn't felt the need to tell them that her daughters were learning Taekwondo and that Nuzzhat was actively involved with her college street theater troupe. That just hadn't come up.

Shireen felt her blood rise. Why in god's name was her daughter dressed as a Hindu goddess of all things? Just to torture her mother, that's why. And wanting to be a vegetarian? She was doing all this obviously to drive a knife through her poor mother's heart, that's why. 

By the time Nuzzhat came back down looking human and almost presentable in a beautiful suit, the guests had predictably fled excusing themselves by saying that they had an early flight to catch the next day.

Shireen would have sobbed but she was too furious.

     Raziya had taken Zoya aside and scolded her. "Obviously this drama has your fingerprints all over it." When Zoya opened her mouth to protest Raziya held up a hand. "I don't mind. But don't be too hard on Shireen. Your Abbu will really be mad if she has a nervous breakdown!"

     "Aunty, I--"

     "Shh, I'm just warning you. Don't take this too far."

     "Humph," Zoya pouted. It was such a great plan too. Nuzzhat was already going to be in costume for her play but it was Zoya's idea to not remove the make up till she got home.

But maybe Aunty was right. They'd better tread lightly. Or Asad might kill her too.

 

When the following week another set of ladkewalas had been summoned, Nuzzhat was the exact opposite of her previous avatar. Today she was at her sharmilee and gharelu best. She answered all the questions and her mother's breast swelled with pride even though she was upset that the girl was wearing her glasses and had oiled and braided her hair.

But when Nuzzhat rose to serve the guests she would have been perfect if only her heel hadn't snapped off and she hadn't spilled scalding adrak and elaichi chai all over the groom-to-be's lap. He yelped, possibly at the prospect of being neutered. She sobbed as she tried to sop up the liquid with her dupatta.

Her father and Bhaijaans slapped their foreheads.

Shireen was livid. But she didn't know if this was a genuine disaster or a mere act. Her daughter was also an accomplished actress after all.

 

The third time was no charm at all.

Nuzzhat was more herself this time--no greasepaint, spirit gum, oily hair or flimsy heels. Shireen had been on guard all day long--she'd even managed to keep Nuzzhat at the Siddiqui house today.  

As the evening progressed, she breathed easier as Nuzzhat chatted with the family easily. She had forbidden the child from serving anything this time. Humaira and Nikhat would do the honors. Shireen felt hopeful. Nuzzhat really seemed to be getting along with the boy. There had been no mention of theater and Taekwondo.  

     "We are hoping that you won't mind a long engagement," Shireen said to the boy's mom. "Our Nuzzhat wants to finish her studies. Just one more year."

     "No, that's OK, Ammi," Nuzzhat interjected. "I don't have to finish my studies. I can get married whenever!" 

Her audience gasped.

     "Nuzzhat," Asad said quietly. "You must finish your studies."

     "But why Bhaijaan? It's not like I'm really going to do much with a degree, right? It's just a piece of paper. A marriage certificate is the ultimate degree for an Indian girl after all."

Asad narrowed his eyes at her in warning. He suspected where this was going. He was also not happy about this daily drama of scaring away new batchelors every other week. The girls would fly away to America but their whole family would be the laughingstock in Bhopal at this rate.

     "No, you should definitely complete your studies," the young man piped up. This conversation was scaring him. He didn't want to get married to a college drop-out. What would his friends say? 

     "But then I'll have to wait at least two or three years to be married. Because after I finish my studies I want to apply for drama school in the US."

     Shireen gasped. "US? Why will you go to the US?" 

     "Why not, Ammi? I've already applied for a visa and sent out college applications." 

     "Nuzzhat!" Shireen screeched forgetting about the guests. She leaped up from the sofa and was rocking on her heels looking almost like goddess Kali herself. "How dare you? I've been doing all this to stop you from going to the US!"

     Nuzzhat stood too. "Ammi," she said softly. "I already told you, there was never any need to do this for me. And it's not about going or not going to the US. It's about my rights and choices. And since you don't want me to do what I want then I may as well have no choice at all. I may as well quit college and be the good little Indian girl who boys can come and look at and reject week after week."

Sobbing, Nuzzhat ran up the stairs to her room.

     "Nuzzhat!" her mother called after her uselessly.

 

And for the next couple of months that's exactly what she did.

Nuzzhat stopped going to college and quit Taekwondo and theater despite everyone's pleas. She stopped taking Faiz's calls or texts. She became the perfect little Indian girl who learned to make the best aloo-gobhi and dosa and sambhar and kheer and haleem and biryani and koftas.

And she became vegetarian.

Shireen was sick to her stomach with guilt.

She had expected her daughter to claw and fight, but not this. Not this slow suicide of not doing what she truly loved, or being herself. Even the others could no longer bear to eat the grand delicacies cooked and prepared by her daily.

Mostly everyone just pushed their plates away.

Shireen felt her resolve weaken. She was crushed. Not because she would lose another daughter to the US. But because she had hurt Nuzzhat so terribly. It was not right to crush a young girl's hopes and dreams this way.

Helplessness clawed at her.

 

But when the doorbell rang one night at dinner and Wajid ushered in their visitor, Shireen wept with joy.

     "Shukar hai Allah ka ki tum aa gaye," she cried. "Welcome home, Faiz!"

     "Where is she?" was his greeting.

     "In the kitchen cooking up a storm and making her mother sick! Go and talk to her. Tell her, she wins."

Pitching his backpack to the floor Faiz leaped toward the kitchen.

Shireen burst into tears as everyone erupted into cheers and applause. Ya Allah, she was going to lose another daughter to the US and she'd hurt her girl for nothing.

She hadn't seen Naz come up behind her son. Naz hugged Shireen and patted her shoulder.

     "Abhi se your daughter is making my son run like a paagal deewana! He wouldn't sit still the whole flight."

     When Shireen gave her a watery smile, Naz grinned. "I'll be a double saas now! Two times the mazaa and bahu torture!" she cackled as a laughing Nikhat came up to hug her.

     "Ammi," she told her mother-in-law. "Abhi mujhse hi kaam chalana padega. Nuzzhat and Faiz won't be making you a saas for another year or so."

     Naz made a face. Then her face lit up. "Awesome! I've already joined a gym and by that time I'll be the sexiest saas ever!" She cut her eyes to Nikhat. "And maybe the sexiest Dadi too?"

     "Ammi!" A blushing Nikhat fled. 

 

There was a shriek of delight in the Khan house too the next day. Zoya launched herself into Jeeju's arms.

     "Jeeju, you have such a long life! I was just telling Zaid about you." 

     "Where's my grandson," Anwar asked impatiently. "I couldn't live another moment not holding him in my arms." 

He fell silent as Asad handed a squirming Zaid to him.

     "Oh my god, he's an angel," Anwar said through tears.

He whispered duas over the baby's head.

     "Aapi, did you know about this?" Zoya asked.

     Zeenat nodded smugly as they watched Anwar with Zaid. "He was moaning and groaning every phone call about how jealous he was and how he was missing out on holding Zaid. So I said, 'come, hold him then! What's stopping you?' "

Asad meanwhile was eyeing the giant cardboard box that the taxi driver had just deposited at the door.

No, please tell me that's not what I think it is.

     Anwar saw him looking at the box and gushed. "Yes, I got the teddy bear," he announced to Zoya who bounced and clapped in glee.

She fell upon the box and Dobby circled the unraveling packaging in anticipation. 

But when Zoya pulled out the massive soft toy, Dobby squeaked in alarm, his hair at end.

     The cat ducked between Asad's legs for protection. "Do something!" Dobby's hunted eyes relayed to Asad.

Oh. My. God, Allah Miyan, Asad groaned silently.

Not that life-size bow-tied and vested teddy bear, please god no.

Though heaven knows why he was complaining. This bear could eat Dhoni bear for breakfast and not even blink an eye. And Dobby obviously was going to behave himself from now on.

 

 

 

Song in Title:

PK (2014): "Char Kadam"


	118. Tu Dhoop Hai, Chham Se Bikhar, Tu Hai Nadi O Bekhabar

 

She just couldn't help it. Almost every other night Zoya woke up at odd hours and crept up to the crib to sneak an anxious finger under Zaid's nose. she always exhaled in relief on feeling his warm breath on her finger. And then she scolded herself for being a paranoid nutcase.

     One night she heard a chuckle from Asad. "I already checked. He's fine," he said softly.

     "You do it too?" Zoya asked feeling caught out, yet glad that she wasn't alone in her fears.

     "Umm-hmm." 

     "Asad, I know it's crazy but sometimes I wake up with this terrible fear. What if something happened and he couldn't cry out for help! I tell myself that it's nothing, I'm just being paranoid, but I still have to check." 

     "Oh god, me too." 

He rolled over to hold her tight once she got into bed. 

     "Do you think all parents do this?" she asked. 

     "Probably. Definitely first-time parents." 

     "Thank god! I thought I was being an idiot." 

     "Not this time, babe." 

     "Asad," she swatted him playfully, "you're so mean!" 

     "Did you just call me kamina?' " 

     "No! That's not what that means!" 

     "I'm pretty sure 'mean' means 'kamina' in Hindi." 

     "Jeez, Jahanpanah! Let's not play the dictionary game, OK!" 

     "But Jahanpanah is so good at the dic--" 

     "Asad!"

Giggling, she shut him up and promptly forgot to scold him for being so bad as he proceeded to show her just how good he really was.

 

In a week's time the giant bear that had traveled the seven seas was showing some signs of stress. He'd been placed in the corner where once Asad's guitar had held place of pride. But now its stand had been packed away in the storeroom and the guitar rested in the monster's hairy paws. 

Asad had hated this re-decoration. He didn't mind losing his room to his wife and son. Or even Dobby. 

But this beast? 

Incredibly foolish.

     "I told you I'm not letting that monster anywhere near my kid," he reminded Zoya of his pledge from months ago when Zaid was still in utero. 

     "Shh, Mr. Khan! Jeeju will hear you and feel so bad!" 

     "So after Jeeju leaves we can dump it in the storeroom and get my stand back?"

     "Hmm, we'll see. Though I don't know what you have against the poor thing. It's just adorbs!" 

Adorbs? Asad huffed and hissed in disgruntlement. It was many things, but adorbs it was not. 

But Asad grinned suddenly. Who knew that he had a very sympathetic comrade: Dobby detested the thing just as much if not more. 

     "Good boy," he high-fived the cat as he left for work that morning. In fact he chuckled when he heard Zoya yell a minute later as he let himself out the main door: "DOBBY! You bad, BAD boy!" 

     "What happened?" Aapi, Jeeju and Dilshad ran in to see if Dobby had done something to the baby.

Holding their noses, they burst out laughing. 

Zaid looked up happily from face to face.

He was growing stronger day by day and could even hold up his head now. His daddy had just kissed him goodbye and he was lying in his crib on his tummy admiring his fingers--there were so many of them and they wiggled funny. Why weren't they as strong as Abbu's? And when could he play with Abbu's guitar? Both Ammi and Abbu grabbed his fingers away whenever he tried to touch and eat the strings. 

Incredibly foolish. 

     "Why'd you do that?" Zoya was holding Dobby by the scruff of his neck and shaking him.

Because Dobby had not only clawed the bear's eye out. He'd also taken a nice, stinky dump on the bear's leg. He was marking his territory and this bear was a trespasser.

Dobby mewled in protest, squirming to be let down.

Zaid chuckled to himself and bent his head to gnaw on his fist. His mom was saying something but he couldn't see her over the crib. 

     "You are so yucky! And you're grounded, mister!" Zoya continued to scold the cat as the glint in his eye became more polished. "Don't even think that you'll get away with this!"

She locked him up in his traveling crate. Dobby yowled in anger all the while the mess was being cleaned up. Zoya planted her hands on her waist and scowled at him after she was done. 

Big bear would have to be sent out for dry cleaning. 

     "I'm really angry with you!" she wagged her finger at him. "Don't talk to me!"

Aapi yelped suddenly. 

     "Zoyajaan, look!" 

They all looked at her in alarm.

     "He turned over! Zaid just flipped himself on his back!" 

A cheer went up and Zaid kicked his arms and legs in joy at being the center of attention of so many adoring faces that were suddenly leaning over his crib. What happened? Tell me, he begged trying to arch his back. His hands tried to clap. 

No! I want to be on my back! BACK! NOW!

He didn't know why they all wanted to put him on his stomach again. Zaid frowned. It had taken him so long to turn himself over.

     He grunted making a deep humming sound: "MmmHhmmm." And did it again.

     "Yay!" another cheer went up.

     "Good boy!" 

Zaid beamed. 

Dobby stopped his caterwauling, his ears straining to hear this change in tones. Good boy? They must obviously mean him. That's what Asad had called him just a little while back. He began whining to be let out. 

     "Nikaal do bechare ko," Jeeju urged Zoya. He was tickling the baby's feet. Zaid squealed in delight, This new Nanu had become his new best friend. 

     "Jeeju, woh bechara nahin hai!"

Zoya didn't know why Dilshad chuckled all of a sudden.

     "See, he's begging so much. I'm sure he's sorry," Jeeju continued the appeal on Dobby's behalf. He'd picked up Zaid by now; the kid was trying to reach for his glasses--all the world's Nanus must wear these things. 

     "Fine! But only for you, Jeeju. I'm still mad at him. He does this again and he's dead to me!" 

     "Don't be mad, raje. He's just a baby too. He must be jealous of the bear."

     Anwar still remembered how Dobby had saved Zoya's and the baby's life when he'd attacked Tanveer in the gudia factory. He'd told Asad and Zoya later: "Dobby ko sau khoon maaf hain!" And everyone else had seemed to agree too: Dobby could get away with murder. This billi had already been to Hadj and back--sau choohe devoured or not.

Sighing in resignation Zoya lifted Dobby out. 

Both the cat and Zaid lunged toward one another. They'd become best buds by now. Zoya deposited the cat on the bed and brought Zaid over. This was their playground, their akhada, if you will. 

Content, they all watched the two play with one another. Clad just in diapers, Zaid cooed making the most divine noises as he swatted at Dobby. His legs and arms flailed and flapped. Dobby allowed Zaid to grab him by his fur and pinch hard--only the kid had special license to do this. Zaid loved his tickling whiskers and often plucked at them without meaning to hurt the cat. Sometimes a fist would grab the cat's ear and yank hard. 

But Dobby didn't seem to mind--only the baby had been given this honor. 

When Zaid flipped on his back once again Dobby made a thrilled sound and ran around him in merry circles as if to say, "do it again! Do't again! AgAIN!"

Zoya put Zaid back on his tummy. Everyone was filming this circus by now. 

     "Hmmm--" Frowning and humming in concentration the kid turned over once again. But this time his butt landed smack on Dobby's tail.

     "ME-ROOOW!" the cat yelped and leaped a foot in the air.

     "Ha! Serves you right, you stinky monster!" Zoya clapped, immensely proud of her son. 

Zoya lifted Zaid high in her arms making kissy faces up at him. He loved it when his parents did this. Arms swinging and legs sawing he gurgled down at her. She held him close to her dropping a million kisses on his head. 

Dobby leaped up on Zoya's shoulder to nuzzle her chin--begging for some sugar too.

     "OK fine, I forgive you," she said to him. "But don't do it again. EVER!"

     "Hmmphhh!" the cat grunted as he washed a paw. He wasn't the kind to make promises he didn't intend to keep. 

 

At work when Asad's phone announced a notification he looked at the attached video debating whether to open it or not. It was a gamble: it could either be another one of his wife's teasing clips or it could be a brand new brag video starring Zaid.

He took the risk and grinned a second later.

     "Bhai?" Ayaan asked.

     "Zaid just turned over on his back."

     "Let me see!" 

Asad replayed the video for him. 

     "Shabash, mera cheetah!" Ayaan crowed, pumping a fist. "Strong legs. I'm telling you, he's going to be great at football." He looked at his brother and shook his head sadly. "But knowing you and Mona Darling, most probably he'll end up playing cricket! Bahut na-insafi hai." 

Asad said nothing. He watched Zoya pick up Zaid and cuddle him as Dobby tried to apologize and patao her. 

     "Uh-oh, Mona darling's not happy with him," Ayaan noted. "What did Dobby Mi-ya-oon do today?" 

     Asad laughed. "Dobby Mi-ya-oon was a very good boy today!" 

But he sobered when Prasad entered to give him some papers and stack re-done blueprints. 

     Swearing under his breath Asad pulled up the corresponding files on his laptop. "And I'm not happy with the West Lake project right now," he sighed, pushing his chair back and standing up to glare out the window. 

Prasad cleared his throat behind him. Asad turned to face him bracing for impact. Worse was coming; Prasad wouldn't shuffle otherwise. 

     "Sir, there was a blockade. Our shipment of wire PC strand got hijacked from NH 86."

     "Shit! Great, just bloody great," Ayaan muttered, throwing up his hands. This was the second time they'd had trouble with one of their shipments. 

     Ayaan looked at his brother with puppy-dog eyes. "Bhai, trust your instincts. If it feels off, then it must be."

Zoya'd pretty much said the same thing. Except she'd used stranger expressions and more animated gestures. 

     "Asad, this is major hinky," she'd frothed and foamed at the mouth some weeks ago when he'd told her about it.

Asad wiped his brow with an impatient hand. Yes, this project had been a pain in the side since the start. It was something they'd taken on in those dread-soaked days of being hunted and haunted by Tanveer, and maybe his radar and bullshit detector were on the fritz that day.

In fact this project was on its way to becoming a bad Hindi movie plot: a land deal gone wrong, local thugs terrorizing workers, petty on-site thefts, sabotage and skirmishes, and many other stings and blows to sap morale. They were looking into legal and financial recourses to stop the hemorrhaging, but the damage control was getting trickier. 

     "Bhai, this looks like a carefully orchestrated strike."

     "Hmm." If he told Zoya this he could already see how it would go. 

Funny, he was beginning to think like her: first came the outrage: How dare someone do this! Then came anger: No one messes with me. Then came cold determination: let's see who's at the bottom of this, and end this like ninja cowboys. 

But their methodologies differed. 

She'd run to her iPad for research. And he to his rolodex: who might he contact for speedy, no-nonsense action?

     "Rakesh!" both had yelled at the same time. 

     "I'm sure his business was dying without our family protection plan, anyways!" Zoya joked. "He should give us a frequent flier discount!"

     "Or we should just retain him on a permanent basis," Asad added more seriously.

     Zoya shook her head. "Aww, always the practical Mr. Khan!"

They hadn't seen Rakesh since the last family party they'd invited him to. In the post-Tanveer and Mangalpur Part II victories, Rakesh had become a close family friend. It was Rakesh's wife who had told them about the gym that everyone had joined. And his 9 year-old daughter adored Zaid. Apparently she was pestering her parents to get her a baby of her own. 

Babies. Who knew they could be so dangerous. 

One look at a happy baby and everyone wanted one of their own. And with Zaid Miyan as the dimpled poster child of babyhood? There was no hope at all. The Indian government may as well pack up its family planning tents and brochures. 

Asad reached for the phone. 

     "Rakesh?" Ayaan asked. 

     "Um-hmm. I want more thorough background checks. May be we missed something the last time." 

     "Makes sense. Let me check with my friend. His dad's the Division Commisioner of SADA--he might be able to tell us more," Ayaan said.

 

Inspired by Naz's example the girls joined the gym too. They went on the days they didn't have Taekwondo practice, though sometimes they still grumbled at the early hours they had to keep thanks to Nikhat madam and her job. While they teased her that soon they could exercise at whatever time they pleased, Zoya and Humaira felt a twinge of sorrow. Soon it would be just the two of them--all their sisters-in-law would be gone. Nothing would be the same or as much fun. 

Nikhat didn't even want to join the gym. What was the point? She'd be leaving in a month or so. But the girls insisted by chanting some "one for all, all for one" mantra. She didn't even like the machines. But one Zumba class later, she was hooked. Why hadn't she discovered this sooner? 

Her mother-in-law was campaigning for the moms to join too. Zeenat was game but Raziya, Shireen and Dilshad were too embarrassed or shy. 

They had all turned to look guiltily at Siddiqui Saheb but he was busy with Zaid and said nothing. 

     "It'll be such fun! Afterwards we can chat at a caf over iced cappuchinos and smoothies," Naz was trying to sell the idea. 

     "Phir gym ka fayeda kya?" Anwar muttered, shaking his head. He was lucky Naz didn't hear him. 

     "But who'll watch Zaid?" Dilshad asked. Zaid was the perfect excuse for anything these days and shamelessly used by his parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles.   

     "Arre, what are the guys for? So many Nanas and Dadas and Dads and Chachus and Phuphas! Kis din kaam ayenge? People without uteruses should also enjoy taking care of babies! Hmm, maybe I'll have Faiz babysit Zaid. It'll be good practice, right Nikhat?" 

Nikhat covered her face and groaned. Here we go again. But she smiled. She kinda loved this kind of saas-bahu banter. It was so much the opposite of what she had imagined the saas-bahu relationship to be as a scared teen and young adult.

     Besides, Feroze had given her permission to ignore his mother's infernal teasing; she could even choose to sass her saas back if she wanted. "Whatever you're comfortable with," he'd told her. "Mom'll love it!"

Because often Nikhat had to be reiminded to stand up for herself and he was especially good at getting her to do that, wasn't he? And also because he knew of Nikhat's unsaid fears. What if their baby was dark like her?

     "So what? The baby would be just as gorgeous as its mom and we would love our child no matter how dark or fair. And don't worry about my mom either. She doesn't need to know our plans for starting a family," he hurried to reassure her. "We'll do it when we're good and ready. Right now Zaid should be enough to fulfill everyone's grandparent fantasies."

Right. Zaid would probably agree. He was in no mood to share the daily adoration as yet. There you go, Zaid to the rescue again. Told you he had super powers. 

     But Naz had only gotten worse once she held Zaid in her arms and he beamed up at her, being his cutest. "Oh my god! I want one like this too!" 

     "Aunty hold him up, let me take a picture of you with Zaid miyan," Nuzzhat had fueled the fire. "You can even post these on your social media sites and test drive your DPs as a Dadi-in-waiting," she poured on some more ghee. 

The girl was back to being her usual madcap self. But she was seriously considering vegetarianism. Not a tattoo, thank god. That dig had been merely to shock-zap her mom.

     "Nuzzhat," her sister hissed. "Stop throwing me under the bus!" 

Her sister grinned at her shamelessly. 

     "Awesome idea!" Naz lit up. "My friends are going to be so jealous!"

 

Since her stay at the Khan house Nuzzhat'd christened the baby "Zaid Miyan" and his sidekick, "Dobby Meow." Everyone had adopted those monikers.

And Ayaan had taken it a step further; he'd embroidered that simple tag into elaborate stories of the "Adventures of Zaid Miyan and Dobby Mi-ya-oon." Basically, these were rehashed stories of the ones he remembered from his childhood weaving in many of his and Bhaijaan's escapades. Sometimes he'd add the tadka of real-life stories of how he'd torture his sisters and Humaira when they were kids. That incident where he'd hung one of the dolls by a noose and suspended it from the roof-top making it dangle across the girls' balcony? That became a story of how Zaid Miyan and Dobby Mi-ya-oon saved the kingdom from an evil witch who had possessed the princess. 

Zaid Miyan and Dobby Mi-ya-oon battled one-eyed pirates on the high seas and stole mangos from evil Kings' orchards to feed the poor, they flew fighter jets and rescued orphans, they tricked villains and trapped mean old ogres. They were superheroes and secret agents with a license to thrill.

     "Raaburt, you should write these down you know, they're really cute," Zoya had encouraged him more than once. And more than once, she'd secretly video recorded this Chachu-bhatija story-time. Ayaan's fabulous narratives reminded her of tales from the "Arabian Nights." And that always reminded her of Asad calling her his Sheherazade. Oh man, she had it bad. 

     "One day, Mona Darling, I just might," Ayaan replied but went back to entertaining his nephew. 

     "And then Zaid Miyan spun in the air, SWISHHT! And his flying kick dropped the evil sorcerer like a fly! PHLABT! And Dobby Mi-ya-oon scratched their logo on the villain's cheek with a razor-sharp claw, ZZZeDdd!"

Zaid clapped his hands. He loved his Chachu's sound effects--even more so than the complicated stories.

 

     "Yes Ammi, the gym has yoga and Tai Chi classes if you don't want to do the machines," Zoya continued to persuade Dilshad into joining them at the gym. 

There was a lot of giggling but finally the moms agreed to try out the guest passes. It was the only way to shut up the girls and Naz. After all there were stories and adventures in waiting for the newly expanded Zingo hotties. And one day, may be they'd even get to play cameos in the "Adventures of Zaid Miyan and Dobby Mi-ya-oon." 

Even Dadi didn't want to be left behind.

     "The doctor told me that light exercise would be good to strengthen my knees and back," she pouted and batted her lashes at a protesting Rashid. 

All this meant shopping for gym bags and accessories, new shoes and a back support belt for Dadi. Rashid couldn't get a word in edgewise to dissuade his mother. 

She rolled over him like a tank. 

The moms entered the gym giggling too, red-faced and avoiding eye contact. But seeing men and women of all ages and sizes had made them relax and excited to try on this new role. Yes, some people looked their way, but they went back to doing their own thing. The moms relaxed. They were anonymous and invisible once again. 

     "See, it's like the park, just indoors, and with machines instead of plants and paths!" Humaira soothed the moms' remaining fears. 

They squared their shoulders and tied their dupatas around their waists. 

     "Sure, but it doesn't have hot Col. Mehra," Zoya joked elbowing the girls. 

     "Hayee, Col. Mehra!" Dadi fangurled with a hand on her heart. "I go to the park just for him." 

     Everyone hawed and guffawed. "He's not bad for an uncleji!" 

     "Not even a dadbod!" Zoya giggled. 

     "And he's single!" Nuzzhat made eyes. 

     "And that salt and pepper hair!" Humaira gushed. 

Dadi clapped. 

     "Tum sab bade badmaash ho! Ammi ko bhi bigaad diya," Shireen wagged her finger at them as the girls fanned themselves.

     "Ooh, I want to see this hotbod Col. Mehra," Naz gushed. 

     "Let's invite him for tea at the Siddiqui house," Zoya winked. "We should always honor our national heroes!" 

Shireen moaned as she clutched her forehead. Maybe her daughters would have a better chance at tehzeeb and lihaz in America because things weren't looking too good around here. 

She adjusted her kurta self-consciously and looked up to see a good-looking boy emerge from the pool area. Helplessly Shireen started to tag after him--it was a force of habit after all. 

Nikhat held her elbow firmly.

She knew what was coming. Her mother had done this for far too long; she'd become that shaadi-craving, rishta-begging zombie that all Indian mothers of daughters become as soon as their girls turn 18.  As a mother of two girls, by now Shireen could probably sleep-walk her way to an eligible bachelor guided only by her mom-radar: "Beta apka naam kya hai?" If he turned out to be Muslim, her next barrage of questions would be: "Aap kya karte ho? Apke Ammi Abbu? Aur bhai behen?"

Nikhat shuddered remembering her own days of being unmarried. Her mother had become a basket case then. Every party or function, and the woman would morph into those politicians begging for votes: "Aapki nazar mein koi ladka ho to batayeega, please!" or, "hamari Nikhat ke liye bhi koi accha ladka dekhiye." Thank god, those days were behind them.

     "Ammi, no more boys!" she jerked her mother's arm and turned her around. "You're done, remember!"

Shireen slapped her head. Ya Allah, what was wrong with her! Yes, she was done. Shukranallah! 

 

     "Is everything OK at work with Asad?" Siddiqui asked Zoya one evening. 

Everyone was visiting the Siddiqui house. What was the point of texting and facetiming between two houses when they could just all be together? 

Asad and Ayaan were still at work, however. 

     "Kyun Abbu? What happened?" 

     "No, he called and was talking to Rashid too. Some project is bothering him?" 

     "Oh that! Yes, there is some issue with that new development. He's been working longer hours too," she pouted as she rubbed noses with Zaid.

     She frowned as she saw her father stretch his neck and wince. "What happened, Abbu? Did you hurt yourself?" 

     "No, it's just a little stiffness in my neck. I must have slept wrong." 

     "Here, you hold Zaid and I'll give you a neck rub." 

     "So Mr. Khan called you?" she prompted as she massaged his shoulders. 

Siddiqui saheb bounced Zaid in his lap. The boy was on his way to discovering the wonderful world of toes. They looked like fingers and even tasted the same; but were stubbier and kind of useless--they couldn't even hold anything. And why were they so far away from his mouth? 

     "Yes ... aah beta, that feels good," Siddiqui said as her fingers applied more pressure to his sore neck muscles. 

Zaid looked up at his Nana. How did he know it feels so good? 

     "Aaahhhaaah," the baby crooned. His mom and Nanu smiled down at him. But Zaid stopped once he was able to stuff his toes into his mouth. He hummed now. 

     "Asad was asking about some suppliers or contractors, and our history with them. We worked with them in the past but broke off ties because ... because they weren't reliable."

Siddiqui continued to talk about the politics of the construction industry in India. 

She had a lot of questions. 

But soon Zaid started to fuss. He wasn't enjoying these grim tales. They didn't even have any sound effects, or his Chachu making him fly through the air like a fighter jet and beating up bad guys. So lame. 

But he perked right up when he was deposited in his Faiz Phupha's lap. After his dad and Chachu, this was the other guy who really got him. He was learning to do the fist bump and bro handshake from his favorite Phupha. This too came with fun sounds and moves: SWOOSH! Finger wiggle. SMACK! Elbow cross. PHU! PHA! The big explosion. BAM! And then that was followed by a tickle-fest, which always ended in a grand finale: the loudest and tickliest tummy raspberries! 

Apparently everybody else loved this too. He would look up to see nearly a dozen faces beaming down at him. Because the sight and sound of a giggling baby is balm--even for a mended soul. Then his Dadis and Nanis always touched their eyes and rubbed something behind his ears. It tickled even more. 

Hmm. When he grew older he would check behind his ears to see exactly what it was that they were looking for. Or were they hiding something back there? Because Faiz Phupha always did a trick where he pulled out an American quarter from behind his ear. How'd he even do that? 

Zaid was made to wave his mom, aunts and grandmoms goodbye as they went off to watch Hritik Roshan's latest film. Merrily he settled in the crook of his Dadu's arm for a boys' night in. It was time for a snooze. His belly was full, bladder empty, and those raspberries, fist bumps and investigating the ear mystery had exhausted him. 

     Rashid smiled looking down at him. "Just like Asad. He too would curl his toes and bury his face in my arm like this when he slept." He tried to cover the baby with the soft blanket. But Zaid kicked it off. The temperature was just right--he didn't need no blanky. He was toasty and feeling just right--like his mom said about that Goldilocks. 

He didn't know what fights and debates brewed over his sleeping head between his Indian and American Nanas. 

     "It's your turn." 

     "Nahin, Siddiqui Saheb, you hold him. He's used to being with you after all," Anwar would say. 

     "No, no. Apka haq zyada hai. You should spend every waking moment with him. He needs you more," Siddiqui would say. "And then I love to hear the stories you tell him about Zoya's childhood." 

And so it went.

     Then invariably his Dadu would chuckle. "Two cats ki fight mein, the Bandar was always the winner," he would tell Zaid when he was awake. Because, by now, even Zaid knew this story well: two cats fighting over a piece of bread went to the monkey for justice. The crafty monkey would break the bread into two and eat a little off the larger piece leaving nothing for the feuding felines. 

     For some reason, his Dadu loved this story even more than him. And for some reason he always told him this story when his Nanas quarreled. Afterwards his Dadu would whisper a secret in his ear: "Pehle aap, pehle aap karte-karte, Nana logon ki train nikal gayi!" 

Hmm. One day he would ask his Dadu: who's this Nana logon who keeps missing his train? Does he miss the train because of the crafty monkey? Dadu should learn from Chachu: Chachu made the best train sounds!  

 

     "How was your day?" Zoya asked Asad when he got home late. Again. 

He just sighed a half-grunt. 

     "That bad, huh?" 

     "Hmm." 

     "Aww, poor baby," Zoya hugged him from the back slipping her hands under his suit jacket. 

     "God, that feels good."

     "We missed you," she called out after him as he went to freshen up. But he first stopped by Zaid's crib. He hated that he was missing time with his son--missing those milestones that he mostly saw on video these days. 

     "What if he thinks that I'm just one of the uncles or granddads who plays with him once in a while?" He asked Zoya much later, after barely picking through his re-heated dinner. He felt moody. He was tired ... yet restless.

     "Please Mr. Khan, stop being a drama queen. As if that could ever happen!" 

     "You're sure?" 

     She smiled and brushed his hair off his forehead to stroke his cheek before kissing him. "Absolutely! There's only one guy in this whole world who's his Abbu and that's you. Besides, my son isn't a dumbo. He'll always know exactly who you are wherever you may be." 

     "I hardly spend any time with him these days." Asad's voice dipped in fatigue. "He's asleep when I come home. How will he kno--?" 

     "Asad, his heartbeat knows. He knew you since before he was born. He knows your voice and looks for you. He knows your touch, your breath. C'mon! You haven't seen it but I see him when you're holding him--how he clutches your shirt. He grabs on to your finger and pats your face like nobody else's. He raises his head to be kissed by you-just expecting it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When you walk in, he throws himself at you to hold him. Allah Miyan, he wiggles like crazy to be held by you. He knows, OK? And he'll always know." 

She rose to pick up a sleeping Zaid and lay him in his father's arms. The baby snuffled and then settled into the crook of his dad's arm. Asad adjusted him gently to hold the child against his chest; their heartbeats synced and the universe righted itself. He felt Zaid's breath fan his neck and smiled to see a tiny fist clench on his kurta. Like clockwork. 

     "See?" Zoya said. She stroked his back. 

     "He's growing up so fast!" Asad ran his hand over the little fist and perfect feet. "I miss watching you nurse him. He has this incredible connection to you but I ..." 

     "And he has an even more incredible connection to you! Have you seen his face when you're singing to him? It's as though he forgets to blink or thinks that if he blinks he'll miss something." 

Asad still remained unconvinced. He stared out of the window rocking Zaid slightly. With the light streaming in from the window it was a beautiful silhouette in the dark room. Zoya wished she could take a picture to capture this vignette: a vulnerable father and a trusting child knitted in one another, knotted by need. But Asad needed his fears allayed first. 

     "OK, how about this? Once he's on the bottle you can take over the midnight feedings! That should give you a lot more of dad-son bonding moments."

     "You'll stop nursing?" Asad turned to ask in dismay. He didn't know if it bothered him for the baby's sake or his own.

     "Not any time soon. But eventually it'll happen. He'll be on solids pretty soon." She walked up behind him to hold both of them. "You won't be late coming home every night. Some days you'll come home early to surprise him. Other days you may even take off just to take him to the park, or to go watch a match or a movie. Most likely you'll take him for his music classes, or practice and training for cricket or soccer. Give it up, Asad. You couldn't be a bad dad even if you tried. Enough of this pity party!" 

     "How can you be so sure?"

     "Because, you're you. And it's who you are. Would I have fallen in love with you otherwise?" 

And we have our fatherless childhoods to remind us to try our absolute best: we won't let history repeat itself--her unspoken words resonated between them. 

     "Your son will love you and worship you. You are and will always be his role model. Don't forget you've already played the dad figure to Najma and Ayaan. How could you not do right by your own son? You've had such great practice!"

Zoya molded herself into his back letting her warmth seep in to comfort him. And like his son he was beginning to feel just right too.   

     "You used to be my superhero and now you are ours," she went on. "Remember, it says so on the nikahnama? And the Jahanpanah-ma!" 

The scrapbook she'd given to him on their anniversary had somehow come to be nicknamed that: Jahanpanah-ma--just like "Akbarnama," but not quite!

Asad chuckled. She had the quirkiest explanations to get him to smile. And relax. 

     Sensing his wellness Zoya kissed his back. "Finally, my Jahanpanah is back! Where did you go to back there?" 

     "To a dark place." 

     "Don't you dare!" She paused and he could have sworn he felt her lips curl as her finger traced words on his back. "You know, Mr. Khan, one day, a long time ago, someone asked me: aap kyun mere andheron mein roshni ban ke aati hain?' "

     Asad grinned. He turned around to put to pull her to his side. "Umm, babe, I was drugged on bhang then, remember?" 

     "Asad!" she hissed so that Zaid wouldn't wake up. 

     He laughed at her outrage and kissed the top of her head. "And if I remember correctly, someone once told me: When it was dark, you always carried the sun in your hand for me.' " 

     "So basically you and I are each other's flashlights? And you're my Torch Ahmed Khan?"

     Asad smiled. "And you are my Bijli-girane-main-hoon-ayee, Ms. Farooqui?" 

Zoya dimpled up brightly at him. She loved her romantic Akdu when he was at his wittiest best. 

     Asad bumped his head with hers. And they looked at Zaid who slept on in his Abbu's arms, cherubic and peaceful. "We are probably spotlights and searchlights too--because we seek each other out and lift each other out of the dark." 

     Zoya's eyes misted. " ... like guiding lights?" 

     "Hmm," he sighed.

     She stroked his brow. "You're my North Star."

     "I thought I was your sun. Have I been demoted?"

     She giggled. "OK, you're my sun by day and my North Star at night. Jeez!" 

     "I thought Zaid was your son."

     "Asad!" she kind of giggle-growled.

Zaid stirred and both of them turned to shush him; they felt guilty for waking him up. He raised his head and blinked. In the dark his eyes rounded like saucers. 

     "Hi baby. Look who's here, it's Abbu!" Zoya said softly, still wrapped in the circle of Asad's arm. 

Zaid grinned and flapped his arms. Asad's face was in the shadows. Did he even see his dad? He didn't need to. The way he fit in them he knew he was in his dad's arms. With a soft sigh he tucked his head into his dad's neck and fell back asleep. His palm feathered against and patted Asad's cheek. 

Asad turned his mouth to kiss it.

Zaid's body relaxed. 

     "Oh god, I miss this so much."

     "There's nothing to miss. See, he woke up, said hi to you, and went back to sleep--snug as a bug in a rug. In his world, aal iz well. And somehow he just knew you needed that."

Asad relaxed too. There was no call to be so broody ... or to feel so guilty. Everything would be OK. His son was right, aal iz well.

 

They lingered over Zaid's crib after laying him down to watch him. Their hands fussed over his hair and blanket and then stilled in prayer. 

     "If you can make it on time, let's take him to the dargah tomorrow," Zoya whispered. 

     "Good idea. I'll try. What new things did my son do today?" 

     "His humming is getting louder and longer, and he finally got all his toes to fit into his mouth!"

He'd been trying for about a week. 

Asad gulped. He didn't know whether to be proud of his son's developing motor skills or be grossed out. 

     "Relax, Mr. Khan. He's a baby--his feet don't even touch the ground."

     "Thank god. He won't do that when he's older, right?" 

     "No, apparently they outgrow it. Right now he's just exploring his environment--too bad it's through taste!" 

Asad groaned suddenly. 

     "What?" she asked. 

     "When Ayaan was a toddler he used to show off by stuffing both his big toes into his mouth. Oh god, what if it's contagious? Or genetic?" Asad clutched his heart, his own eyes wide as saucers now. 

That scene from the past popped in full technicolor glory before his eyes as Zoya laughed. 

     "Bhai, BhaiJAAN! Look what I can do," he'd call out. "I bet you can't do that."

     "Yuck, Ayaan that's so gross. I wouldn't even want to try. Did you wash your feet?"

Mouth full, Ayaan would gleefully shake his head. No. His messy curls would bounce in further mutiny. 

     "Take them out, or your teeth'll be all crooked when you grow up," he'd always remind his kid brother resisting the urge to hurl. Was he really that paternal, even as a kid--a mere 8 year-old? 

Ayaan never listened. And he did grow up to have crooked teeth.

Idiot! 

 

Asad hooked her elbow to pull her back into his arms. 

     "So tell me more about bhang raat," he whispered in her ear.

She giggled. In their various chit-chats when recalling the old days, somehow that night had been christened, "bhang raat." They didn't even remember who it was that come up with that name. Probably Asad. Because Zoya recalled asking, "like Chand raat?" 

     "Like suhaag raat!" he'd breathed.

     "Haw, could that night've been our suhaag raat?"

     "If I wasn't such a fool, sure!" He still remembered he'd called her a "misfit" that night and she'd taken it to heart. "Aap kabhi ek acchi bahu ya biwi nahin ban sakteen," he'd announced self-righteously. And she had believed him.

Incredibly foolish. 

     "Asad, don't beat up yourself over it. It was a beautiful night. And it was the first time I saw you lighten up and laugh. I loved it!" 

They had fallen a little more in love that night, hadn't they? And, under the influence of the drug, or the magic of a barsaat ki raat, they'd even admitted it to each other before things went bad the next day.

     Zoya cupped his face in her hands. "I've loved to see you laugh since that night!" 

     "And what else happened on bhang raat?" he prompted as they swayed lightly. It was still a hazy memory for him. He remembered getting to the farmhouse after their car broke down, and Zoya offering the pakoras. But pretty much a lot of it was a blur after that.

     "We danced in the rain!" 

     "I don't remember if we danced that night. But I do remember you dancing outside this window on another night, trying to remind me!" 

     "Well, I danced. And you mostly kinda just watched," Zoya sassed as she skipped away. "I guess Pappu can't dance, sala!" Zoya taunted.

     "I can dance! And I think I did." 

     "Oh, so your memory is returning, Mr. Khan! The bhang didn't burn away all those cells?" 

     "I don't know about the bhang. But you sure burned me up." Asad yanked her back to spin and slam her against his chest. "And how can you say Pappu can't dance, sala? You, Mrs. Khan, must be losing your memory cells. Remember Valentine's Day? I thought I already showed you dance kisse kehte hain, Ms. Farooqui."

     Her breath caught. "I don't remember Valentine's Day but I do remember Valentine's night. And speaking of burning me up, you were scorching hot that night," she felt that quivery feel zing through her again. Her knees had been jelly that day. No, that night. Zoya ran a charged finger down his throat following up with a thorough nibbling. "Oh god, Asad! How many nights I dreamed of what could have happened between us! I ached for you! Show me what you would have done to me that night ... and on our bhang raat." 

His eyes drooped as if drugged. And she felt the familiar fire flare up between them. Asad ran his thumb across her lips and dipped his head to trail kisses down her throat. Her blood was already pounding ... rushing to meet his lips and tongue ... he could feel it through her sensitized skin. 

     "That night was beautiful because nothing happened between us when anything could have happened. It was innocent and sexy at the same time, shy and bold ... new and soft. It was a night of wonder and magic. I wouldn't change a thing about that night. Except what I said later. If I could take back those stupid words about you being a misfit, I would, in a heartbeat." 

     "Shh, it's all behind us." Zoya hushed him trying to cover his mouth. But that made her skin crave his caresses even more. "Why'd you have to bring that up! I thought we banned all that talk and put it behind us." 

     "Because I plan to show you exactly how fit you are. You for me, and me for you. The perfect fit." Asad waggled his brows in devilry to banish all shadows of the past.

     "Mr. Khan! Wow, that's so original!" But she smiled inspite of herself. That never got old. She could hear him say that a million times and never get tired of it. 

     Asad touched his forehead to hers. "I'll burn that perfect fit into your body and soul." 

     "Show me," she whispered and hissed the next second as his hands snaked under her cami to cup and tease her.

     "See? That night I didn't do this ... or this." He hitched her up on his hip and sucked on a pebbled peak that peeked through the silk. "Because you weren't mine as yet. Like you are, now." 

Her legs wrapped around him gratefully and she peeled the cami away from her hungry nipple to give him direct access. Zoya's thighs clenched around him as his mouth tugged harder. Her head fell back. She couldn't help the soft guttural sounds from escaping. 

All language was dissolving, and vocabulary, disappearing. His whispered words left her more and more inarticulate. She was on fire, but had been reduced to a blurry, buzzy, primal mess of sounds and sighs, cries and moans. 

As he lay her down on the bed and pulled off her silk cami and boy shorts, his hands roved over her silken, molten body. 

     Her body was returning to its pre-pregnancy shape. Asad nipped at the curve of her waist. "That night I couldn't have worshipped your body as I do now because you weren't the mother of my child yet."

     "Oh god, Asad," she moaned. Her mouth felt dry, her head dizzy. 

     "I could have done this," he sucked hard at her breast again. "But then it wouldn't have been swollen as it is tonight with mother's milk."

     Zoya whimpered. "You're driving me crazy," she gasped. She was so close. This was such exquisite torture. She writhed and keened at the intensity of her undoing. "Please  ... you're killing me ..." 

     "I wouldn't have known then that this would completely tip you over ..." Fingers stroking and strumming, he leaned to swirl his tongue at her throat, and down her cleavage to nip at her belly button. 

Zoya covered her mouth to stop herself from being any louder. She felt his mouth trail lower. Deliciously lower. His thumb tugged her ready flesh upward and he bent his head to mine that narrowed, satin slit. 

     " ... and drive you crazy," he said between swift strokes. 

She thrashed under the assault and crumpled.

Yes, this is how it should have been. She wouldn't change a thing either about that bhang raat. Because this is where it had brought them: her, spent in his arms as her husband kissed and entered her. His thrusts were familiar and yet each sensation new. Her fingers dug into his shoulders; her knees hugged his sides. Their bodies moved more urgently, frantically. The waves of pleasure resurged and crested. 

     "Asad, I love you," she whispered, wiping his damp brow. "Even more than I loved you then." 

     "You're not a misfit," Asad breathed. 

     "I know." Zoya's hands roamed over his slick back. 

     "You're my Ms. Fit." 

     "And you're my Mr. Right."

     "Um-hmm," Asad gloated. 

     " ... who fits perfectly right! Each time, every time." 

     He chuckled, still breathing hard, heart still hammering. "Must you always have the last word?" 

     "I must." 

     "Oh really?" 

     "Yes really, Mr. Khan!"

     "Why?" 

     "Because it says so in the fine print on our nikahnama. And on Zaid's birth certificate. Everywhere where your name is next to mine. And it says so right here," Zoya held up his palm with her initial and kissed it. 

It did. Signed, sealed and delivered.

She was right.  

     "I love you more," he made another valiant try. 

     "Good." 

He shut up.

 

 

Song in Title:

Taare Zameen Par (2007): "Kholo Kholo Darwaaze"


	119. Rom Rom Tera Naam Pukaare, Ek Huye Din Raiin Hamare

####  ****

     "Asad?" She knew he wasn't sleeping.

     "Hmm?" 

     "Is it different and new each time for you too?" Zoya whispered, long after they'd kissed goodnight. 

     "What do you mean?" Asad wondered. 

     "I mean, no matter how many times we make love, it feels different each time." 

     "The sensations are new even though we may have tried the same position a thousand times before?" 

     "Umm hmm. Why's that?" 

     " ... I'm sure there's some scientific explanation for it. Based on our moods, hormones ... what we ate or drank that day ... cells renewing, whether you're ovulating or close to--" 

     Zoya scooted over to hug him. "Don't give me science ... give me the romantic Jahanpanah version." 

     Asad smiled. His voice lowered to a husky drawl. "It's the poetic chemistry of our blood, babe ... it surges to complete each other like the Yin and the Yang--the dark and the light, sound and silence ... night and day--forever reaching, forever nestling." 

She sighed in his arms, at peace and infinitely content. 

     "Each time is new because the earth, the moon and the stars are never in the same place when we meet and ... mate. And because we're destined to dance this sensual dance for eternity. It's what makes the world go round," he continued. 

Asad traced the infinity charm she wore as a pendant these days so that Zaid wouldn't get scratched when she held him. He lifted the pendant to his lips and looked up into her face. She'd fallen asleep, a slight smile curving her lips into a perfect bow.

     "Great," he muttered in good humor. "She asks me to recite poetry and dozes off in the middle of it. Thanks, babe, thanks for being such a great audience."

     "You're welcome," she patted his cheek like their son, sighed again and turned over. 

Asad chuckled, tucked the rajai over her bare shoulders and fell asleep soon after counting his blessings. His son dreamt of angels and toes, and Dobby was curled up in his favorite corner on the settee. Big bear had been packed off to the cleaners and his wife slept by his side, fingers interlaced with his. 

Aal iz well. 

Zoya was right. He had indeed come a long way.

  

Two nights later she bolted upright in the dead of night. Her heart thundered madly. Zoya looked down at Asad to anchor herself. Her hand clenched on his shoulder.

Should she or shouldn't she? 

She shook him awake.

     "Asad! Hold me, I had the most horrible dream!"

     "What? Nightmare? C'mere," he tried to tuck her into his side to soothe her fears. He was surprised. She hadn't had those nightmares since-- 

     "No," Zoya protested and squirmed. "It wasn't that nightmare. But it was pretty scary. And sick!"

Asad cracked a reluctant eye open now that he knew that it wasn't that old nightmare. Thank god. 

     "Sick? How's that?" 

She clammed up and tightened into a stiff plank.

     "Zoya, what's the point of waking me up and then not telling me?" he grumbled.

     "Umm ... it was so stupid. I don't even want to say it out loud." 

     "Fine," he turned over to go back to sleep.

     "Asad! Aren't you even a little bit curious?" 

     "I'm too sleepy to be curious. Can it keep till the morning?" 

Silence. 

Asad sighed. Obviously she wanted him to pry it out of her. God alone knew why his wife called him the drama queen when she had dibs on the title.

     "OK, tell me," he coaxed. 

     "I feel sick just thinking about it."

     "Then don't think about it and go back to sleep." 

     "I can't stop thinking about it. And I doubt if I'll be able to sleep now." 

     "Then just tell me."

More silence.

He sighed. And waited. 

     "It was the weirdest thing. I was dressed as a bride and running away from gundas."

     "Umm, babe, that was no dream. That really happened, remember? The day I saw you the first time? At the dargah--remember, you said 'qubool nahin hai,' and fled. And then Akram--" 

She swatted his shoulder. As if she needed to be reminded of that turning point in her life! And his. 

     "No! This wasn't that! As I was running I kept thinking and saying to myself 'I have to get to Mr. Khan--it's our wedding day!' "

     "Why didn't you call me?" Asad asked, intrigued by the Runaway Bride, Part II drama in spite of himself. Her dreams would have to be just as dramatic as her, wouldn't they?

     "I don't know," Zoya groused in answer. 

     "I'm pretty sure your phone was dead because you forgot to charge it, right? How many times do I have to remind you to keep your phone fully charged? You never listen!" 

     "Asad, stop getting mad at me. It was a just dream. I'm already so miserable and you're yelling at me!"

     "OK, OK, I'm sorry." Only his wife could make him apologize for what was her fault. "Tell me what happened next." 

     She sniffed. "I think I was your bride. Do you think I was running away from our marriage?" Zoya burst into terrified tears.

     "Babe, one, it was just a dream. Two, would I even let such a thing happen?" He hugged her sobbing form and continued to calm her down. 

     "It felt so real."

     "It wasn't. Look around you--you're in our bed. That's our son sleeping over there peacefully. We did get married, even celebrated our first wedding anniversary some months ago and like you said that day, 'aal iz well.' " Asad tried to get her to smile. 

     "No, you don't understand! All wasn't well. I was running away and ... and I ended up in this big hall ..."

Her breath jammed. He could feel the tension stiffen her body again. Asad stroked her back to make her relax. Why did this dream have her so rattled? 

     "There were many brides and grooms there. I think it was an Ishtimayi nikaah for the poor ... I tried to hide there thinking the gundas wouldn't be able to find me among the other brides." 

     "Good girl! That was some smart thinking right there. See, I always knew you'd be able to take care of yourself. Who knew you'd be Jhansi ki Rani Bond even in your own dream!" 

Any other time and she'd have preened at the compliment. Not now. 

     "But baby, why're you so upset? Did something bad happen in the dream?" 

     She punched his arm. "That's what I'm trying to tell you!" She took a deep breath and then babbled in a rush. "Panicked, I sat down at one of the places reserved for a bride and the ceremony started! I was so scared. I tried to get out of there but then I spotted one of those goons who was trying to kill me so I sat back down." 

     "Hmm ..."

     "Asad, you aren't listening! There was a guy on the other side of the pardah! And then my phone rang and I answered it. It was you! I was so relieved." 

     "So your phone was working? Thank god! Then why didn't you try calling me when you were running away from those killers?" 

Asad was a man of precision and linear logic. He didn't like gaps and loopholes of any kind. And right now that was really exasperating to Zoya. Jeez, she was pretty sure that when Jahanpanah dreamed, his dreams were made up of cubes of pure logic and crystals of unadulterated reason. And they probably marched in tight military lines from point A to B.

     She grabbed his kurta collar. "LIS-ten to me. So yeah, where was I? Yes, you answered the phone and asked me where I was." She got teary again to Asad's mounting confusion. Wasn't that a good thing that she'd manage to catch hold of him over the phone? Her dreams were as disorganized as her. "And I said I was fine and that I'd be home soon. You asked me, 'are you OK?' like you always do, and I answered, 'Haan haan!' " 

She paused and gulped in anguish. 

     "And?" Asad urged. It was a good thing that she was OK, right? 

     "... And suddenly there were cries of 'Mubarak ho!' I turned around and they were congratulating me! Asad, I was married to someone else!" Zoya was getting more and more worked up. 

Asad was trying to stay awake and keep a straight face. Both were hard. He coughed to cover up his snicker. 

     "Allah miyan what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan! How can you find this funny! And you know what the worst part was? When the dulha on the other side lifted his sehra, it was Ayaan! It was a total batsh*it crazyass NIGHTMARE!" 

Asad couldn't hold it together any more. He choked on his own laughter and spluttered. 

She was livid.

     "ASADD!" 

He laughed as he'd never laughed before. He laughed so hard that she punched his arm again and in trying to dodge her blows he rolled off the bed. 

     Zoya scooted over to gaze down at him anxiously. "Are you OK?"

And then she laughed too.

Because her question reminded her of the thousand times Mr. Khan had asked her, "Are you OK?" when they'd fought and fake-hated each other. He'd asked her that when he'd flipped her off this bed on her very first night in this house too.

     "No, I'm not OK," Asad said through a coughing fit. "That was the most ridiculous thing you could have dreamed of, Mrs. Khan! That's not a nightmare, that's a lame ass comedy show that should be banned!" 

     "I know! But why did I have such a horrible dream? Could it be a sign or something?" 

     Asad lifted himself off the floor and dusted his kurta. He was wide awake now. "I'm no Freud but I'm pretty sure it's all benign. A sign? It better not be! It's probably just a sign of your lunatic imagination and crackpot theories!"

     "Hmmph, that's comforting to know!" She shuffled back to her side of the bed and turned her back on him. 

     "Zoya, you can't seriously be upset about such a fool thing! It was a freaking dream for god's sake." 

     "But I am upset! It was awful! It felt so vivid and real. My heart was beating so hard as I ran and I felt this sinking feeling when they announced ..." 

     Asad folded her into his arms. "That was just an incredibly foolish dream. I know it made you feel rotten but nothing like that is even possible."

     "Really? You promise," Zoya asked in a small voice. She wanted so bad to be convinced by his words but the images were still swirling in her mind in bright Technicolor.

Eew. Gross.

     "Yes. Think about it, just saying 'haan,' over the phone doesn't make you married--even in a dream. Was the Qazi Saheb blind or something? Were the rest of the people there brain-dead or zombies?" 

     She cracked a smile but then remembered something. "But I said 'haan' at least a couple of times," she wailed in fresh alarm. 

He laughed. 

     "Please, it wouldn't have mattered if you said it a billion times. Who gets married while answering a phone! That's just bizarre. Did you eat junk food today? Maybe that's scrambled your brain more than usual," Asad teased.

     "Asad, don't laugh at me. Not for this. It feels too raw." 

He heard the tears in her voice and sobered up quick. 

     "Babe, if that was possible and you could get married to just about anyone by saying 'haan, haan' on the phone, wouldn't I have taken your phone away and burnt it by now!" 

     "Yeah right, like that's ever going to happen!" she countered with a small smile. She could imagine him doing it and her dimple deepened. "Not even you, Mr.Khan, can separate me from my phone!" 

     "You mean you'll keep your wretched phone even though you might get phone-married to someone else by just saying, 'haan, haan' distractedly?" 

     "Asad," she smacked his arm again for being so wicked. But lightly. She was beginning to see the wackiness of the dream too. Thank you, Allah miyan! 

     "No, think about it. What if you're talking to the sabzi wala or pizza guy and he says, 'madamji, apka order mill gaya?' and you say, 'haan, haan.' That'll mean you're married to them now?"

His teasing was really beginning to annoy her now. 

     "Haan, haan," she announced, tongue firmly in cheek. It might just shut him up.

     Asad sucked in some air. His nostrils flared. "It would? You would? How dare you! Incredibly foolish!" He punched his pillow and muttered savagely. 

     It was Zoya's turn to laugh now at his expense. "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan! You silly man, I just said 'haan, haan' to you! Only you, OK?" 

His brow cleared. Yes she had. He grabbed her by her waist and she giggled up at him. 

     "You're in need of a good and through spanking." 

     "Haan, haan," Zoya batted her lashes at him.

     He couldn't resist. He bent his head to kiss her eyes. "It's a good thing I married you when I had the chance. God only knows how many nikaahs you'd keep running away from." 

     "Haan, haan," she said softly. 

Asad chuckled. It was a hilarious dream--a girl known for running away from the mere idea of a marriage, on the run again, and then ending up married over the phone--by accident! 

     He kissed the top of her head. "Does Mrs. Khan want some late night sugar?"

     "Haan, haan!"

     "With a side of spice and ice?" 

     "Haan, haan!" 

     "Served with a spoon?"

     Zoya blushed. "Haan, haan," she giggled. 

     "Whipped cream?"

     She made a face. "I'm in the mood for Nutella." 

     "Fine," he muttered and shuffled off to make a sandwich for her. 

Back home in the US she'd have asked for some peanut butter but she'd banned anything to do with peanuts from the house because of Asad's allergies. 

These days she was weirdly getting hungry in the middle of the night. 

And super randy after her midnight snack. 

Sometimes the remnants of the snack turned into foreplay. But this was Asad we're talking about here. Food on the bed meant Jahanpanah was not satisfied till the sheets had been changed and put in the wash and he'd showered and made her wash up too. 

     On some days Zoya didn't mind the extra work. On other nights she grumbled. "Wow, it's like trading a whole day's of work for just a little se*x candy. Remind me not to do this next time." Or she'd hold her phone to her mouth and record into it, "note to self--Zoya, no spoon plate F-U--" 

     "Zoya!!"

She'd laugh up at him. Her prude of a Jahanpanah could be such F-U-N to tease. 

He'd mock-glower at her. Because even he knew, the next time she suggested it, he'd run to the kitchen for their spoon plate F-U-N.

Because yeah, it was that good, food stains on the bedsheets notwithstanding. And even Jahanpanahs relaxed their bedroom rules for chocolatey and whipped cream romps now and then. And then black forest pastries went really well with a dollop of melting vanilla icecream and his begum on the side, didn't they? He loved to hear her hisses as the frozen delight melted from her heat just begging to be licked. 

This time when she was close to coming, he leaned in closer when he saw her lips move. 

     "No dream, or what you said in any silly dream, matters. Running away from a thousand nikaahs doesn't matter. What matters is that you said 'qubool hai' to me. And only me," Asad whispered. 

     Sticky hands fisted in his hair, sugared legs wrapped around his hips, she breathed, "haan, haan! HAAN! I love you, Mr. Khan," and collapsed.

     "That's my girl," he came too.

And what do you know. He was even able to get in the last word this time. He bent to lick a smear from the side of her mouth. Mmm, she tasted of vanilla and caramel sauce. And him. 

  


But when Asad saw Ayaan at work the next morning he shot him the nastiest glare he could muster. Ayaan staggered. That look was gone in a second but Ayaan still hadn't found his bindaas equilibrium.

Uh-oh. Now what had he done? 

Asad was embarrassed. He hadn't meant to shoot daggers at his kid brother. It was just that when he set eyes on him this morning he flashbacked to Zoya's ridiculous dream. Jeez.

     He was also reminded of what he'd said to her last night in his best Batman avatar: "You ever phone-marry someone else and I'll tear your phone-shauhar apart limb to limb even if it is my brother!"

Zoya was right. That nightmare was "totes gross."

Asad shook himself and clapped a hand on Ayaan's shoulder to banish any ill-will. He could see the wide-eyed panic in Ayaan's eyes. Asad knew exactly what was going on in his brother's head. He'd seen that face a thousand times growing up. Ayaan was going over the list of his offenses in his head and was trying to figure out which was the easiest one to own up to in order to escape with the lighest punishment.

     "I'm sorry," Asad said gently. "I was thinking of something else." 

     "You're sure, Bhai? I didn't do anything?" 

     Asad grinned. "Not this time, Ayaan Chachu. Not this time." But to mess with him he slapped Ayaan upside the head just as his brother had relaxed and re-adjusted his collar and saintly glow. 

     "What was that for?" Ayaan yelped. "You just said I did nothing!" 

     "That was for all the times when you did something wrong and I didn't catch you!" 

     "Bhai!" 

     "Don't Bhai' me or act so shocked. I know it in my gut that there're many things you think you've gotten away with. I've been wondering about some of the antics of Zaid Miyan and Dobby Mi-ya-oon. They sound way too familiar to be complete fiction." 

     Ayaan blushed. "Bhaijaan, save your Jahanpanah Bond detective act for Mona Darling, OK! It doesn't work on me." And with that he thumbed his nose in that signature coolcat gesture of his. He was untouchable.

     "Ayaan, I'm watching you!"

     "I know!" Ayaan ruffled his hair and grinned impishly. "I'm that good, aren't I?" 

     Asad threw his head back and laughed. "No, you're that bad. And Mukka Ahmed Khan knows that too. And Mukka Ahmed Khan also fondly remembers 'Operation Pyaasi Atma,' by the way."

They'd just exited the elevator and Ayaan stopped short. Oh sh*it. Operation Pyaasi Atma was a doozy. Bhaijaan's back-handed rap across his cheek had hurt like a motherfu-- 

     "Bhai, why would you remind me of that? It was bad enough that I had to wear a saree and wig. What a dash mein bumboo that was! Do you know how hard it was to tie that bhutiya thing?" 

He got smacked upside the head again.

     "Whoa, Bhai what do you eat, man? Why's that hand of yours all loha singh on crack?"

     "The better to hit you and crack your skull with, that's why. And because it remembers, Ayaan. It remembers," his brother muttered cryptically and walked off to the conference room for the day's first meeting.

Ayaan grinned though. Now wouldn't Operation Pyaasi Atma be just the perfect adventure for Zaid Miyan and Dobby Mi-ya-oon? Thanks for reminding me, Bhaijaan! I owe you one.

  


     "Thanks to your stupid dream I felt like smacking Ayaan around all morning," Asad grumbled to Zoya over the phone at lunch. 

     Zoya giggled. "Haaw, Mr. Khan, I hope you didn't act on those vengeful fantasies. You're the one who convinced me it was just a silly dream." 

     "It was a silly dream but it left such a bad taste in the mouth." 

     "I know. That's exactly what I was trying to tell you last night." 

     "Mrs. Khan," Asad's voice rumbled. "I may just have to chain you to me so that you don't get into any more trouble. Specially in your dreams!"

 

     "And keep a finger on your mouth so that you're not going around saying, "haan, haan, to random guys."

     "Asad!" she protested at his infernal teasing. He would never let her live this silliness down. "Mr. Khan, I'd recommend better uses for that finger!" 

He chuckled ... and blushed. She was right. More reason for him to keep her chained to his side. No way was he letting her out of his sight.   

     "Anyways," Zoya continued. "I was thinking that if I tell Humaira about the dream then Ayaan might have to be put in a witness protection program."

     That made Asad smile fully for the first time today. His saali was no less than General Jeeju. And she'd bust Ayaan's chops for any imaginary transgressions too. "No, we can't have that. Who would entertain us with more whacky Chronicles of Zaid Miyan and Dobby Miya-oon then?" 

     "Ooh, I've come to look forward to those. I know you find Raabert's sound effects annoying but Zaid adores them."

     He agreed. "So for Zaid's sake we'll keep this secret from his Khala." 

     "What secret?" 

     Asad looked up to see Ayaan with his puppy-dog face lounging at the door. Zoya groaned at the other end. "Mr. Khan, don't you dare tell Raabert about that moronic dream!" 

     "Um ... voh ... actually ..." 

Zoya smacked her head. Sometimes her husband was completely useless. Zaid looked up from her arms and gurgled in protest. He wanted to FaceTime with his Abbu but his mom was holding the phone away. Zaid banged his arms around and kicked his legs. Where's Abbu???

     "Shh," his mom calmed him. "We'll talk to Abbu later."

     "Really Bhai, you still do that voh-actually-thing?" Ayaan bounded in and planted himself on the chair opposite from his brother. He swung his legs over the armrest. "What's with you today? You're acting all weird." 

Asad hung up and stared at his brother.

     Ayaan quirked an eyebrow. "So are you going to tell me or not?" 

     Asad sighed. "Zoya's birthday is coming up. I'm planning something special." 

     Ayaan's face lit up. "Mona's birthday! Cool. Give her a surprise--let's all pretend to forget her birthday and not wish her. Then when she's totally mad at us we'll surprise her with a party." 

Asad frowned. There was no way he'd do that to Zoya. 

Or himself. 

She'd flay him alive. And he wanted to live long enough to see his son grow up. 

     "Bad idea. I don't want to upset her on her birthday." He remembered his own grim birthdays of yesteryear. No matter how much he hated the day, a part of him would glow when Ammi, Najma and Ayaan wished him early in the morning. 

     "In fact, I'm planning to do the opposite," Asad continued. "Low key wishes, flowers, and I'll come to work, promising to take her out for dinner. Then we'll give her the surprise party. She won't be expecting it." 

     "Wow Bhaijaan, maan gaye! You're the boss for a reason. Keep her expectations low and still come out looking like a hero."

He obviously had a lot to learn from his brother. Had it been him and Humaira's birthday, Ayaan would have done things his way and made her mad enough to deny him se*x for at least a month. 

     Ayaan straightened in the chair when Prasad knocked and poked his head in. "Sir, Rakesh sir is here." 

     "Show him in."

 

     "Without Zaid?" Zoya pouted when Asad told her his plans for dinner on her birthday.

     "It'll just be for a couple of hours. He can hang out with Ammi and Aapi. He'll be fine," Asad added when he saw her face. 

     "But we don't have to go out. We can stay in and order out. I won't mind." 

     Asad exhaled. He should have known she'd say that and ruin his plans. "No, I want it to be special and I want you all to myself. If we stay home then you'll be busy with everyone else. Can't a guy enjoy some couple time with his wife without playing second fiddle to his son or family?" 

     "Asad, we have the nights to ourselves." 

     "But we haven't dressed up, been out, just the two of us for the longest time. Not since Siddiqui Saheb and Aunty gave us that resort package for our anniversary. Please," he raised her hand to his lips looking deep into her eyes and she blushed. 

     "Fine." 

     Asad hooked a finger under her chin to raise her face to his. "No, say, haan, haan.' " 

Surprised laughter pealed from her lips. It had been two weeks since that episode and hideous dream. 

     "Haan, haan," she said shyly.

     "Then be ready tomorrow." 

     "OK. No, I mean, haan, haan." 

     "Good girl," he lifted her off her feet to plant a hard kiss on her mouth.

     "Mr. Khan, you sure know how to keep a girl happy." Her cheeks were red, eyes sparkling. 

     Asad pressed his forehead to hers. "I aim to please, Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan. I aim to please." He slid his tongue in before any more last words fell out of her mouth to upstage him. She shuddered in need as he teased the roof of her mouth before sucking on her upper lip.

 

The pressure of keeping Zoya's party both a surprise and a success was mounting. Asad wanted her birthday gift to also be a thank you for what she'd done to chase away his fears of being an absentee father who was working late hours these days.

He'd begun FaceTiming with her and Zaid at least twice a day from work and she'd talked him into organizing a new company annual event: bring your kids to work day. It was common in the US, she told him, as a way to introduce kids to many career options and to make the workplace more family-friendly. 

 

So last Saturday, a half working day, had been dedicated to the children. 

The office was suddenly overrun with kids of all ages. Laughter, shouts and squeals erupted from all corners as proud parents introduced their kids and co-workers. Later the kids ran small errands and watched their dads or moms at work. Meanwhile paper planes zoomed and daisy chains bloomed as Ayaan uncle showed off near the copy machine. Office chairs morphed into spinning rides--the corridor was temporarily transformed into a track for chair races. The accounting department parents and kids won hands down. Pictures were taken, selfies posted, and the bounce houses and cotton candy and stilt-walkers and clowns entertained them later in the converted parking lot. 

And all the while Zaid bounced around the office proudly attached to his beaming dad in a baby carrier. The women in the office gushed to see "Sir" being such a doting dad; Zaid lapped up the attention from this new fan club--their adoration wasn't that new to him though. He was already used to that! 

His mom had made sure that he was well-rested and fed before baby's special day out. He was sporting his Dhoni jersey and the smallest pair of jeans. But it was the tiny pair of red baby hightop sneakers that won hearts all around that day. There was even a miniature baseball cap but it had fallen off long ago and was now stuffed in his Abbu's pocket for safekeeping.

     His Chachu wanted to borrow him to impress the office girls but Asad refused. "Get your own," he growled. 

     While he loved spending time with Zaid, everyone touching the baby and pinching his cheeks was not sitting well with Asad. It was only superhuman effort on his part to not rush to his cabin and slather the kid in hand sanitizer. Zoya had warned him: "Mr. Khan, you can't keep him in a germ-free environment forever. You've got to give his immune system a fighting chance."

 

What a day! The pumped bre*ast milk was in the break room's fridge, the bag of beeping, light-up and rattling toys was parked by his dad's desk beside the diaper bag, and his favorite blanky was draped across his dad's office sofa. 

Not even five minutes, and Zaid's stuff had taken over Asad's lair.  

Zoya had left Zaid with Asad to give them uninterrupted father-son time. So he had to do things at work that he'd never done before. His office coffee table served as a changing station when Zaid filled his diaper. 

     "Download complete ho gaya?" Ayaan asked his nephew. 

Zaid babbled happily, waving an arm and chewing on his toy phone as his Chachu entertained him. Like his mom, Zaid loved his phone just as passionately. Prasad had offered that his daughter could help but Asad refused. He wanted to do his son's work himself. 

     "BOO!" Ayaan popped his face out from behind his hands and Zaid cackled in glee. The phone went flying as he flung his arms and legs wanting more fun. Ayaan was commanded to retrieve it and wipe it down with a disinfectant wipe. 

Asad disposed of the diaper and carried his son to the bathroom for a more thorough cleaning. 

     "BYE!" Ayaan called out. He waved the phone"its buttons lit up and it made high-pitched beeping sounds. 

     "bbbaaa" Zaid responded but then he got distracted by his dad's knuckle. He gnawed on it and hummed. 

     "Nangu bum!" Ayaan teased from the door as he watched his brother gently tend to his nephew. He never ceased to be amazed at Bhaijaan's patience and tenderness when he was with Zaid.

Zaid remained unfazed by Chachu's teasing. He blew bubbles in his Zen state as Asad kissed his downy head. The baby chuckled as plumes of talc rose and his bum was restored to being fresh and new again. 

Later in the day Zaid even got to sit in his dad's lap at the office chair. But he didn't like that Abbu pushed the laptop away from his grasping fingers. He wanted to bang on the keys with both hands too. 

     "Abhi tu hi laptop hai," Ayaan Chachu told him just as he was scrunching up his face to bellow in protest. 

Uh-oh. Looks like it was nap time. 

As the phone rang and Asad reached out to answer it, Ayaan scooped Zaid up and made an airplane out of him. Zaid loved this. His frown turned upside down. 

Asad smiled at their antics as he concluded the phone call. Zaid lunged toward him and he caught him up in his arms to swing his son over his head. This was the best day he'd had at work, Asad thought as he settled a drowsy Zaid in his arms. 

Ayaan was dragged away by a gaggle of young boys who wanted him to play cricket with them.

Zaid gazed unblinkingly at his dad; he was covered with his favorite blanky and sucking hungrily on his bottle. And Abbu was humming softly. What else could a boy want? A couple of hearty burps later he was all set to pack it in.

The burping towel still draped over his shoulder Asad rose with him from his chair. He padded to the window to gaze down at the happy scene of many other parents with their kids in the parking lot. Lines snaked in front of the chaat and ice cream vendors, bubbles soared up to pop, and balloons bobbed. He could even see the medical van. With kids around who knew who'd trip or fall, scr*ape a knee or poke an eye out. 

     He looked down at Zaid just in time to see those lashes flutter and whisper close. Asad bent to kiss that forehead. "sleep tight, baby." 

     "Hi." 

He turned at the soft whisper and smiled at Zoya. 

     "Did you guys have fun?" 

Asad nodded.

     Zoya glided forward and stroked Zaid's rounded cheek. "Aww, he's all tuckered out. Did Abbu make my baby work extra hard at office today?" 

They watched the tiny chest rise and fall. It was a hypnotic sight. It reminded Zoya of how Asad sometimes played the sound of Zaid's heartbeat from the first ultrasound. And now even Zaid's eyes would widen and he'd clap when he heard that familiar sound. 

     "Dhak-dhak, dhak-dhak-dhak-dhak-dhak-dhak," his mom would say.

     "ta-ka-ta-ka-ta-ka," he would mimic her. 

     Asad leaned to kiss her temple. "Someone's been having chaat I see." He used their son's burping towel to wipe off a tell-tale smudge. 

Zoya snickered. Who could resist the call of the tava's clang and sizzle, that smell of the piping hot tikkis? And who could stop at one plate and not have gol gappas or bhel (minus the peanuts) afterwards? 

     She took Asad's hand and led him to the couch. "So, how was it?" she wanted to know all the details. 

     "Amazing. I had no idea how having kids around you transforms a space. Everything is a plaything and no rules apply. They even had an office chair race! It's like rediscovering the world at their eye level." 

     "But it's messy?" Zoya asked knowing her husband's neat freak ways.

     "It's messy, but it's all good. Good for the soul kind of messy."

     Zoya leaned in to kiss his cheek. Wow, Jahanpanah was a changed man indeed. "And Zaid? Did he have fun?" 

     "He loved it. He's made at least two girlfriends. If he had a facebook or twitter account, he'd have about a million followers by now." 

     "Aww." 

She saw Asad's cheek drop and rest against their son's head. Aw, poor baby, her husband was exhausted from being a fulltime daddy today. Zoya snuggled up next to her favorite desi boyz. She had missed them so much!

 

When Ayaan snuck in half an hour later to check on his Bhai and little champ, he smirked at the vision before him. 

It was deja vu all over again. 

With just a tiny difference. Or two.

The last time he'd seen Bhai and Mona Darling asleep like this was the night she'd got hurt when that bitch Tanveer had pushed her down the stairs. 

He took a picture of all three of them--Mona's head once again leaning against Bhai's shoulder, and Bhai's head resting against Zaid's sleek head this time. Bhaijaan still hadn't removed the snowy-white burping towel from his shoulder--it made him look so domestic ... and yet so natural--as if he was born to do this. So vulnerable and yet ... majestic even. Ayaan felt a tug. Two years ago no one could have imagined this bliss for Bhai. But it had been hard won. He prayed that nothing would ever disrupt this cozy vignette. Ever.

The picture pinged across a dozen phones the next instant.

Multiple silent duas and loud Awws followed. Everyone's heart echoed the same prayer. 

     On Bhai and Mona's informal sangeet party, Najma had captioned the first picture: "In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lions sleep tonight." 

     Ayaan's caption added the necessary update. "Zaid Miyan's first day in office. He scored a six and a hat trick as he clean-bowled all Dhonis!" He couldn't resist waxing poetic at this sight and hurriedly added, "in the jungle, the mighty jungle, our favorite pride sleeps tonight." (If his nephew were awake, Ayaan would have held him and sang while posing, "Chal beta selfie le le re!") 

     He added another message. God knows why, but he was feeling major senti all of a sudden: "Zaid had a long day giving darshan, so he's on a break now. Because even mighty superheroes need a nap and snuggle with their Ammi and Abbu to recharge their superpowers. Till the next adventure of Zaid Miyan and Dobby Mi-Ya-oon, it's bye from all of us!"

 

 

 

Song in Title:

My Name is Khan (2010): "Sajda"


	120. Aaja Zari Wale Neele Aasman Ke Taley

 

 ****

It was Saturday teatime when Rashid and Siddiqui Saheb got Ayaan's message and the attached photo of the sleeping pride among the many others of Zaid's first visit to his dad's office. 

     "Kitni acchi tasveer hai! I'll have it framed. In fact, we should have a family portrait done," Rashid suggested. 

     "Haan, bahut accha idea hai ... aur mauka bhi," Siddiqui agreed. "Even Zeenat and Anwar Saheb are here; it'll be perfect." 

They looked down again at the picture of Asad, Zoya and Zaid. It was such a charming sight--and such a powerful testament to mercy, love and just desserts. And already it was stirring other plans. 

     "I'm going to have a bring your child or grandchild to work day' in my office too!" both grandfathers piped up at the same time. 

Then they argued about who would get to take Zaid first. 

     Raziya shook her head in dismay at their bickering. She had liked all their other ideas. Except this one. "Khayali pulao bana na band kariye aap dono. First you'll have to ask for Asad's permission. I don't know how he even allowed this to happen. He's so hyper about germs." 

But she was secretly pleased about Asad's finickiness and crossed her fingers that he would say no. She wasn't too thrilled with Zaid being out among so many people. What if he got sick? Caught a virus? Zoya's enthusiasm had bulldozed over everyone's fears but Raziya really wasn't happy. 

     "Bhabhi, some time or the other he has to go out, na," Shireen had tried to pacifiy her. 

     "But why invite trouble? I can understand going to the doctor, but this? Is it necessary to take him out in the middle of all these people? Someome might have a cold--then what? Bechara mera bachcha, nanhi si jaan!" 

She rattled off all possible medical ailments that people in Asad's office might be suffering from--there was that multi drug-resistant TB thing going around. She had seen all about it on Aamir Khan's show. Hepatitis, Dengue, AIDS, Swine Flu and god knows what other bugs floated in the air these days. She had frowned at Anwar and Siddiqui Saheb as they dismissed her worries.

     "Sar pe chadha kar rakha hai Zoya ko!" Raziya had mumbled as she trotted off to the kitchen. 

She'd even rung up Dilshad to try to get her to put a stop to this nonsense. But apparently no one had the guts to stand up to Zoya's giggly tyranny.

Then she'd plotted to protect Zaid in other ways. Of course he would go to Asad's office armed with a dozen kala tikas behind his ear but she wanted something more concrete done. 

     "Dilshad, put haldi in his ajwain water and make sure he drinks the whole thing." She'd commanded in her sixth phone call that morning. "There's no point in telling Zoya. She'll only laugh at me."

Dilshad laughed too. Raziya had been mounting this protect-Zaid-from-epidemics campaign for about a week now. Even taking Zaid to the dargah would make her huff in annoyance. 

Finally Raziya had called Asad to express her worries. Only he would be on her side and only he could tackle Zoya.

     "Is anyone sick in your office?" She'd asked him and then interrogated him about a dozen other things. "What if people in their families are sick and they are carriers of a virus?" 

     "Umm, Aunty I can't control that." 

     "But you can control not taking your child to office," she'd muttered. "But no, nobody listens to me. Everybody only listens to Zoya rani and her lunatic ideas!" 

Asad had prudently kept his mouth shut. 

When even he seemed unaffected, she became teary-eyed. She'd heard so many horror stories of babies getting sick. What if something happened to Zaid? 

     "I understand your worries, Aunty," Asad had tried to comfort her. "OK, here's what I'll do. I'll have my office fumigated and bring in the best pest-control company." 

     "Haan, yeh theek hoga." At least he was taking her seriously unlike the others. "But the chemicals they use won't be safe for childre--" Fresh worries assaulted her. 

     "Good point. I'll make sure that we do it a week before and that they use the safest products."

On D-Day she had called several times to find out how Zaid was doing and had only just calmed down. 

And now when she heard her husband's and Rashid's plans she felt the familiar panic return. Ya Allah! When would this craziness end? Why didn't any of them understand the perils? Kisi ki nazar lag jayegi. 

     "I told you this was a bad idea," she texted Asad. "You've unleashed a monster. Now your Abbu and Siddiqui Saheb are lining up to parade Zaid in their offices. You must put a stop to this! Immediately!"

 

Later that night, back at home, Zoya saw Asad grinning as he checked his messages.

     "What's so funny?" 

     "You're in big trouble," he'd replied. 

     "Me? Why? What did I do?" 

     "Aunty thinks you've let a genie out of the bottle. Now both my Abbu and yours want to take Zaid to their offices." 

Zoya slapped her head. Oh Shi*t. Aunty would really go nuts this time. It was hard enough getting her to agree to Zaid visiting Asad's office. She was sure that Aunty'd already complained about her at her Ammi's gravesite. Her angry mumblings about spoiling grown kids and exposing babies to man-eating bugs would only get louder. Raziya was so upset about this that she hadn't talked to Zoya for half a day.

Yikes, she _had_ created a monster! 

And the only one who could save them from this monster was Zaid. He would have to spend all day at Chhoti Nani's house now. And let's hope his cuteness would surgically laser-beam all her anxieties away. But Zoya knew, Aunty would get her revenge on her for sure with the badaam and ghee maalish.

Yuck! 

Zoya looked down at her son who was romping on the bed with Dobby. 

     "Zaid?" 

He looked up at her. These days he was trying to wiggle and roll back on to his stomach. Usually he ended up thumping his butt in frustration. She wagged her finger at him. 

     "You better not sneeze, or sniffle, or cough, OK mister? Or dude, Chhoti Nani will beat up Ammi!" 

He clapped his hands. 

     "Oh really?" Even her son was conspiring against her. 

And then he sneezed.

Oh no, Allah miyan, no, NO!

She was dead meat. 

Maybe it was just a false alarm. Maybe Dobby's hair had tickled her son's nostrils. Please, please Allah miyan! All hell would break lose and the army of grandparents would swoop down on her and peck her brains out. 

     Zoya knelt by the bed and clasped her hands in prayer before her son. "Please baby, don't you dare do this to me!" 

Zaid's neck whipped back from another sneeze. Looks like the little mister had a cold.

     "As-ad!"

     "What?" He came running from the closet at the panic in her voice.

     "We are so dead."

 

Zoya was torn between delight and guilt. Knowing Asad and his track record of giving her the best surprises, she knew that her birthday celebration wasn't going to be as mundane as he was trying to convince her to believe.

But what was he planning?

The suspense was killing her. Last year she hadn't expected much because they were still being hunted by Tanveer, but he'd still outdone himself. 

Oh my god, he'd remembered her silly husband wishlist. 

     "Main apki har wish poori karunga," he'd said long ago.

And he had. He'd knocked off number 1 and 3 her last birthday. The breakfast in bed had been sooo awesome! And the post-breakfast action wasn't too shabby either.

Fine, it wasn't the first time he'd done the breakfast thing, but it sure was a wonderful surprise. The first time he'd served her breakfast in bed was for one sehri at their first Eid together.

And because it was Jahanpanah we are talking about here, he'd been not just excellent at dishing out the food but also keeping the kitchen cleaner than she could have ever managed. It must have taken him some time to pull it off. She didn't even know when he'd left bed to get all the prep work done. For sure, she'd married a magician!

And since then, it had become a kind of ritual between them. For the first sehri, he always got her breakfast in bed.

Ooh, good job, 16-year old Zoya for thinking up such super ideas! 

But then you grew up ... and sometimes those ideas were used against you.

Thanks to Aapi's intervention and trickery her husband did get her pizza in bed for these rituals now, but they were evil disguised pizzas: whole wheat, loaded with veggies, low-fat cheese, and wait for it, low salt.

Are you kidding me here?

No doubt they tasted great, but c'mon! She always had to doctor them with hot sauce and more cheese later, and bless his heart, Asad would let her get away with it. 

But what he'd done on her birthday night last year, had taken her breath away. It was cold out, winter was just around the bend and Jahanpanah being Jahanpanah had obviously taken the weather forecast and cloudy night sky conditions into account. If the skies had been clear, Asad told her later, he had plans for them to camp out all night. He had sleeping bags and everything ready. 

She didn't know when he could have had the time to do it but when they turned the lights out that night their room glowed suddenly and Zoya had gasped in wonder looking up at the ceiling.

     He'd come up behind her to hold and whisper in her ear, "so, did your husband take care of wish number 3?"

     "Yes, he did, and how!" She'd spread her arms and twirled under the night sky painted by her husband just for her. And then she'd rushed into his arms and buried her face in his chest. 

     "Zoya?" Asad worried that she was crying. And truth be told, she did feel a bit sniffly. 

     "Are you OK?" 

     "I'm better than OK. Because I'm the luckiest girl alive! Thank you for making me feel so special." 

     "Thank you for making my life special," he'd breathed and then she did cry. Just a little bit. 

     "No more tears," Asad told her. "Come," he held her hand to lead her to the bed, "lie down with me and we'll trace them together." 

And what do you know, he must have looked at astronomical images and charts to get the constellations precisely right! Just like her Jahanpanah to be so meticulous--down to the last detail. Her favorite, Orion's belt was there, right over her head. Zoya had blown a kiss to her Ammi. And the big dipper and the little dipper mirrored each other on the opposite side with Polaris perfectly lined up between them. Aww.

Perfect. Just like her husband. 

     "Asad, this is beautiful. How long did you take to do this?" 

     "About 3 hours." 

     "But when did you do it?" 

     "This morning when you went to the dargah and your Ammi's side. I asked Ammi and Najma to delay you a bit." 

     Ah, that's why Najma had insisted on a mani-pedi regimen with all stops pulled out. It was to give her Bhaijaan the time to set up for the surprise. "You are pure genius, you know that!" 

     "I know," he'd smirked. And when she'd opened her mouth to scold him for being so full of himself he'd shut it for her. And gone on to do things that had her biting off moans and screams ... 

She was convinced that Zaid had been conceived that night, right under the stars that her super thoughtful Akdu had planted and plucked for her. 

 

In fact she'd gloated about it nine months later when Zaid was born--a day before his Abbu's birthday. 

     "Umm, Mr. Khan, I hope no one does the math, but looks like he was conceived on my birthday to be born a day before yours!" 

     "He's my son, Mrs. Khan. Is there any doubt that he wouldn't do the most logical and mathematical thing possible under the circumstances?" 

     Zoya had laughed even then. Nope. There was no doubt. No doubt at all. "You're right. He's chhotu Akdu after all!" 

     "I told you not to call him Chhotu!" Asad rolled his eyes. "Ever." 

     "But he's a mini-version of you!" 

     "Even then." 

     "Baby Akdu?" 

     "Hmm ..." he'd growled softly, still dissatisfied and jealous: The name Akdu was just reserved for him. Besides, his son was way too cute to be Akdu.

 

She wandered into the backyard with the baby monitor in her hand. Zoya hugged herself at the memories of their birthdays, even more deeply knotted now thanks to Zaid Miyan.

Yes indeedy, Mr. Khan had made her last birthday very special--in more ways than one. And he'd kinda painted himself into a corner there--how would he ever be able to top that?

Exhilaration rippled through her. He would top it though, of that she was sure. 

But then the guilt angel jumped hard on her shoulder--with cleats. Zoya, how could you be so greedy and ... and thoughtless? Asad is super busy these days! He leaves early, comes home late, how would he even have the time to plan something big? 

She shivered and sighed into the night. 

     "Kya hua, mera cheetah?" Anwar came to sit by her side on the bench and cover her with a shawl. 

Zaid had been put to bed after bedtime stories from his mom and dad followed by a long FaceTime good night peppered with lots of kissiyaan to his Abbu.

     "Missing Asad? Does he always come this late?"

     "Yes, I am missing him. But no, he started coming late only since last month. They've taken on a new project and run into some issues that he doesn't tell me about much." 

     "And your detective skills haven't been able to root it out?" 

     She smiled. "I've kinda been busy too. Jeeju." Zoya slipped her arm through his. "I wish you'd stay longer." 

     "I would love it too. But kya karein, jana hai." He had only stayed on to attend her birthday and would be leaving the day after. 

She hated these cycles of short visits and long absences. Each parting grew harder to bear. 

     "But we'll still see each other everyday--thank god for Facetime! Kitni kaam ki cheez hai, hai na? I don't want to miss out on a minute of my little girl and Zaid growing up."

     "Jeeju!" 

     "Aur nahin to kya! You're still my little girl. So what if the braces have come off and you're the mother of a little boy now. I just wish you hadn't found your happiness so far away from home though."

True dat. 

 

     After Jeeju left, she thought again of Asad's plans. Or at least the plans he was telling her about. He wanted to take her out for dinner. "Just us, I don't feel like sharing you with anyone," he'd said. 

Aw, now what girl wouldn't melt after hearing that? 

She wondered, not for the first time, if her dream had anything to do with these plans. Come to think of it there were some awesome benefits to that ridiculous phone-nikaah dream she'd had a few weeks ago. Asad staked his bold claim on her more often these days. He would grab her up in his arms all of a sudden and just hold her to him.

     One night he'd growled and whispered, "I'll tattoo my name on that body of yours ... with my teeth," and she'd just combusted, like, right there. Mmm mmm mm.

And he couldn't resist calling her Mrs. Khan or Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan every few hours these days. Even his pillow talk was peppered with more possessive words: biwi, begum, wife. So much so, that she was missing him calling her, "babe." And if he had to get her to agree to anything these days, he'd always jerk his chin a millimeter and ask: "qubool hai?"

She loved it! 

Who knew even stupid dreams could have such super rewards!

     "Are you trying to seduce my subconscious mind into never having such dreams again?"

     "Hmmm, you're on to my diabolical plans. Is it working?" 

     "I don't know. But can this daily drilling of nikaah vows really work?" 

     "If that drilling doesn't work I have other kinds of drilling tha--" 

     "Asad! You're so bad." 

     "You've made me this bad, Mrs. Khan. You've made my blood go mad. I'd chain you to me if I can help it and forbid you to answer any phone call unless it's from me!"

     She laughed. "Umm, Mr. Khan ... you seem to have forgotten one important detail. In that dream, I was answering a call from you! And that's when the haan-haan' disaster happened!" 

     "So basically in your dream, it was still my fault that you got phone-married to someone else." 

     "Umm-hmm." 

     "Brilliant," he muttered. "I'm wrong even in her dreams. She messes up, and it's somehow my fault." 

     "Asad!" She kissed his cheek. "No, remember we decided long ago that you're my Mr. Right?" 

     "Good. Remember that. And I want every inch of your body to remember it too. Every cell, every nook and cranny, crease and crevice of your sleeping and waking mind must remember: that I will stamp out any stray dream your mind dares to dream with my mark and stain on you." 

Zoya's breath caught and eyes misted. This was kinda the reaction she was hoping for when she'd first told him about that dream. But no, that night and the next day, Mr. Khan had been too busy laughing at her. Hmm, der aaye, duruust aaye, like Jeeju always said! 

     Asad grabbed her chin to force her to look at him. "If I could I'd wipe out the word, haan,' from your mental databases. But then I wouldn't be able to hear you say haan' to me, right?" 

     "Haan," she'd whispered. And added, "but if you want, I could just say qubool hai to you from now onwards!" 

     "Good girl! See, it's already working!" 

But when he'd bent his head to suck her nipple hard and walk his fingers between her legs to dip and stroke and swirl and strum, her grateful body ... and blitzed-out mind had screamed "haan, haan," in a million myriad ways.

Oh god, may be Asad was right. They did need to be alone. She didn't want to share him with anyone either. And she couldn't wait for tomorrow to come already! 

 

     "Asad, you didn't have to make breakfast today!" Zoya scolded him the next morning, rosy with birthday anticipation and glee. She'd told him several times not to do so last night too. "Get a full night's rest. You don't have to do that!" 

But a full night's rest hadn't been completely possible. Back home Aapi and Jeeju would wake her up at midnight by walking into her room singing the birthday song and carrying a birthday cupcake with a tiny lit candle. When she told Asad about that ritual he'd grumbled that he'd be too sleepy to follow in his in-law's footsteps. And that they'd spoiled her rotten and set her expectations too high.

     But then he'd grabbed her awake at midnight to rub against her and wish her happy birthday. "Babe, I'm your birthday cake and I have a candle for you to blow," he'd teased. 

     "Mr. Khan, you are so wick-ed!" she'd slapped his shoulders before dissolving into a giggling fit. Mmm, birthday laughs and birthday se*x were a great way to start a birthday. 

     Zoya looked down at the tray before her and smiled. "Pancakes? Yum!" She poked them around with a fork. She was pretty sure he'd made them even healthier somehow, besides the sliced bananas on top. Ah yes, right there: oats. Never mind. She loved oatmeal pancakes too. Just as long as no one rationed her syrup. 

Asad dashed off to get ready for work as she dipped her finger in the syrup to give Zaid a taste. 

Oh yes, he liked this. He smacked his lips and Dobby came up to sniff his face. Zaid batted him away and lifted his head toward his mama. He wanted more of that sweet and sticky thingie. 

     "Mmmummum mumumm," he babbled begging for more. His fingers tried to grasp her sleeve. She smeared more syrup on his lip. 

     "I've ordered a special delivery for you so make sure you stay home today," Asad called out from the closet. 

     "Flowers?"

     "And something else for our date." 

     "Ooh! Can't you give me a hint?" 

     Asad came out and brushed her nose with a finger, "no." 

     "Not even a little one?" 

He ignored her and picked up Zaid to play their goodbye game: A lot of belly and face kissies that made Zaid end up smelling like his dad. Hmm, Zaid would wonder why his Ammi kept her face buried in his hair half the morning.

That's why.

The baby would giggle so much during this game that his face would turn all red and he'd be breathless with delight. And surprise, surprise. His daddy never minded the spit and slobber that got on to his cheek and collar--it was precious baby DNA transfer that even Akdu Jahanpanahs pardoned.

 

All day had been a giggle fest thanks to birthday wishes, calls, texts and gifts. Zoya's eyes sparkled brighter than any star her husband could pluck for her. But it was one gift she waited most for. And when it arrived she hugged it to her in awe. Just when she thought she knew everything about Jahanpanah, he surprised her yet again. She had no idea how he'd pulled it off. 

     "I got it," Zoya purred on the phone when he took her call. 

     "And?" 

     "It's sensational! But how did you--? Why did you?" 

     Asad leaned back in his office chair. "I just wanted to see you in a dress. Take you to a special place ... that's why." 

     "But a dress? You'd be fine with me out in public in that?" Zoya ran her hand over the luxurious fabric. It was a deep, deep red ... redder than blood. She still needed to try it on but she knew the fitted column dress would hug her just right. The thinnest straps held its front and back together. Well, what was left of the back that is. So wearing a bra was definitely out. With cutouts for her shoulders to peep through, the long sheer sleeves made up for all the skin the backlessness would expose. And the slit in front that ended mid-thigh? Whoa, was Jahanpanah on bhaang or something? 

     "It'll be just for me." 

She didn't question him anymore. Not even to ask how he was sure the dress would fit right. Who designed it? When did he even order it? 

     "I can't wait," she whispered. And knowing him she also knew that she wouldn't need to ask about how he'd arrange their rendezvous. How would she walk out the door without Ammi or Aapi or Jeeju seeing her dressed in this? And Zaid? What about Zaid? 

 

     "Zaid is going to Chhoti Nani's house. Nana will read him stories, Khala will sing to him, Phuphi will play peek-a-boo with him and Chachu will enact Zaid Miyan and Dobby Miya-oon ki rangeen duniya." Zoya counted off on his little fingers and kissed Zaid's toes as she got him ready for his special night out without his parents. 

     But damn, she felt guilty. She'd even texted Asad. "Should we really be away from him for so long?" 

     "He'll be fine. Zaid's a tiger. He'll still be going strong and everyone else will be asleep around him." 

That was true. Zaid was a study in constant motion. Like the Energizer bunny, he kept going and going and going. If he ever stilled, it was because he was sleeping. Because when awake he wiggled and squirmed and rocked and shimmied trying endlessly to reach for things to touch and taste. God alone knows how much of a workout it would be to chase him around once he started walking. 

     "You be a good boy, OK?" Zoya kissed his tiny foot as she settled him in for a feeding. "I'm gonna miss you. Ammi loves you." 

     "Mmm uuummm." 

Zoya giggled. Zaid was really getting noisy these days as he fed with the greatest gusto. He smacked his lips and made such loud satisfied sounds that it was impossible to feed him anywhere else except behind a firmly closed door. Sometimes with music on.

 

She should have known that Asad wouldn't let her step out of the house in this dress! When he'd said that it was going to be just for him, he meant it. For his eyes only. 

Her last birthday he'd taken three hours to scatter the stars on their ceiling. This year he was too busy to do any of the work himself so he'd outsourced it. Though when and how he'd arranged to have people sneak in and set up the terrace for some rooftop romance, she didn't know. And didn't want to know. Magicians were allowed their sleights of hand, showy diversions and trade secrets. 

He'd taken a long time to admire her first. Zoya had burned under his gaze. And become shy. 

     "Look at me," Asad said. 

She couldn't. Zoya shook her head, tongue-tied as a virgin on her suhaag raat. He pulled her to him. 

     "Happy birthday," he whispered in her ear before running his tongue over its shell. 

She shivered, arching and clinging, expecting the birthday bash to be delayed. 

But he led her out of their room, up the stairs to the roof where she let out a tiny gasp at the transformation. A million twinkling lights competed with the stars overhead. And the riot of colorfully draped silks and brocades, high-pile throw rugs and cushions would have made any emperor jealous. It could have been a little slice of Morocco or Istanbul's Grand Bazaar, or the inside of royal tent from the middle ages.

     Smitten, Zoya let out a giggle. "Jeez Jahanpanah, you re-created a harem! And look at me--a 21st century feminist, and I absolutely LOVE it! No wonder you didn't want me to bring my phone. I won't be needing it cos. we'll be time-traveling!" 

     Asad laughed. "That, and because I got you something special." 

     "Something more special than this? You are spoiling me, you know!" 

     "I know." He took her hand and pulled something out from his coat pocket. Jewelry?

But no. He knew her too well after all. She bounced on her toes when she saw what it was. A perfect blend of the 21st and 17th centuries that her Jahanpanah was. 

     "The Apple Watch!" 

He knew she'd been salivating over it ever since its release. He'd been scoffing at it so that she wouldn't pre-empt his gift and order one for herself. 

     "You are so devious," Zoya said as she allowed him to slip it on for her. "And so perfect." She slipped her arms around his neck not needing to go up on her toes as much thanks to those sinful heels. 

     They swayed in each other's arms. They had the world to themselves. Asad's hands spanned her waist to drag her closer. The dress fit perfectly over her curves. His hands traveled south to cup her bottom. "Good girl," he breathed as he felt no panty line. Thinking of that slit in the front made him harder. 

She moaned. With a remote from his pocket he dimmed the lights before letting the cover of darkness cocoon them. 

     "So a 16 year-old girl just wanted to hold hands with her husband under the stars. Let's see what the older Zoya wants." Asad flung his arm out to embrace the night sky. "I ordered the stars for you, babe. Show me what you got." 

     "Oh god, Asad, don't put me on the spot like that! I have nothing. My mind is such mush right now. I can only feel you ... hot and hard against me, your hands on me under these stars ..." She ground against him rotating her hips sensuously. "I'm already so wet for you. Can't you smell my heat?" She sighed.

     He jerked in helpless arousal, "Zoya!" 

     She gripped his collar as she vined herself around him. "Say what Rumi would say on such a night. I can't remember his words ... if I could that's what I'd say too. And then touch me ... make love to me ... make me explode like a supernova that'll burn brighter than this galaxy."

     "Mrs. Khan, you always make me do all the hard work," he teased but his voice was ragged with desire. "Your scorching science nerdtalk is burning me up ..." 

     "Shh," she placed a finger on his lips. "Woo me with some Rumi nerdtalk, please." 

Zoya clung tighter to him and he sighed. His hands roamed her naked back molding her to him. She nuzzled his neck. 

     "Which one?" 

     "The one about the moon knowing the night and being one." 

     His voice lowered. "The way the night knows itself with the moon, be that with me?"

     "Yes, that one," she moaned. "I love it."

     He twirled and spun her in a thousand circles and as she slammed into his chest he whispered in her ear again. "When someone mentions the gracefulness of the nightsky, climb up on the roof and dance and say, Like this." 

     "Like this," was all that Zoya could repeat after him as he spun and dipped her this time. Her nerve endings were on fire. The cool night air made her burn more. 

     When he straightened her she stroked his cheek. There was that one line from Rumi she did remember after all. "When lovers moan, they're telling our story... Like this," and she kissed him deeply as her leg took advantage of that voluptuous slit to slither up and hook over his thigh. 

     "That's my girl," he said as they came up for a breath and his hand crawled up her bare thigh. "I am a sky where spirits live," he continued. "Stare into this deepening blue, while the breeze says a secret.

     "Like this." 

She wiggled against him, hot and breathless from this poetic foreplay.

Unable to bear her heat against him any more Asad carried her to that gorgeous half-tent of silks and brocade, zari and satin to lower her into the whisper-soft cloud of bedding. He was quick to shed his clothes; but he wouldn't let her do the same. Asad couldn't resist a few more words from Rumi as he traced tiny kisses up her knee.

     "The stars will be watching us, and we will show them what it is to be a thin crescent moon. You and I unselfed, will be together."

     "Like this," she cried out as she threw her head back to feel his electric mouth on her. Only when he'd exacted a shuddering orga*sm from her did he help her out of the dress. He wanted to see her longer in it; but he also wanted to see her naked body glowing under the stars. 

     "The way the night knows itself with the moon, be that with me," Asad repeated as he entered her after turning her over on her knees and elbows. He loved it best like this too. The rawness of this lovemaking allowed him to take her deeper and the sounds she made brought him too precariously close to the edge ... The struggle to rein in his undoing as he hastened hers was that much sexier. 

     "Unselfed ... come undone for me ..." he gasped, straining at the effort to control himself. 

A thin crescent moon ... be that with me ...

She got that now. Her fingers twitched on the silks as she felt him move deeper inside her ... impaling her ... filling her ... touching her womb. His hands steadied her hips as he powered into her ... thicker ... fuller. She felt stretched and ... yes, a thin crescent moon ... because they'd be wrapped so close into each other that they'd be one ...

No, even less than one ...

And the tremors came then, cascading over one another.

     "Aaannh ... Asaadd ... I'm coming. I'm coming!"

 

The jealous stars winked down at their still bodies and thrashing hearts from a moonless sky. Noisy sub-lunary lovers must combust and flare ... and become seamless ... supernova ...

... like this. 

 

     "Do we have to?" she complained. 

     "Yes," Asad replied as he fixed his pants and started to button his cuffs. 

She watched him dress under those stars. She was still naked and replete, unwilling to move or get dressed. She wanted to romp more on the bed of stars. 

     "But why?" As if asking him a lot of questions would dissuade him. But hey, it was her birthday still and may be she'd get away with it. 

     "Because they're waiting for us. Who knows, there may be more surprises for you on your birthday. The day's not done yet, babe."

     Zoya huffed. Nice, using her own birthday against her. "But I wanted to spend more time here in the 17th century." 

     "We will. When we get back." 

     "Won't it be fun to watch everyone's faces if I walked in wearing this dress?" 

     "You wouldn't!" he yelped. 

     "Relax, Mr. Khan. I wouldn't do that to you, OK? Trust me." 

He snorted. 

     "Asad!" 

     "What?" 

     "You behave, OK?"

     "Or what will you do?"

     "I'll ... I'll run downstairs naked!" 

     His eyes bugged. And then that slow smile curled his lips. "Do it."

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan?" 

     "Stop pretending to be a horrified virgin, Mrs. Khan. You know you want to do it!" 

     "Fine," she giggled and rose to totter on her heels which she'd still kept on during their lovemaking--those were the unwritten Jahanpanah rules. 

She grabbed her tossed dress and slung it over her bare shoulder like a cowgirl. And then she marched to the door and down the stairs without holding the bannister. Asad followed close behind. At the landing, he couldn't bear it anymore. He scooped her up in his arms to carry her to their room. 

     Zoya smirked in victory. "Hah! Took you long enough!" she teased. 

     "I was taking in the delicious sights along the way." 

     "Mr. Khan, step out of the 17th century. I'm not a piece of scenery!" 

     "Yes, you are babe. Yes you are. More majestic than the Grand Canyon or the Niagara Falls."

     Now how could a girl resist this hyperbole? She patted his cheek. "You must be deluded, or blind Mr. Khan, but I love you more for it!"

 

And another surprise did wait for her at the Siddiqui house. It was time for yet another family portrait. 

Zaid had already starred a leading role with all his aunts and uncles and grandparents in at least a hundred professionally arranged photographs. Because everyone had also wanted individual shots with the little suited-booted Zaid. 

And good boy that he was, he didn't fuss ... well except for that one time when he needed a change and his Khala did the honors of cleaning him up. Ayaan Chachu had tried to help but Khala had to throw him out of the room for being no help at all. And then there was also that one time when Zaid got snippy because, hello? Where was his Ammi? And Abbu? ABBU--

The fat tears that gathered in the corner of his eye and those quivering lips were heartbreaking. 

     Thank god that his Dadi had shushed him and then he'd beamed again when everyone sang his Abbu's song for him: "Zindagi ki yahi reet hai." This time Khala was really happy with Ayaan Chachu as he played the guitar. 

Zaid flung his arms and legs in tune with the song fully aware of his pint-sized charm.

Who knew baby clothes came in tuxedos. And how did Anwar Nanu think of bringing this little thing for him all the way from New York? Looks like Nanu had a thing for suited cutie pies. First Big bear, now lil' Zaid ... 

Most of the pictures were done. They were just waiting for the star's parents to complete the family picture. And when they came, a cheer went up; Zaid was the happiest to be reunited with them. A quick feed and re-bonding in a quiet corner in his Ammi's room as she apologized for abandoning him by giving him a thousand kisses ... and he was brand new again.

As they posed for the family portrait Zoya had loved to see her son chewing on his red bow tie even as Asad tried to grab it out of the tiny hands.

     "Mr. Khan, let it be. I want him to be chewing on it in the picture. It's so cute! And those bow ties are so ridiculous anyways. I love my son's way better!"

Asad shook his head in rueful defeat. As much as he strived for perfection, his wife was an expert in imperfection. And her way seemed more playful, enchanting ... and kind of perfect in its own way. 

It was anybody's guess as to who Zaid would take after. 

And so that's how this 16X20 family portrait would look displayed in various houses in Bhopal and America: A gaggle of adults surrounding a Zaid munching happily on his bow tie. Only he would know how many kala tikas crowded behind his ear, if he could count that is. His Khala and Phuphis wanted to be by his feet as he sat enthroned in his dad's lap with his dimpling mom on their side. 

She'd tell him later that it was her birthday that day when they took this picture. And that she was the only one who fought for his right to chew on his bow tie. Because bow ties were evil. And Zaid would grow up to protest perfect little bow ties all his life too. Because his mom was right. Well, mostly.

Ayaan Chachu flanked him on the right. Chachu didn't even know that he had Khala's lipstick on his collar. He blanched when Zaid pulled at the smeared collar--it looked good enough to eat.

Even Dobby was there, perched on Anwar's shoulder. He was also sporting a red bow tie that he'd happily love to chew on too. He had wanted to be on Asad's shoulder but had to settle for Nanu's instead.

Hmmphf. 

But at least Dobby got to star as the trusty sidekick in some portraits of just Zaid Miyan and Dobby Miya-oon. Yes, wouldn't these pictures make great cover art for the comic books based on their adventures? Someone should give it some serious thought. It was money in the bank.

 

There was cake of course to cap off the festivities and Zaid even got a lick of the frosting. So did Dobby.  

And Khala and Ayaan Chachu even performed a skit and a dance on "Pataka guddi" for his Ammi as Zaid clapped at "Ali, Ali, Ali, Ali," in the refrain before finally falling asleep in his Zeenat Nani's arms.

     "Thak gaya, meri jaan," Raziya cooed. 

     "Thak nahin gaya, battery khatam ho gayi. Charge ho raha hai," Anwar added. 

     "iCloud pe backup kar raha hai," Humaira piped up. 

 

     "Are you sure it'll be OK?" Zoya whispered an hour or so later. 

     "Trust me," Asad said this time.

It was too late and thankfully not too cold. And he was prepared as he led her and a heavily bundled up Zaid to the terrace. The weather had cooperated perfectly and the stars aligned just right this year. Either Mr. Khan was really a magician and getting better each year, or may be it was all Zaid and his superpowers.  

     "Mr. Khan, if he catches a cold this time I'm telling everyone this was your idea!" Zoya said in a low growl.

Because the last time had been a bit of a scare.

Even though it was just a minor sniffle.

Still, the mom brigade had swooped down on them with a thousand gharelu nuskhas.

     Zoya had burst into tears when she saw Raziya. "You were right! I'm a horrible mom," she'd sobbed. 

     "Chupp, pagal! I'm the terrible mom," Raziya had hugged and soothed her. "Sirf chhota sa cold hai. He'll be fine. Sher hai hamara Zaid." And I've done so much worse, she'd thought to herself. I've been a terrible mom to you. 

Zoya had felt better after that and done her own research into American pediatric solutions; Asad meanwhile went and purchased top of the line humidifiers and air purifiers. Lots of haldi, water and rest, vicks rubs, steamy air as per the doctor's instructions, and Zaid was good as new pretty soon thank you, Allah miyan! 

 

Asad remoted the lights on and led them to that slice of 17th century. He held Zaid as she settled on the plush bedding and then handed him to her. Once she'd nestled the baby next to her Asad got in too and covered them with a heavy-duty rajai. He flicked the lights off. 

     "Oh god Asad, it's so beautiful," she sighed looking up at the stars.

     "You're welcome." 

     "Mr. Khan!" she stage-whispered but with no real steam. She felt mellow and generous ... and just right. Like Goldilocks. 

She turned on her side to hold a sleeping Zaid closer and dropped a kiss on his head which was covered with a hand-knitted cap his Dadi had made for him. This was heaven. Zoya moved her arm out of the rajai--she was already toasty by now--and pressed her palm against the baby's heart to feel his deep breathing ... dhak-dhak-dhak-dhak-dhak-dhak it played a steady beat.

Asad reached out his hand to cover hers.

With Zaid safely and snugly sandwiched between them, they nested high in the sky's velvety and zari wala embrace.

And they slept like babies. 

It had been a long and perfect day, thank you Allah miyan.

 

 

Song in Title:

Slumdog Millionaire (2008): "Jai Ho"


	121. Yeh Chaand Ka Chikna Saabun Kuchh Der Mein Gal Jaayega, Aaja

 

 

He envied them. That laughter. The shrieks and giggles made him feel left out. Asad could hear them at the kitchen sink as he finished up his lonely breakfast at the edge of their frothy, bubbly world. From the sounds of it, it was an exclusive, by-invitation-only party behind a velvet rope from which he was excluded. Locked out. 

Lately Asad had even changed places from his favorite seat at the head of the table so he could watch Zoya bathe Zaid at the kitchen sink. 

Yes, this was the same seat that Zoya had mistakenly occupied on her very first morning at the Khan house. And then he'd walked in, seen her in it and blown a gasket. Here she was, not knowing her place again. First, she'd invaded his bed the previous night and then argued with him.

     "Main iss kamre mein pehle aayi thi toh yeh kamra mera hua. New York mein aisa hi hota hi!" 

     "Yeh apka New York nahin hai! This is my room," he'd thundered back.

It was uncanny how Ammi had tried to pacify him that night when he'd raged at Ms. Farooqui for being "nihayati badtameez and badd-dimaag." 

     "Asad, sabra karo beta. Mehmaan hai, do-char din mein chali jayegi. Usne saari umr thodi na yahan rehna hai!" 

Famous last words!

And the next morning, this. Barely holding on to his temper he'd told her to vacate his chair. Very curtly. (Of course at that time he hadn't known that her pizza slice was hugging his butt. He was a goner. The slicing and dicing of the Akdu karela had already begun). 

He didn't even know that his undermining had begun the second he'd set eyes on her. 

He'd glared at her with all the venom he could muster that morning. But never one to be down for long, her brow had arched at his rude dismissal.

     He'd been rude to her at each meeting. She'd called him out on it the night before: "Aap hamesha mujhse ladne pe amada rehte hain!"

That morning those lips had pursed ... and then that mischief-making farishta had peeked through. And so had that elfin dimple.

No, this time she didn't yell back at him. Maybe because Ammi and Najma were there. Or because she was a guest in his house. It felt like it was years ago ... or was it just yesterday that Ms. Farooqui had spouted yet another of her shayari gems? 

     Ruhani sukoon aur dil main chain hona chahiye, 

     Ruhani sukoon aur dil main chain hona chahiye, 

     Apka naam Asad nahi, chairman hona chahiye!  

As ridiculous it had been, it turned out to be the perfect ice-breaker. How quickly her silly sher had diffused the nuclear tension.

Najma and Ammi had tried to cover their delighted smiles behind their hands. That sound was a first in their house.

And his downfall was a first too. Finally someone had come along to challenge and unseat the fierce and frosty Akdu.

The rest? History. 

A sassy Jhansi ki Rani had continued to trump a stick-up-his-ass Jahanpanah. 

She had tried to take revenge on him a few weeks later. Taken his seat. Again. And, made him serve her coffee or she'd tell Ammi his secret.

It was meant to be. He would be needing all the practice to get used to his displacement and undoing.

Asad grinned at the memories as he sipped his coffee. Funny how he smiled more easily now. And funny how he didn't get migraines from clenching his jaw so tight in those joyless days ...

Those Zoyaless days. 

That first night when she'd blundered into his bed, he'd seethed and gnashed his teeth at her girly clutter scattered all around his room.

It was sacrilege. She'd defiled his place and marked her territory. It was an act of war.

And now when he saw the baby clutter around the table and counters ...

Nope. Not even then did his blood pressure spike. He'd learned to let go of his tight policing of emotional boundaries and borders. He'd closed the door firmly on the obsessively neat but barren 17th century.  

     "ZAID!" Zoya's squeal popped the memory bubble in Asad's head. "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you! You did that on purpose didn't you, you little monkey?" 

Zaid cackled in merry mutiny and splashed his mom even more. He laughed with his head thrown back when she tickled him. 

His little baby tub fit just right in the kitchen sink. And the sink was at just the right height to not hurt her back. It felt a little sore on some days. So she had problem-solved in her own unique way. 

Asad watched Zoya impatiently shove her hair back off her forehead. Baby shampoo bubbles snowflaked her hair. Of course. She never remembered to tie up her hair before doing anything messy. 

It was as if ... 

 

Dilshad loved these daily dramas too. 

It was way better than the soaps on TV. She'd just finished talking to Najma and smiled serenely from the living room as she watched Asad tie Zoya's hair back with a clip. Then with his handkerchief he proceeded to wipe the soap residue off her hair. OK fine, he tolerated some messes. But that didn't keep him from making things neat and right as much as possible. 

For a flash, Asad's body hid Zoya from view as he tied up her hair. He scraped a lazy thumbnail deliberately over her now-exposed nape. 

Thankfully Zaid's babbling covered up her shocked hiss. 

Zoya felt that touch zing right through her and she turned to mock-glare at her husband. But that glare melted into fierce longing and accusation: how dare you do this now when my soapy hands are full and we have an audience? And, that too when in a minute you'll walk out and I won't see you for 9-10 hours!

She blew the suds on her hand toward him in a flying, flake-speckled kiss for revenge. The gauntlet had been thrown.

Zaid gurgled in glee. He blew bubbles too.

Dilshad didn't even know when her son had become so adept at these domestic tasks like tying up his wife's hair. It looked as if he'd been doing this forever.

But he hadn't. 

Mera ziddi Asad, she used to think of him in his previous Akdu avatar, eternally worried that no one would be able to pierce his adamantine shell. Aur ab?

The explosion of baby toys and paraphernalia didn't seem to bother him any more. Now, at bath time, he'd even learned how to avoid Zaid's splashing and seeking fingers by holding his son's wet hands and planting a quick peck on his sleek head. 

Dilshad beamed. This daily soap was her favorite--the reruns were highly addictive and got the highest TRPs in her book. 

Dilshad watched Asad nudge Zoya away after Zaid'd been rinsed and nod to her to hold up the towel as he picked up the squirmy, drippy bundle. Zoya enfolded the baby in his fluffy towel painted with giraffes, zebras, elephants and lions. She slipped the hooded end over his head after wiping the impish face. Zaid chattered and cooed, snug between his Ammi and Abbu. 

The rubber ducky slid from his hands. He'd just spotted his dad's tie and missed his parents' familiar eye lock.

But his Dadi didn't. 

She rolled her eyes. Here we go again. 

Her hawk eyes didn't miss Zoya massaging her lower back either. Allah! She'd forgotten to call the massage woman. Dilshad got cracking. And she missed her son glance her way and then taking advantage of his mom's distraction plant a quick kiss on his wife's surprised lips. 

She blushed and dimpled. Her scandalized whisper of "Mr. Khan, Ammi's watching!" made him grin in apology and victory. But that grin was short-lived. His son had managed to wiggle out of the restraining towel. He yanked his dad's tie before munching on it--he'd been eyeing it ever since his dad came over to the sink. 

Asad yelped. 

Zaid crowed and tugged harder. The tie was soft and soothing. He mashed his itchy gums harder on the silken fabric singing his favorite song. 

     "MmmhHHmmm."

 At work Asad smiled a half hour later looking at the picture Zoya had just sent: Zaid wearing Abbu's loosely-knotted tie, and nothing else. The boy was still gnawing on its end--it probably wouldn't surivive the kid's erupting teeth.

 

On weekends Asad got his own turn with Zaid and bath time--and he made up for all the lost weekdays with a vengeance. Zoya had convinced him that daddy and son could romp in the tub in the bathroom. And there they played with bubbles, yellow duckies and ships. They splattered and splashed--well Zaid splashed. His daddy mostly wiped surfaces down with a stack of washcloths.

Now if Asad had his way he'd spend hours in there with Zaid--cleaning out the tiny spaces between Zaid's toes, gently scrubbing his ears and each little perfect fingernail.

But Zaid felt impatient. 

He had so many things to explore, worlds to conquer, and his dad just kept getting in the way. He wanted to grab duckies and shampoo bottles. He wanted to make ships fly. Everything looked edible ... he wanted to suck on soft washcloths to ease the itch on his gums. And besides, it was such fun to watch his dad make this weird sound whenever he tried to do that.

When Asad wasn't wiping down wet surfaces he was batting his son's busy little hands that got into everything. The kid wouldn't stay still so that he could get in between the toes for the cleanest clean. No amount of gentle fatherly chiding would make his son listen. 

     "Mr. Khan, enough!" Zoya would have to remind the Jahanpanah and his shehzaada. "He's getting all wrinkly now." 

Another distant memory gushed by: Same tub, him in it. 

Ms. Farooqui intruding on his privacy and sanity. 

As usual. First his bed. Then his chair. And now ...

He'd been more shocked than angry that day and had nearly jumped up in confused alarm. Only her sensible squeak, "baithe rahiye!" had kept him from a performing a full monty that day.

Good god! What shayari would have fallen from her lips if that had happened, he'd often wondered.

     "Well, I would certainly have recited some sher if you'd saluted me, all proud and erect!" Zoya had sassed him much, much later. She'd snapped her fingers and rattled off a new one:

     "Shan se uthte hain jab bina kameez ke,

     Shan se uthte hain jab bina kameez ke,

     Salaam dua karte hain Jahanpanah apni kaneez se!"

Imp! 

His dignity had lain sprawled and splattered in a bubbly mess that day. He'd been too stunned to find her naughty peek and muttered, "six pack?" even remotely amusing. It had incensed him more.

Yes, that was the beginning of the end of Akdu Ahmed Khan.

At least he'd been spared her shayari that day. Lucky him. Maybe she'd been too stunned herself to frame an incredibly foolish sher.

But it hadn't stopped her from anointing him with a new nickname; it had stuck with him ever since. He'd been gleefully objectified to his six packs. She'd even giggled that infernal giggle as a parting shot.

     "Jahanpanah, hurry," she urged now, and pop went the memory bubble again. "We'll get late. Aunty's already texted me like a bajillion times!"

 

They were all at the Siddiqui House this weekend. Nuzzhat was moping. After a short engagement ceremony, a lovesick and knuckle-dragging Faiz had gone back to the US. 

Another week, and it would be Nikhat's turn. 

The nest was getting emptier. 

Zoya was moping too: Aapi and Jeeju had left a week ago. Between herself, Nuzzhat and Shireen, they planned to give misery so much company that it'd choke to death and throw itself off a cliff.

     "And Zaid Miyan and Dobby Miya-oon were driving through the dark jungle in an open jeep racing to get home to save Ammi and Abbu," Ayaan was re-writing history and entertaining his nephew. 

And his nephew's mom and aunts too. 

Who, after all, could resist the tales of Zaid miyan and Dobby miya-oon.

Zaid's eyes and mouth rounded in wonder as his Chachu got started on the much-awaited sound and special effects. His Dhoni bear lay forgotten. Chachu made sounds of jungle animals that the daring duo would have heard on their journey through the wilderness: Cheetahs and lions roared--- 

     But then Zoya and Humaira interrupted by singing "What does the fox say?" 

Ayaan shushed them. This was no time for comedy even though Zaid loved that song. 

Because right now owls hooted and tree branches rustled menacingly. The granddads made their own scary howls and growls and Zaid's head whipped about trying to keep up with the Dadu-Nanu surround sound. 

Dobby snoozed under the coffee table. He didn't need to hear no stories. His crime-fighting credentials and trophies were well-documented. 

     "Terrified bats whooshed out from their cavernous lair as if disturbed by some eerie presence," Ayaan continued in a dropped voice. 

The suspense was mounting. 

Zaid's fists paused for a second in mid-air. Then his arms flapped as if mimicking the panicked creatures. Bats can fly? But aren't they for beating red balls over the stands---

Just like Mahendra Singh Dhoni. Oh, helicopter shot ... duh, of course bats can fly.

His mom had told him so.

(And Mahendra Singh Dhoni was his Mamu Jaan--his dad had told him so.)

     "The cold fog rolled in ... " 

Dadu click-clacked his fingers to add to the drama. Nanu made a whooshing sound. 

Fog? What's fog? Chachu must obvio mean frog. 

     "And suddenly a ghostly figure appeared on the road. It was an evil jinn who blocked their path. It was wearing a white saree and had flowing grey hair that reached the ground. In its bloody claws it grasped a burning branch." 

     "Please, it was a vanilla-scented candle. It was all we could find at such short notice," Zoya mused softly. Humaira and Nikhat snickered. 

     "Tauba, tauba," Dadi exclaimed. "Yeh manhoosiyat sunana zaroori hai chhote bachche ko? Darr jayega bechara." 

Zoya giggled at the magical retelling of Operation Pyaasi Atma. It brought back delicious memories. She snuck a peek at Asad from under her lashes; there was that telltale half-smile. 

     "Dadi, apko kya pata! This really happened last year," Ayaan winked at Zoya, his comrade-in-arms. Her giggling had nearly given them away that day. It was a wonder that Bhaijaan didn't suspect her role in it. 

     "Sab bakwas hai," his grandmother declared. "It would have been on the news if it really happened." 

She frowned when she heard Zoya and Ayaan hoot uproariously. Humaira shook her head. She knew this story all too well. How she wished she could have witnessed it first hand!

     "Dadi," she said. "We paid the media to keep this out of the news! Khandan ki badnaami ho jati ... naak katt jaati!" 

     "Hmmmph!" Dadi frowned at being taken for a fool. She rocked Zaid in her arms in suppressed fury.

     "No Dadi, it is true," Zoya added with a deepening dimple. "The evil jinn with crooked teeth got his face nicely rearranged by Super Mukka!" She and Humaira giggled more and high-fived.

     "Hey, how dare you!" Ayaan roared and chased after them, an enraged and puffing dragon. 

They flung cushions at the Pyaasi Atma. Even Nuzzhat brightened at this merriment. She was at her mother's knee having her hair oiled. 

     "Bhai, why don't you say something? Your biwi and saali are being totally badtameez!" Ayaan panted.

Asad smirked behind the newspaper. It rustled as he turned a page and studiously ignored the drama.

     "Badtameez dil, badtameez dil, badtameez dil, maney na, maney na!" Zoya and Humaira sang in all their besura glory to add more salt to Ayaan's wounds.

Zaid was loving this real-life comedy and action film--it was a Bollywood musical! The complete package--action, suspense, horror ... and now comedy and item number! He clapped and drooled offering his own sound effects.

     "Bhai!" Ayaan roared in humiliation and dismay. "A little help here?" 

     Asad sighed and put the paper away. He rose to pick up Zaid from Dadi's arms. "Come beta, we'll go to a quieter place. An evil jinn is being stuffed back into its bottle here--and it could get ugly."

Zoya and Humaira shrieked in victory at Ayaan's crestfallen face. This punch from Mukka Ahmed Khan had to hurt just as much.

Operation Pyaasi Atma had been aborted once again--with even more finality than the last time. 

Nuzzhat guffawed too and thumped the floor in sweet appreciation. Even Shireen didn't mind her son being taken down a notch; it was good to see Nuzzhat laughing again. 

     "Ye lo theek kar diya," Raziya said to Zoya who was still hopping around dodging Ayaan's retaliatory blows against his biwi and saali. She'd assumed her warrior-ninja meets nagin-pose by now. 

Asad turned around and pointed the sight to Zaid. 

Zaid was wearing a white kurta pajama set with a red brocade vest that his Chhoti Nani had got for him. It matched his Abbu's. And Chachu had sculpted his hair into a faux mohawk. 

He looked fierce. 

Well, about as fierce as a pint-sized shayar can look. There was a matching brocade topi too but that had already been mashed to a pulp by Zaid's razor mouth and had now been added to the pile of Dobby's toys. 

     "Mmmaaammma ..." Zaid babbled squirming to be closer to his warrior mama. 

     "I know," Asad laughed, "how much do you love being Jhansi ki Rani's son!" 

 

With one last triumphant glare at Ayaan, Zoya took the wooly mess from Raziya and settled back down next to her. She wanted to learn knitting and this was her first attempt. She was technically making a muffler for her Abbu. But it had run into technical difficulties. Too many dropped stitches were making it holey and lopsided. Raziya's surgical repairs had rescued it time and again, but it was on life support--hanging by a thread; being unraveled more than knitted had made it lumpy in places. 

     But her father, her biggest cheerleader in the sport, was impatient for it to be completed. "Uss jagah par aur bhi garam rahega, beta," he soothed her when his daughter made faces at the unsightly lumps she was producing. 

Zoya's failed attempts at knitting gave Ayaan more ammunition for his comeback.

     "Please, it'll be better if Mamu wears a chhuchhoondar around his neck for warmth. It'll be more attractive. And stink less." 

More pillows came sailing at him from Mona's army.

     "Raaburt," his Bhabhi mused. "You wouldn't want to mess with me when I have a pair of knitting needles in my hand, would you? Now that would be incredibly foolish," she waggled her brows at him. 

     "Exactly," Humaira added. "Aapi's muffler has gotten long enough to even strangle someone with." She bit her tongue and looked at Shireen in apology. 

Shireen didn't mind this blasphemous talk that much. Because both Nuzzhat and Nikhat were laughing. Her eyes misted. How had she missed their quiet and gentle blossoming into young women? And now they'd go so far away--- 

Ayaan crashed into the center table and everything went flying. Dobby scrammed from under it in terror. 

That's why. Her son and his spectacular catastrophes had always managed to distract Shireen. Each time. Everyday brought new damage control strategies and charges. And she'd missed out on watching her daughters grow up. 

Shireen sniffed and turned to see Raziya smack her forehead again. Her reading glasses jiggled.

Ya Allah, another dropped stitch? Poor Bhabhi. And poor Bhaijaan. Shireen knew he would definitely, in fact proudly, wear this thing ... whatever it would turn out to be.

But she had to give Bhbabhi credit. 

The old Raziya would have yanked the mess from Zoya's hands and either burned it or just finished it off herself. But Raziya 2.0 (as Ayaan sometimes called his mother-in-law behind her back) was infinitely more patient. She knew that if Zoya really wanted to learn and master knitting, she'd have to go through the process of dropping and picking up stitches. 

     "Frustration is all part of the process, beta," Shireen heard Raziya telling Zoya all the time when cries of "Allah miyan, what's wrong me?" became particularly loud and desperate. She added soothing kissing sounds which Shireen had never heard Bhabhi make. 

And you should see her with Zaid. In their family and friends circle there had been some muted whispers of Raziya being a typical sauteli Ammi. But if you saw her with Zaid, or even without Zaid, you'd forget that terrible word. Zaid was her flesh and blood ... even if he wasn't. 

Because he just was. 

It was as if that deathly encounter with Tanveer in the factory had shaken all the badness loose out of her. It was as if Zoya's Ammi had taken over her ... 

Shireen shook herself. 

She firmly believed this in some corner of her heart. But she never said it to anyone. They'd only make fun of her for being silly.

And Shireen knew that Siddiqui Saheb would cherish this muffler-scarf thingy no matter how ratty it turned out to be. It was a labor of love. 

     "First experiment on me," he told his older daughter. "Then you can make something nice for Asad and Zaid." 

     "Haha, Mamu just said that this isn't nice!" Ayaan snorted and dodged another missile. "But finish this before winter is over, Khuda ke vaaste," Raaburt teased Mona.

     "Nahin, nahin," Siddiqui would say. "Hum summer mein bhi pehen lenge. Waise bhi you kids blast the AC too high." 

Shireen smiled. Fathers and daughters. She remembered Nuzzhat's attempts to knit a scarf for Rashid one winter when she was 15. She had managed to knit about 11-12 rows ... it was probably sitting somewhere, unfinished, in some dark drawer. She'd come across it when they were moving back into the Siddiqui house. A young Nuzzhat had chosen a bright purple yarn because it was her favorite color that year. Rashid would probably never have worn it ... or maybe he would have. He wore and used all the things that Nikhat made for him.  

Yes, having girls was heartwarming in its own way. They wormed deeper without crashes, scratches and damage control. 

But then they went away ... too far ... stretching your heartstrings thin.

Uss damage control ka kya ...

 

     "Oh. My. God. It's beautiful!" Zoya gushed the next night. They were back home. Asad had just returned from work. "But it looks kinda familiar ..." 

     Asad chuckled. "It should."

He'd been able to get away from work sooner today and had stopped to pick up something special for her on the way. 

She peered closer at the doll. It was the prototype for the ones the factory would start producing soon if all went according to schedule: a cloth doll, about a foot and half tall with realistic features and hair--she was a bride gorgeously attired in a red bridal abaya-style suit. The mehendi on her hands was exquisite, the makeup flawless, jewelry state-of-the-art.

Zoya frowned. This was weird. Why did this seem like deja vu?

Asad came closer and squeezed the doll's hand. 

     "Qubool nahin hai," the doll declared in a strong and firm voice. 

     "What! That's supposed to be me?" She squealed in surprised delight. It was only then that she noticed the doll wearing jeans and sneakers under the long abaya top.

Grinning, he pressed the other hand. 

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you!" 

Zoya's laugh turned into a surprised snort. She gasped and choked and Asad stroked her back waiting for her to catch her breath.

     "Oh god, Asad! This is hilarious, and so perfect!" She wiped her eyes. "But seriously, this is what we'll be making?" 

Asad shrugged out of his suit jacket and went to hang it up. "We don't have to. I got them to make this one especially for you. It's supposed to have a backpack--check the box it came in. And the piece de resistance? A miniature pepper spray!" 

     "This is MA!" she sighed. "So cute." And Zoya's mind was already off and racing. "No, it's a super idea! We can have bridal dolls who say they don't want to get married—because they want to study first! Won't that be cool?"

     "Yes, just as cool as the Jhansi ki Rani dolls. But may be you can tone the message down to: 'I'll study first and get married later.' You don't want protestors camped out at our doorstep saying that we're demolishing centuries of Indian culture and values by selling empowerment dolls!" 

     "Aww, wasn't I the empowerment doll that demolished centuries of the Jahanpanah's cherished culture and values?"

     He laughed, "good one, Mrs. Jahanpanah. Good one." 

Empowerment dolls! How perfect. Zoya rubbed her hands in glee.

This was really happening. 

Who knew that she'd come to India and be part of making action figures of Indian and other multi-ethnic supergirls! So cool! They'd have Mary Kom, Sunita Williams, Sania Mirza, Saina Nehwal, Arunima Sinha dolls, along with an entire line of historical figures: Rani Padmini, Razia Sultan, Jodha bai, Rani Durgawati, Meera Bai, Sarojini Naidu ... 

Of course Jhansi ki Rani would be the centerpiece of the collection. They had consulted historians from Bhopal University to write up a brief storybook to introduce each of the historically accurate special edition dolls. They were still in talks with the Malala Fund organizers. Zoya so badly wanted to have a Malala doll ... 

But not everyone was on board. Their PR and marketing consultants had expressed unease--this was all very good and noble, but would people really buy these dolls?

     "I would," Zoya had insisted. But she got that these dolls would be expensive and therefore not as enticing to an average buyer. 

     "Look, I'm not competing with the Barbies or the cheap stuff coming from China. In fact I want my dolls to be the anti-Barbie. So yes, these won't be in every corner store ..." 

She hated Barbies. Aapi and Jeeju had never got her one. If she ever got one as a gift from friends for birthdays they usually gave it away during the Thanksgiving or Christmas toy drives around their community. You couldn't really play with them because the accessories were so tiny; the body image issues bothered her too as she grew older. What was it that Ellen Degeneres had said about Barbies? That the body shape was so unrealistic, if a real woman was built like that she'd tip over on her face. 

"American Girl" dolls were more her thing. In fact Zoya cherished them more because they had personality and history, possibly also because they were more expensive--she'd saved up half the money from her allowance and doing chores, and Jeeju had chipped in for the rest. Aapi had brought her old doll with her this time and Asad had loved it. It did kind of look like her.

     "Is this how you were at 9? I wish I'd known you then. Did you used to say 'Allah miyan, what's wrong with you,' even then?"

And that's what she wanted for her dolls: to be loved and cherished even long after the kids had outgrown them. It hadn't taken Zoya too long to persuade the designers.

     "These dolls'll be big enough to play with and have realistic accessories: clothes, hats, shoes, bags, backpacks, computers etc. They'll be soft and huggable, have voice recorders ..."

     "But they won't be cheap. Not everyone's going to be able to afford them." The consultants reminded her. 

     "I understand. But I don't want them to be cheap ... or super expensive either," Zoya pouted in frustration. 

     "Aapi, it's true we don't want them to be too exclusive," Humaira, her partner in the venture, had said in one of their meetings. "But it might need some kind of luxury branding. How comfortable are you with that?" she asked Zoya. 

Zoya cringed. 

     "And remember, we probably won't even be breaking even in the beginning," Humaira added.

That was OK, Zoya reasoned to herself; they'd margined for that--up to a limit. They had such good ideas. It was just that moving them from paper to reality was going to be tricky. And costly.

She wanted some kind of fair trade certification which took time and money too. They were in talks with Self-Employed Women's Associations. They were even considering adding a microcredit feature to the non-profit part of their organization. 

There was so much to do! And how do you reconcile ethical and socially responsible for-profit business practices with a non-profit outfit on the side?

They had already contracted with a local fashion institute to design the clothing for the dolls--it would have the designers' labels as an added incentive. 

Fingers crossed, if they were able to keep afloat long enough then next year she wanted to have a kind of fashion contest--Project Runway-style (she loooved Tim Gunn!)--where designers made clothing for models who would carry identically-dressed dolls with them on the ramp for the finale. Maybe have a clothing line with young girls in school uniforms or sports uniforms, in martial arts robes ... and release it on children's day or National Girl Child day--- 

Were they being too idealistic? Too ambitious? Was this doomed to failure?

     "So what?" Asad told her one night when she'd been especially down about this project ever taking off. "It's good to be idealistic and ambitious. I would expect nothing less of you. And if it fails, it fails. We'll move on." 

     "Really? You won't think of this as a colossal waste of money?" 

     "Look, we're fortunate enough and blessed. We're trying to make a difference, not defraud anyone. Jab iraade nek aur hausla bland ho, toh duniya ki koyi takat humein aage badhne se nahi rok sakti."

     "Inshallah," she whispered. 

     Zaid was fast asleep in his dad's arms. Asad stroked his hair. "Can we make boy dolls too?" he mused. "With hair that can be styled into a Mohawk?" 

Zoya smiled. Finally Jahanpanah had warmed up to Chachu's styling of Zaid miyan's hiar. 

     "Does he need a hair cut?" Asad asked Zoya suddenly. "I don't want anyone mistaking him for a girl with his hair this long." 

     "Hunh?" Zoya looked at him blankly at the change in subject. She blew out her breath. Jahanpanah was very particular about his hair regimen. Every four-five weeks he had a standing appointment for a cut. Come hell or high water, on day 35 his butt was in the salon chair. 

How soon before Zaid was regimented into that?

     "Please, it's not long at all," she huffed. "Let them think whatever they want to think. Ayaan has longish hair and no one mistakes him for a girl." She giggled at the image. "Zaid's just following in his favorite Chachu's footsteps." Zoya looked at a frowning Asad. The mischief-maker in her elbowed her--hard. "In fact, may be you can start growing out your hair? Try a new style ... even wear a pony tail?"

     "What! Are you crazy?" Asad's eyes popped so far out of their sockets that they were in danger of detaching themselves and rolling off; marbles skittering across a floor. 

Zaid woke up and blinked at his dad. He turned to see his mom shrieking with laughter and rolling on the bed. 

What happened? He looked from one parent's face to the other. Tell meee! 

     "Incredibly foolish," his Abbu muttered and started to rock him.

     "Is it?" Zoya pouted prettily. "Is it that incredibly foolish? May be if your hair was longer I could get a good grip on it." She batted her lashes at him.

     "Why would you need to get a good grip on it?" Asad asked, distracted. Zaid was just beginning to doze. 

Oh god. Jahanpanah could be incredibly and foolishly dense at times. Ammi's right. He does need things spelled out for him. 

Zoya rose on her knees and grabbed his head--no, the other one. She ran her fingers through his hair before snatching a tuft in her fist and making his neck arch. 

     "Ow!" Asad growled.

Dobby bolted under the bed. They already had a baby. Did they need to keep playing that baby-making game all the time? Hmmmphhf

     "So that I can hold on to it when you make me come. Sheesh, get a clue, Mr. Khan!" 

     Asad's eyes glittered in speculation. He rose to place a sleeping Zaid in his crib and cocked his head to the side when he turned back to her. "Fine, I'll schedule my cuts every 6 weeks from now." 

Dobby peeked his head from under the bed. Was it safe to come out now? 

     "Wow, Jahanpanah, you'd do that for me? Iss kaneez ke liye itni badi qurbaani denge aap? That's so M A of you! I'll be sure to remember that this thanksgiving!" 

 

Yes thanksgiving. In a corner of Bhopal this American holiday had made a boisterous migration. And why not. Columbus had set out seeking India after all ... and four of the Khan kids had ended up with American humsafars. 

It was only right. 

Last year it had been just a token celebration and on a much smaller scale. They were still being hunted. But this year it would be grander--they had so much to be thankful for after all! 

The food would be more Indian than American though. 

Roasted tandoori chickens instead of the turkey centerpiece, chutneys and achars instead of cranberry sauce, and pao bhaji instead of mashed potatoes. Biryani and kababs too along with many sabzis and saalans to make it a desi feast. But Ayaan had become better at his apple pie so they'd have that for sure, and gajar ka halwa and kheer would be good substitutes for pumpkin pie, right? 

 

     Zoya gave Asad a card on Thankgiving day. "Because I won't be able to say all this in front of everyone," she said when he looked at her in askance. "If I do, I might start crying."

He pulled her into his lap before opening the card to read it. 

     "It's from a song," she told him when he read the hand-written opening lines: 

     "Tum jo aaye, zindagi mein baat ban gayi,

     Ishq mazhab, ishq meri zaat ban gayi."

Asad nodded. He felt the same way. He read and smiled through the long list of all the things she was thankful for. It began with his name and ended with Zaid's.

     "I'm thankful for our fights that brought us closer.

     For you always being there to catch me and hold me before I fell.

     For the shooting stars that wrote our destiny.

     For when you said 'qubool nahin hai,' for me.

     For giving me a second life in Mangalpur." 

     Asad's grip tightened on her. "Please, never ever bring up that first time in Mangalpur," he'd told her a thousand times. "I nearly lost you." 

But he should've known. She rarely ever listened to him. It was a Zoya thing. 

He continued reading the thanksgiving list. 

     "For saying qubool hai on our wedding day.

     For our bhaang raat and suhaag raat.

     And Chand raats ever since."

     "For the best honeymoon a girl could ask for and the Palace on Wheels.

     For helping me find my Abbu.

     For every gift and surprise you've given me.

     For always being by my side. 

     For the breakfasts in bed.

     The multiple orgasms.

     For my multiplying charm bracelet.

     For kissing me goodnight and being there when I open my eyes in the morning.

     For all those notes and postcards.

     For Rumi, Ghalib and Faiz.

     For those micro-mini smiles.

     For being my sexiest Jahanpanah six packs.

     For being my astronaut on call who routinely gets me the stars and the moon.

     For being my warrior and Jahanpanah Bond and Batman--my ultimate super hero." 

Asad squeezed her to him.

     He cleared his throat. "Do you know what I'm thankful for?" 

     "What?" Zoya whispered already feeling emotional. 

     "For you standing up to me and not backing down for a minute. For mocking me, for standing up for my family even when I was blinded by anger or ..." 

     She covered his mouth. "Shh, don't bring up all that stuff from the past!" 

     He kissed her hand. "I have to. That's how we got here. I'm so grateful to you for being you. For being gentle and pure and crazy and true. And so goddamn stubborn. For being my lifeline and my Wonder Woman. And my Jhansi ki Rani" 

     "Ooh, we haven't played Wonder Woman and Batman in a while! Let's do it tonight! I can even fit into my mini-skirt now."

     Asad laughed and kissed her hard. "Yes, I'm thankful for exactly that--that you can make me feel like a kid again and still turn me on with talk about playing superheroes. And Zoya?"

     She looked at him. "Hmm?" 

     "I might regret saying this but I'm also thankful for that nutty shayari!" 

     "Mr. Khan! It's NOT nutty! You take that back!" 

     He ignored her outrage. "And I'm thankful for the way you call me, 'Mr. Khan' when we're in company or when you're mad, and Asad' when we're by ourselves. I love being your Jahanpanah and Akdu even though I hated it the first time you called me those names." 

     "Really? You hated it? I've always loved it!" 

     "Of course. But I'm saying that I'm thankful for all of our messy and intense history together," Asad added. 

     "And our chemistry?"

     He grinned. "That too. I'm more than grateful for our chemistry--the way my geography fits your biology," Asad ground himself against her. 

Zoya's peal of laughter made him laugh too. They'd proceeded to test some laws of physics.

Dobby sighed and settled in a corner to lick his paw. 

 

     "Make sure you're on time," she told him for the fifth time. He was going to take off early from work to join them for the festivities. 

     "Why isn't Thanksgiving dinner at dinner time," the Indians had wanted to know. 

     "Well in America everyone has dinner early. And Thanksgiving dinner is even earlier! Think of it as a late lunch." 

     "But why?" 

     "Because after that you roll around in a food coma, watch football, or plan for Black Friday." 

     "What's Black Friday? I thought there was only Good Friday."

     "Black Friday is the day of crazy sales and the start of Christmas shopping." 

     "So why's it on a Thursday?" 

The questions went on and on. Many of them were from Nikhat. Awwn. She was nervous about leaving for the US.

 

They'd had their you've-got-to-be-a-Jhansi-ki-Rani talk with her too. And she'd been just as upset as Najma. Najma had sent them her Green Card and new driver's license pictures. To pacify a distraught Nikhat, Zoya had shown her those images. 

Only then had Nikhat calmed down. 

They'd included Ayaan in their talk with her too this time.

     "Bhai is that the real reason you did that trust fund thing for the girls? You're worried about the possibility of a talaak?" A somber Ayaan had asked Asad later. "But Feroze and Omar are great guys. They'd never--" 

Asad exhaled. He hated the sound of that word. That word had changed their lives as kids. That word could've come between him and Zoya. 

And Zaid. 

He looked up at the night sky and sent up a silent dua for not saying that word a third time. Thank you, Allah miyan. And thank you for sending Dobby ... and Aunty ... for all the agents of justice and angels of mercy that had made this day possible. 

This thanksgiving was truly blessed. He'd come to like this American holiday. 

     "And also the reason why I did it for Humaira and Zoya," Asad reminded his brother quietly.

     "What? But you! Me?" 

     "I almost said that word, Ayaan."

     "I know! But that was completely different!" 

     "Still. It could've changed our lives forever. Can you imagine if--" He cleared his clogged throat. "If Zoya had left for New York? Zaid not being here, with us?" 

Asad shuddered. The nightmares were long gone. 

But many a night, for months, he'd wake up sweating and breathing hard. He'd feel around for Zoya's hand and grab for a lifeline--he had to restrain himself from squeezing too hard. He didn't want to wake her up and see him this upset. 

And then when Zaid came, he'd wake up at odd hours and check his breathing--sliding his finger under the tiny nose or placing his hand on the little chest that rose and fell. He still recited Allah's name over his son's head when he couldn't sleep. 

Those months, right after the terrors at the factory had been hard even after he and Zoya had reconciled. Sometimes his mind played crazy "what if" games with him. What if he'd said the word three times instead of two? What if Zoya left him? What if he never saw Zaid? 

No! 

Then his mind would torment him with "even if" games. Even if that had happened he'd have just relocated to New York to be close to them. He'd take Ammi with him. And Najma would be in the US too. It would all be OK, they'd work it out somehow. 

Even if ... 

Yes, it would mean that he and Zoya could never be together (because he'd never in a million years ask her to go through a Halala nikaah. He'd die first. Or kill any man who tried to touch her.) He'd just be happy enough to see her. And see Zaid grow up. He wouldn't dream of separating Zaid from Zoya. No custody battles, no nothing.

Even if the unthinkable had happened ... 

He'd go down on his knees and beg her if she'd have him; he'd live with her in sin for the rest of their lives if she said qubool hai. 

Ayaan watched Asad wrestle with unseen demons. He saw his brother's fists whiten on the balcony railing as he gazed, unseeing, into the heart of darkness.

     He gripped Asad's shoulder, "Bhai, I'm sorry for bringing up those terrible memories. I wasn't thinking straight. I was just shocked by how far you guys had thought things through to make it right for the girls. I can't imagine what it must have been like ..." 

Asad sighed and shook his head to clear it. That abyss was haunting and hypnotic--he struggled to drag himself up from it.

     "But I understand now," Ayaan went on. "You did all this because of what happened then ... because of what that bitch forced you to do."

He smacked his forehead. Idiot! Did he have to say that? He felt a lump rise in his throat. He had never realized that both Mona and Bhaijaan must've relived the horror of that word days and months after it had ricocheted in the factory. A stray bullet would have done less damage.

And it hit Ayaan for the first time with the force of a sledgehammer: all these things that Bhai had done since then--talking to Dadi and the girls at the hospital and insisting on telling them of their parents' dark history, the trust funds for the girls, the file on American legal and women's centers ... It was all to make up for those moments of stark helplessness in the factory when he could do nothing to save his imploding universe. For a man as strong as Bhaijaan to have to beg on his knees and fall apart---  
And if a guy like him could be broken then what chance did the girls have?

He prayed that they'd never find themselves so defenseless. 

     Ayaan scrubbed the tears from his eyes. "Bhai, I swear to god, I wouldn't have let anything bad happen to you both. Or to Zaid! We were in the right. She was wrong. Allah wouldn't have let her win. Together we would have turned back time to undo ..."

Asad turned and pulled him into a bear hug. 

He knew what Ayaan was trying to not say. Both of them knew how helpless they all'd been that day. But deep down he also knew that he'd have said that word a third time if the tables hadn't turned that terrible day. With the gun pointed at Zoya he had no choice. If it would've saved Zoya's and Zaid's lives, he'd have said it a hundred times. He'd do it again and again. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

They heard a shout and squeals coming from inside.

     "Mr. Khan!" Zoya's call was the loudest. Ayaan grinned through tears as he saw Bhai dash inside. Wiping his eyes and offering a prayer of his own he went in to check out what the ruckus was all about.

So much giddy chatter despite the food coma. So many cameras held aloft and clicking and filming. 

Of course. 

He should have known. Zaid miyan had to be at the center of the commotion. There he was beaming up at his minions and paparazzi ... sitting upright. Unsupported.

He prattled away, arms flapping in royal appreciation of the adoration.

Ayaan blinked.

     Then he shrieked. "Hey, Champ! You're sitting up on your own? All by yourself? Shabash, mera cheetah! Give me five!" 

Zaid lifted his arm to high-five Chachu's palm, swayed, and nearly toppled. A million arms reached out to right him and cradle his head if he fell backwards.

But his Abbu got to him first. 

Asad swept him up in his arms and buried his face in his son's neck. Zaid giggled and squirmed. Abbu's stubble was tickly and scratchy. But Abbu wouldn't let go. 

Zoya looked at Asad, puzzled by his emotional response. She turned to look at Ayaan and arched an eyebrow. What's up? What've you done to my Akdu?

Her fists climbed up her hips; her eyes slitted: Is everything OK? What're you hiding? Something's wrong, right? Tell meee! NOW!

     Ayaan raised his hands in self-defense. "Hey, he's happy his son can sit up, OK? Jeez, stop with the Spanish Inquisition!" 

Zoya made a face at him. She'd get to the bottom of it all right. She always did. She'd ask Asad and get the details when they went to the hilltop tonight. It would be their first time taking Zaid with them. They would count stars and rock the moon in the palm of their hands. 

But meanwhile she had pictures to take of her Jahanpanah and their shehzada. 

Aapi and Jeeju would be so thrilled. And Najma and Omar too. And then she had to update the Baby book. Another milestone crossed. Oh my god, Allah miyan, he's growing up so fast!

 

 

Song in Title:

Jhoom Barabar Jhoom (2007): "Jhoom Barabar Jhoom"


	122. Chakh Le, Haan Chakh Le, Yeh Raat Shahad Hai Chakh Le

 

 

 

     "Ouch, Zaaid!"

     Asad came peeling out of the bathroom, face half-shaven. This squeak of hers had been particularly loud. "Are you OK?" he asked Zoya.

     "No! He's biting even more while nursing. My nipples are sore."

Asad gulped.

     "Umm ..." He really had no solution to offer. But just the mention of the word was turning him on. 

Down, boy. 

Ever since Zaid had begun teething he'd been munching on everything he could latch on to. 

Of course the mom brigade had swooped down on her to prescribe remedies and relief. Raziya and Shireen offered expert tips: pull baby in closer so it's hard to breathe and they'll let go, slide your finger in and massage the gums, stop feeding each time they try, pinch the nose, and so on.

Dilshad would rub Zaid's gums with ghee and butter for several minutes before feeding. He'd bite her too sometimes. 

     "Allah! Kha jayega Dadi ko?" 

He'd gurgle and proceed to chomp some more. 

Zoya would shake her head at the loving and super-indulgent tone Dilshad used. This was not a scolding; it was grandmotherly pride and affirmation of his monumental achievement. At this rate Zaid must think that his Dadi was saying: shabash, mera cheetah! Do it again! 

Dadu too eagerly offered his own finger and knuckle to chew on not minding his grandson's cannibalism the least bit--here was another proud grandparent willing to sacrifice themselves to Zaid's growth spurts. 

Nanu had bought up boxes full of teething toys which were now clogging the freezer. Zaid would get to suck on these when his gums were swollen and causing discomfort. In the meanwhile he chewed on everything he could grab in his little paws. Mom was the obvious collateral damage. 

Asad picked up Zaid from her arms. But he put down the razor first--a safe distance away from his son's reaching hands. 

     "Zaid," he looked deep into the boy's eyes. "No biting!" 

     "MMmbbbAAAhh!" Zaid twisted and churned at being disturbed. Lemme go! Ammi! 

Asad placed him in his crib on a time out. Zaid protested. Loudly. He was so hungry. The face scrunched up and he pulled out his greatest ammunition yet: a gush of tears and a trembling lower lip. It always worked. 

     "Aw ..." his mom melted and grabbed him up.

     Asad rolled his eyes. "If you want to teach him then be consistent with the punishment."

     "Mr. Khan! Stop being so Akdu. Ow!" she tried to squelch a cry again.

Asad had picked up his razor and turned to go back to the bathroom. He put it down again and wiped his hand on the towel over his waist. Then he brought two cushions over from the settee to place them under a feeding Zaid. 

     "Remember that article said that you have to elevate the the baby so his weight won't drag down on your ... umm ..." He cleared his throat. " Your, voh ... actually--" 

     "Oh god, Asad. Just say it. Just say the word. Nipple!"

     He blushed. But then he saw her wince in pain again and reached for Zaid's mouth to slide his finger in. Detaching Zaid he lifted him again and frowned into his son's face: "Zaid, I said no biting! You're hurting Ammi." 

And he replaced him in the crib. Zaid's eyes squeezed tight and the little face crumpled again.

     This time when the waterworks re-started Asad held Zoya back and glared at her. "Will I have to take the day off to make sure you're both behaving yourselves?" 

She pouted and teared up seeing Zaid sit up and shake the crib rails. His back was arching and he was in full-blown tantrum mode. Fat tears were rolling down that face. 

     "Asad, let me go, he needs me!" 

     "He needs to figure out that it's not right to bite his Ammi." 

     They watched Zaid flop on his back and thrash his arms and legs. The angry cries ratcheted up more. Even Asad couldn't bear it. He lifted Zaid out and reminded him once more: "no biting, OK?" 

Zaid stopped hollering and squirmed to be with his mom. 

Asad handed him back to Zoya. 

     He watched mother and son quickly resettle into their rhythm. He smiled shaking his head when saw Zoya's face. "Stop pretending that it doesn't hurt just because you think I'm going to be the bad cop." 

     "No, he's not doing it now." But she squeezed her eyes shut and gasped. 

Asad knelt before her and grabbed Zaid's hand to gently nip his son's finger with his teeth. It wasn't painful but it got his son's attention. 

Zaid looked up with rounded eyes and mouth.

Wuuut? Who did that! 

He saw his dad's face looming over his. 

Why was Abbu being so mean today? His mom was right to call him Akdu. Akdu Abbu! Akdu Abbu!

Zaid glared at his dad. 

He went back to nursing in his mom's snug embrace. Ammi was the best. 

Zoya hissed a couple of minutes later and Asad nipped Zaid's finger again. And again. This happened a few more times until Zaid got the message: Each time his gums itched or hurt and he mashed down on them, Ammi jerked and made a sound and then Akdu Abbu ate his finger. 

He didn't like this. There was only one way to make Abbu stop. And he was so going to tell Dadi about it. 

     "See?" Asad said a few minutes later still watching her face. "Much better. Let's hope he remembers. And if he doesn't, then do what I did."

     "Bite my son, you mean? Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan?" she hissed.

     "Babe, you're sore. Is it so bad that I don't want you to be in pain?" 

     "No ..." 

     "Good. Then do as I say!"

     "Ji, Jahanpanah," she sassed behind his back and made a face. 

 

He had to reapply the shaving lather because the previous one had crusted thanks to his conflict-resolution services being needed elsewhere. Asad turned when the door opened and Zoya walked in.

     "Zaid, OK?" Asad asked, face angled as he began shaving. 

     "He's with Ammi and biting her fingers. Obviously it's hereditary." 

     Razor raised, he looked at her, head tilted to the side. "And?"

     Zoya blushed. "Umm ... since you're such an expert coach and problem-solver, I thought you'd have a remedy to relieve the soreness ..." she moved closer, unbuttoning her shirt. "In my nipples."

Asad groaned. 

Her shirt and bra fell to the marble floor. Asad couldn't take his eyes off her breasts. Shaving would obviously have to wait. He hooked his finger into her jeans waistband and dragged her closer. His hands cupped and lifted those delectable breasts higher. He bent his head to swirl and lave the tips with his tongue. 

Her head fell back; she hissed and half-moaned, fingers spasming on his biceps. 

     "Does it hurt?"

     "A little." Her fingers slid through his hair as her back arched in heated response. "Do it again."

He did. He tried a tentative suck and she quivered. He lifted her up to place her at the counter. Asad ran the cold water faucet. And taking a handful of water he dribbled it over her breasts. The cool water soothed the burn. When he took a nipple in his mouth and fluttered his tongue over it she forgot the soreness and reveled in the burn.

     "Asad!" 

Her legs squeezed him to her and her grip on his hair tightened. Asad released her breast and as she got ready to protest she felt him blow gently on her nipples. Oh god, that felt so good! He splashed more cold water on her and then blew again. 

     Before retaking a nipple in his mouth he whispered hoarsely, "come back tonight and Dr. Asad Ahmed Khan will apply ice to the sore areas and give you a deep tissue massage." 

     She thrashed under him. "No!" 

     He lifted his head. His eyes looked drugged, "no?" 

     "Can it be ice cream instead?" 

     "Mmm, exactly what the doctor ordered," he muttered and continued to feast on her. 

Unwrapping her legs from his hips Zoya tugged at the black towel at his waist; it fell to the floor. 

So he would be late. But his healing powers were needed here. Zoya hopped off the counter to slither out of her jeans.

     "Take me right now," his wife commanded. 

     "Jo hukum, Mrs. Jahanpanah." Asad leaned his butt against the counter and lifted her up to straddle him. 

     As his tip nudged and brushed against her entrance, their heat-seeking bodies clung; she dug her nails into his shoulders craving his slick homing in, "hurry!" 

Zoya bit him when Asad dared to chuckle at her impatience. 

Her eyes drooped when he entered her but then she saw her reflection in the mirror behind him. He pulled out and she mewled in protest. As he buried himself deeper, Zoya's eyes widened at the expression of raw abandon on her face. She watched herself buck and writhe in the mirror as Asad held her by her waist and jackhammered into her. The muscles in his shoulders and neck flexed; they corded. She watched, hypnotized.

Yes ... yes, she wanted it like this right now ... fast, rough and ... wild ... Her arms wrapped around his neck to anchor herself as she started to fragment ... dissolve.

She couldn't look at herself then. She couldn't bear to. 

His hands kneaded her butt to rock--- 

     "Oh god, oh god, oh god---!" 

His mouth covered hers to swallow her scream.

When Zoya opened her eyes to look at herself over his shoulder she saw what Asad often said afterwards: "your eyes, oh god, those ... fuck-me again bedroom eyes!" 

They were hooded ... her eyes looked as if they'd roll to the back of her head in a swoon any second now ... Her face glowed in the stillness, a telltale marker of their synced blood rush ... or maybe from the whisker burn of Asad's unshaven face. 

She blushed.

 

It was Sunday morning.

Zaid miyan worked on his frozen teething toy with a vengeance. It made his fingers cold and numb but it felt so good on his gums. 

He liked it in the car. 

He could see trees, buldings and buses go by saying hi and bye. At the red light a nice girl on the back of a bike waggled and waved her fingers at him. He grinned and covered his eyes when she blew him a kiss. 

The same red box building flew by. Oh, they were going to Chhoti Nani's house. He wiggled and thrashed in his car seat. Hurry, he wanted to tell his Abbu. But Dobby came up to sniff his face. The baby giggled.

     Dadi pushed him away. "Hatt, Dobby!" 

Dobby ignored her and set up camp in Zaid's lap. Zaid giggled. With his free hand he tried to push the cat off. 

Zoya turned around to watch him from the front seat. She winked at her son and he tried to do the same. He blinked both his eyes.

     "Awesome! Good job, Zaid," his mom said as she clapped for him. 

     "What'd he do," Asad asked.

     "He's trying to wink but does it with both eyes shut." 

     "Please. Are you trying to teach my son how to wink? Do you want him to grow up and be beaten up by girls and their brothers or fathers?"

Dilshad chuckled. Koi haath laga ke dekhe mere bachche ko!

     "Mr. Khan! If he winks at other girls I'll beat him up first! He's only allowed to wink at his mama, hai na, baby?" she looked back at Zaid who was now looking out of the window. They were stopped at a red light again and Zaid flapped his arms at a little boy at his door. Balloons!

     "Mr. Khan, hurry! Buy up all his balloons." 

Asad rolled his eyes. Of course she hadn't got her wallet with her. That sequined purse was barely large enough to hold her phone. Which was probably not even charged. He threw his wallet at her and with Dilshad's help Zoya managed to get the balloons in the car a second before the light turned green.

     "Aww, the girls will love these," Zoya mused. She meant Humaira, Nuzzhat and Dadi. 

Zaid batted at them. Dobby tried it too. Dilshad grabbed his paw before he burst one and scared Zaid. 

     "Ammi, you know what the surprise is, right?" Zoya asked Dilshad for the hundredth time since that morning. 

Dilshad's smug smile didn't budge. Of course she knew.

     "Tell me, na! Please, please, PLEASE!"

     Dilshad sighed. "You'll find out in two minutes. Sabra karo beta."

Zoya smacked Asad's arm when he snorted. Sabra, and his wife? Incredibly foolish. 

     She glared at him. "If even you know what the surpise is, then I'm not talking to anyone today!" 

     "No, I don't know what the surpise is. I'm just as much in the dark as you are. But I do know how to be patient," he teased. 

Zoya pouted. Allah miyan, what's wrong with everybody!

     "Dress up. No jeans today!" was all that Humaira had told her. "Aapi, behave OK," she'd added when Zoya had begged, cajoled and threatened to know why. 

     "Dress up Zaid miyan too in that sherwani and topi that Ammi gave him. The blue one, OK? He's the guest of honor after all." 

     "But he looks like a dork in a topi," she'd complained, momentarily forgetting about the guest of honor tidbit of information. 

     "Aapi, how can you say that! He's adorbs, topi or no topi." 

 

When they reached the driveway of the Siddiqui House everyone was already out. A dhol wala? Why? What was going on?

As Asad held an animated Zaid in his arms, Ayaan, Humaira and Nuzzhat dragged them out and danced in circles around them as the dhol played that familiar hypnotic beat. Zaid clapped. His Chhoti Nani came up to apply kala teeka behind his ear. He lunged to be in her arms. 

     "Aa ja, mera bachcha," she crooned. 

Raziya laughed at Zoya along with Dilshad. For someone who was dying to know about the secret and surprise, she had very quickly forgotten her non-stop questions as she danced away. They all knew how much she loved the dhol. She grabbed Asad's hand and held it high as she twirled under it. He was forced to sway to the live music as she danced around him. Index fingers raised, shoulders lifting to the bhangra beat they let loose. Ayaan made Zaid point his fingers to the sky and danced with him. 

Such fun! But Zoya still had no clue about the surprise as she led Dadi out and made her pirouette and dance. 

     Some time later a breathless Dadi fanning herself announced, "ab bas! Let's go inside."

     "And get this party started," Ayaan whooped. 

     "What party?" Zoya asked. 

     "Brunch party!" Nuzzhat stated in a hushed tone. 

     "But why?!!!" Zoya cried in frustration. She stomped her foot and everyone turned to look at her. 

They may as well tell her now, or her sister knew that Zoya was this close to exploding from angry curiosity. 

     Humaira had grabbed up Zaid in her arms now. "To celebrate Zaid's first bite of solid food!" she announced. 

She pointed at the dining table. It was elaborately staged with flowers, gifts, fruits, snacks, and colorful tableware. Zoya saw Ayaan attaching the bunch of balloons to the back of a brand new high chair at the head of the table.

     "What? But I thought we don't do anything special for this."

They had been discussing feeding Zaid solids for weeks now. Everyone had an opinion. Everyone wanted to do it first. 

     "So, we're starting a new tradition!" Humaira declared as she secured Zaid in the seat of honor. He beat his palms on the tray tabletop. This was new. But why was everything pretty and interesting so far away from his fingers. He tried to reach a gaily-wrapped package. 

Zoya lovingly touched the brand new high chair. She looked at her father who was beaming. Aww, he was wearing the muffler she'd knit for him!

     "Abbu, did you make this?" 

     "Me and Rashid worked on it. The girls helped with the staining. Look closely, they've all carved their names on it. Even Nikhat." 

Asad came over to trace her name on the tray table in front of Zaid. Nikhat too had left to start a new life in the US. And they all missed her terribly. Zaid caught his dad's finger and tried to gnaw on it. Asad dodged the payback and nudged his son's cheek with a knuckle. Ayaan meanwhile snatched his nephew's fist and pretended to eat it up while making chomping sounds. 

Zaid snickered.

Humaira watched them play, very satisfied with her plans. 

She lifted Zaid out of his chair and deposited him in Rashid's arms. One of the reasons why she and Dadi had ganged up and organized this little celebration was because she wanted to cheer up Shireen and Rashid. Her mother and father-in-law had gone dead quiet in Nikhat's absence. 

Humaira also felt guilty on some days. She got to stay close to her parents, see them everyday, live within touching distance, but Nikhat and Najma were flung so far away from them. Oceans and continents and time zones lay between them now. And soon Nuzzhat too--- 

     "Bahut na-insafi hai," Shireen had complained just yesterday. "Why do daughters have to go so far away from their parents? Kisne banaya aisa bakwas rivaaz?"

Rashid had nodded. This was not a custom he was fond of either. Siddiqui Saheb was lucky to have both his girls close by. But thank goodness his girls had married into loving and caring families. What else could a father hope for? When he thought of what could've happened--with Nikhat married to that snake Imran--? 

Shukranallah! 

Faiz had shared Nikhat's homecoming video with them. The reunion at the airport, the hugs, the flowers, the laughter ... the teasing ... blushing ... 

There was snow! 

Nikhat's eyes had lit up in wonder--a thousand lamps couldn't have been brighter. Rashid had loved to see his daughter's shy smile as Feroze refused to let go of her hand. His son-in-law had kissed Nikhat's hand openly in front of everyone several times ...

     "Hamare zamaane mein aisa nahin tha," Dadi said wistfully. They had already watched the video more than a dozen times. 

Rashid looked at Zaid who was babbling away in his arms. That scrap of sunshine warmed his heart every bit more; those twinkly eyes banished the remaining wintry gloom. And why was Dadu moping anyways? He had just talked to Nikhat and Feroze, and of course, Naz. 

     "We're having a reception for these two, end of next month. I've given you all enough notice--you have to come! We'll have Sangeet, Mehendi, DJ and everything!" Naz had commanded. "I'll send rest of the info. You guys start looking for tickets. I'll be the super-evil TV saas otherwise!"

Nikhat's voice full of merry glee tinkled in his head. 

Rashid thanked their lucky stars yet again. His gentle girl deserved a playful saas like Naz who just happened to love Indian dramas, not the stereotypical saas in those shows like Haseena Bi. They were blessed to be rid of all those villains. So what if Nikhat and Najma were a world away; they were happy and loved. 

     "See, all iz well," Ayaan said afterwards. And so it was, now that he held Zaid in his arms and gazed into those bright eyes. Asad laughed and tossed his head like that as a baby too. Rashid laughed, not realizing that his son and grandson got that signature toss from him. He felt light; he felt alive.

     "Abbu, give him to me," said Nuzzhat at his elbow.

     "No! I barely got a minute with him," he complained. Rashid had seen Zoya sing the "head, shoulders, knees and toes" song to Zaid many times before. He was just getting ready to try his hand at that.

     "No, Zaid's job is done here. It's time for him to cheer up Ammi now."

Rashid surrendered his pint-sized therapist. Very reluctantly. He'd have to get in line for the next appointment. 

 

After his healing duties were done, Zaid was replaced in his high-chair. About time too. He was so hungry. If Dobby knew about the chuhas in his tummy ... 

He was served in a silver bowl with a silver spoon. Chhoti Nani, at Badi Dadi's instructions, had mashed up the dates wali kheer. 

Of course there had been great debates and discussions about who would feed him first. 

     "It should be Dadi," Nuzzhat had declared very seriously. "She's the one who gave Asad Bhaijaan and Ayaan Bhaijaan their first bites." She said it as if she'd been there as a witness.

Dadi had nodded with pleasure. But then she'd shown why she was everyone's bestest Dadi.

     "I've had my turn. Let Dilshad be the first one to feed her grandson." 

And so Dilshad got to do the honors. 

Zaid beat his palms on the table in excitement. Something big was happening. He knew it in his tiny gut. He was wearing a brand new bib that his Najma Phuphi and Omar Phupha had sent. It said, "I'm a Jedi like my mother before me." 

Zaid tried to snatch the bib off. Why was his tie so much wider than Abbu's? 

When Dadi moved the spoon to his mouth Zaid gripped her hand and shook it. Hurry! What's taking so long? Some of the white stuff fell and his Abbu squeaked before rushing to wipe it up. 

Everyone was watching. He was used to having so many cameras aimed at him. Zaid clapped looking up into Asad's face. They were back to being best buds again. Dilshad popped a bit of kheer into his unsuspecting mouth. Zaid's eyes widened at this new taste and texture. His pink tongue darted out to lick up the treat. And everyone cheered and clapped. 

     "Mmm dddAaahhh"

It was official. The baby loved his first bite. He loved it even more when everyone gave him a bit one by one. Ammi did it, then Abbu. And everyone else.

There was a repeat telecast of the peanut allergies wala discussion. Would Zaid too be allergic like his daddy? Should they even try? What if he had a deadly react--? 

Na baba. We'll try it when he's older. 

     Chhoti Nani was the last to feed him. She was trying to mop up her tears in her dupatta. "Kitna bada ho gaya mera sher," she said like a million times.

Zaid agreed. He was a big boy now. He even had his own tie like Abbu. 

     "Later, I'll do your ghee and badam maalish and Nanu will read--" Chhoti Nani was crooning to him as she fed him tiny spoonfuls. 

     "No!" His mom shrieked suddenly. 

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at Zoya. 

     "Umm, I think my nose might be allergic to the ghee-badam maalish," she said guiltily.

     "Hmmmph!" Chhoti Nani said. She turned back to Zaid. "And after the maalish, together we'll kheencho your Ammi's choti!" 

Zoya couldn't resist.

     "Dieting karaiye akal ko, akal hui hai moti,

     Dieting karaiye akal ko, akal hui hai moti,

     How will you kheencho that, when there is no choti!" 

     "Baahhbbaaddaa," Zaid agreed. But was he agreeing with his Chhoti Nani or his mom?

 

Zoya rubbed her palms together. Finally, she had the time to do what she'd really wanted to do. Find out what the hell was going on with Asad at work. She re-checked her mental list: Preoccupied when at home. Clipped conversations over the phone as he walked away from them for more privacy. Coming home even later everyday now. Being crazy stressed for the last couple of weeks. More phone calls late into the night. Grim lines around his mouth and the return of the perpetual frown.

     "Mr. Khan, have you heard about something called work-life balance?" she'd asked one frustrated night snatching his laptop from his hands. 

He'd shrugged and gone back to his brooding. 

But Asad's dour mood had never deterred her in the past, why would it be any different now? In fact he'd become an interesting research subject once again. She had misdiagnosed him a long time ago--trying to convince Phuphi and Najma that Mr. Khan was in love with Elena from New York. He'd huffed and puffed like a surly dragon then. Did that deter her then? Nope, not at all. So what if she was wrong? Thank god she was wrong!

So she tried to ply him with relaxing chamomile or green tea which he spluttered at in disgust. Her research on relaxing foods had told her to add honey so she did. He'd made faces and stuck with his black and bitter coffee.

Still she didn't give up.

She found new ways to break his pensiveness. Zoya would pop nuts or dark chocolate into his mouth as he worked at his laptop. At least he didn't resist this too much. He crunched on them in moody distraction, and sitting by Asad's feet under the settee, Dobby's eyes would glisten hoping for a crumb to fall.

     "It'll help you relax," she would say when Asad swatted her hand away, eyes glued to the screen. 

She harrumphed and kept up her dogged efforts. But looks like Mr. Khan wasn't ready to tell her what was bothering him. As yet. He'd grunted and dodged all her questions with monosyllabic answers once too many times.

And Humaira was pretty much saying the same thing about Ayaan.

 

Zoya's spidey senses thrummed in restlessness. Something was up and Jahanpanah was being a super-secretive. Allah miyan what's wrong with him!

She rolled up her sleeves. Jahanpanah, I better not find out you're having an affair because then you'll have only the six packs left. 

She knew that wasn't it though. 

When they made love these days there was a rougher intensity in him. He took her as if he'd been coiled hard all day, craving volatile release and needing to sink into her to empty his mind. He dragged her hair back and marked her wilder; he bruised and bit her harder these days. 

His kisses were more teeth than tongue.

Sheesh, between her husband and son, she sure was a sore mess. Gee thanks Jahanpanah, teaching Zaid to not bite aur khud---? 

So yes, basically, Asad was asking for it: he needed an intervention. It was a silent cry for help, Zoya decided. And who better to engineer it?

She brushed an impatient finger under her nose. Zoya's hands bunched up at her waist--the signature frown emerged along with its sidekick: the pouty lip.

About time she got to the bottom of this. Not that she minded the rough sex. It had spiced up her love life some. But Jahanpanah couldn't be allowed to fly solo. He couldn't be allowed to turn into that old-timey, dark and angry Vampire Ahmed Khan who went on pissy Akduthons and armageddons. 

And of course it was her job to talk him down. 

She re-bristled at his typical don't-tell-Zoya-anything protective mode. Didn't he know what a super detective and crime fighter she was? That she'd do in one what he would do in five days? Motherhood had NOT dulled her spit-fire edge one bit, thank you very much. No way. He better not think she'd gone soft. And, he better not think now that he had the girl wedded and bedded, she'd be the quiet tehzeeb-e-afta homemaker who needed to be kept safe and uninformed. 

Na-ah. Not her. 

Zaid was gainfully employed entertaining his Dadi right now. He was playing the sit up-roll over and be applauded game with her and Dobby. They played that a lot. And there were longer breaks between his feeding schedule now, so she had some time on her hands. She looked down and sucked on her bruised knuckle. Last night she'd banged it against the side table when Asad'd gripped her hands to drag them over her head and---

He'd pressed her hand hard against the table's edge and its side had bit into her. He'd been unrelenting; his thrusts fast and strokes furious. She'd flown apart with a wild cry and he'd buried his face in the crook of her neck. His harsh breathing echoed in her ears; his pounding heart ricocheted off her.

Yup. Time to do something about it and find out what was eating her Jahanpanah.

 

Zoya settled down with her iPad in the rocking chair. She flexed her fingers, cracked her knuckles and got to work. The local business news would be first. Maybe she'd find a hint here and then dig deeper. Thanks to Zaid and the factory launch she really hadn't been paying attention to current affairs. Had she missed something important? 

Her fingers flew across the screen, madly scrolling up and down. Her frown deepened as she read articles, clicked on links, occasionally googling acronyms, titles or jargon she wasn't familiar with. She moved on to her laptop and got a spreadsheet going to organize her research. 

This was weird. 

She knew that Asad's company was testing out greener building technology for their new project--solar power, rain harvesting, waste sorting, reimagined greywater infrastucture and so on. 

Months ago, when she was still pregnant, they'd chatted a lot about it. She'd even researched experts and tons of literature for him. A shy Prasad and another assistant had been her gophers in those days in contacting consultants and contractors, getting estimates and making comps. It looked promising--after all the construction industry was the next biggest carbon emitter after cars, sometimes as much if not more. It made sense to try to be more environmentally responsible. Many cities across the country were innovating their way to urban sustainability. But then why was there a stream of snarky op-eds and gossipy rumor-laced columns about Asad's firm and their project in the metro busniess news outlets? And why was Asad being painted as an upstart? Why was this being touted as anti-workers' rights? Anti-environmental even? That was bullshit! 

Was this why Asad was so tense these days? 

But he'd never put much stock in rumor. And this wouldn't have been the first time that he would've faced criticism or opposition. Then what was it? What was really happening? 

She looked up the bylines for the stories and began checking the reporters' bios and credentials. She filled out and updated her spreadsheet notes. And Zoya was not liking what she was seeing.

 

After dinner he yanked her to him and nibbled on her ear. She knew what was coming. Zoya pushed back at his chest with a firm finger.

Asad looked up at her in surprise. 

     "So tell me, Mr. Khan, why is some front group funding a smear campaign against you?"

Asad's eyes widened. He sighed and unconsciously swept a hand over his creasing forehead. He should have known she wouldn't be able to resist poking her nose into this. He'd hoped Zaid would have been a suitable distraction from her noticing the bat signal on high alert. 

     "How do you--?" 

     "Please. And quit stalling. You know I have my ways."

Asad's lips curved. Of course she did. So that's why she was eavesdropping on his phone conversations these days? 

But he'd been pretty guarded so how had she--? 

     "Asad?"

     "It's nothing you have to worry about. It's just part of how things are done here. Nothing out of the ordinary about it. I'll handle it." 

     "Are you serious? Part of how things are done here!' So you still think of me as an outsider? Someone who doesn't understand how things are done in India!" 

     "Zoya c'mon, stop exaggerating. You know I didn't mean it like that. But I did mean one thing very seriously: I don't want you poking around in this, understood?"

     "Oh really? So I'm not supposed to know what has you so tense these days? I'm just the wife who's supposed to sit at home, bear your kids and be your comfort woman--your little fuck buddy when you come home late at nights?"

     "Zoya!" 

     "Don't you dare Zoya' me!" Oh man was she steamed. "I know what you're getting ready to say--keep your nose out of my business. That's what I'll handle it,' means, doesn't it? This is so typical of you. Even earlier you would say that I was always interfering in your family or business affairs when I just wanted to help!" 

     "Babe, shh," he pulled her into a tight hug. 

Zoya struggled against him, really mad. He lifted her up and carried her to the settee to hold in his lap. She still stiffly rebuffed all attempts to mollify her.

Asad chuckled and it infuriated her even more. 

     "It's always your 'business' at the slightest hint of trouble. You always put up these granite walls that no one's allowed to breach--" 

On and on she went.

     He exhaled patiently. "You think I don't know your tricks by now? You attack me with over the top accusations so I'll back down, feel guilty and cave in. Not this time, babe. I'm warning you!"

     "Asad!" she growled and tried to claw at him. He wasn't supposed to react this way, dammit! 

He laughed more. 

OK, so she wasn't that mad at him. And it was nice to hear him laugh after so long. 

     "OK, fine, you're right. I was going to say that," Asad tried another tack. 

     "Say what?" 

She knew exactly what. But it was another of her tricks and he didn't know about this one as yet. She made him spell things out for her in black and white, or repeat them. She'd come to realize that saying things again or hearing them out loud always made him rethink his position, see things in a new light even. Or feel embarrassed about what he'd said or almost said. 

It was her best trick yet. 

     "OK, fine. May be I was going to say: stay out of my business." 

     "Mr. Khan!" She flashed her eyes at him. "Say it, say it that your business is not my business. That what happens to you doesn't affect me. Just try and say it!" 

When her lower lip threatened to get rounder and heavier he grinned and kissed her. 

     "OK, I'm sorry, my Jhansi ki Rani. Ghalati ho gayee. Maaf ker dijiye apne Jahanpanah ko. All my business is your business! Always was and always will be, khush? "

     "Hmm," she debated with herself whether to be exactly that. She wasn't one to dwell on grudges or prolong a fight. Besides, curiosity was getting the better of her. And she had never really been mad at him anyways. This is exactly where she wanted him: guilt-ridden, pliable, and willing to share what was bothering him.  

     "Only if you tell me everything that's been going on. From the start," Zoya wrapped her arms around him. 

     Asad grunted in frustration and fell back against the cushions dragging her with him. Hoo boy, Lady Sherlock was in the house, sniffing around like a bloodhound, and there was no saying no to her. "First tell me how you know? Did you talk to Ayaan or Rakesh?" But Rakesh wouldn't say a thing. It would be against his professional ethics. It must be Ayaan for sure. Just wait, I'll do dash mein bumboo to that idiot!

Zoya smacked her head. Moron. She could've just bullied and blackmailed Ayaan. He'd have been much easier to break than her Akdu. Thanks to Humaira and her sisters-in-laws, Zoya had the inside track on Ayaan's monkey business that his Bhaijaan had no clue about. It would have been a piece of cake. She could have spent all her spare time catching up on missed TV shows and social media. 

     "Rakesh knows?" Zoya gripped his hands in alarm. "Asad, how bad is this?"

     He stroked her lips with a thumb. "Remember when Ayaan let slip that we were having trouble with a supplier?"

     "Yeah, but that was months ago. And I told you to follow your gut." She'd been in a fog of maternal fervor in those days and hadn't had time to suss out the details from him then.

     "Well, my gut told me to get Rakesh on board. We'd lost two shipments, there were some on-site clashes between workers' groups and ... But first, your turn. How'd you figure it out?" 

     "Research, Mr. Khan. Research on the net, poking around some secure databases and, Bam!" 

     When Asad quirked a disbelieving eyebrow, she sighed. "OK fine, it wasn't the most legal of searches but I have proof that someone's been paying people in the media to stir up a hornet's nest. I just don't know who or why as yet." 

That "as yet," made him roll his eyes. She was not a bloodhound. She was a terrier who wouldn't let go. 

     Zoya twisted in his arms and slid her hands up his chest. "Asad, why?" 

     "We're not sure either. But my guess is that someone's not happy that we are working with new vendors."

     "Has anything else happened that you're not telling me about?" Thank god, he'd brought in Rakesh.

He kissed her fists. He knew he should tell her. If he didn't, she'd go to insane lengths to find out the truth and endanger herself and god knows whom else in the process.   

     "Asad?" Zoya prompted him as she worked herself into a worried lather.

     " ... Umm, that fender-bender the other day ..." 

     "What! It wasn't just a minor accident? You said a jeep nicked your car and fled the scene."

     "Yeah, but I think it was deliberate." 

She felt paralyzed; the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

 

Zaid stirred. May be he too sensed the undercurrents of distress in the room. He fussed. Zoya rose to hush and soothe him as she still processed Asad's words. Her hands were cold. Zaid cried harder. Asad padded over to their side. He took a wailing Zaid from her bloodless hands.

     "Shh baby, what is it? Are you hungry? Do you need a change?" Asad checked his son's pajama bottoms and rubbed his stomach. He hummed and Zaid began to quiet down. 

Zoya still stood frozen by the crib.

With his free hand Asad drew her to him. 

     "It's OK. I'll be fine. Nothing bad's going to happen, I promise," he soothed her too in between humming for Zaid. 

So many questions were racing and bouncing around her head. But so were terror and rage. She wanted to hold him and never let go; but she wanted to punch his lights out too.

     Zaid still seemed restless. He continued to fuss. Asad tried to hand him to her. "His bottom is dry. He must be hungry." 

     "Oh really! Since you are such a super problem-fixer-upper, Mr. Khan, why don't you feed him!"

And she stomped out of the room. 

     "Zoya!"

He followed her out to the kitchen where she was taking deep breaths against the counter. Asad watched her get a drink of water.

He tried to pull her to him again.

     "No!" she hissed, not wanting to wake up Dilshad. "Don't touch me right now, Asad. I might just explode."

But she took Zaid in her arms and walked back to their room to settle in the rocking chair as she began to feed him. Zoya whimpered as Zaid chowed down hard on her. 

Asad was at her feet the next instant once again sliding his finger in to stop Zaid from hurting her.

     "It's OK," she told him. "You don't have to be my constant knight in shining armor. I'll manage on my own. I'm a strong girl."

     Asad sighed; his hand crept up to massage his forehead. He knew what that jab meant: I'll take care of myself just like you'll take care of yourself. "Zoya, c'mon baby, don't be mad at me. I didn't want you to worry." 

     "So the next time, I'm in trouble or stressed about something, I shouldn't tell you because you'll worry? Is that it? Is that what you're telling me to do, Mr. Khan?"

She sighed in relief when Zaid fell asleep at her breast. 

Asad bit his tongue. The woman was a holy terror. She had this built-in inverter or something that twisted his sensible words into bizarre combinations and improbable scenarios. And for the life of him, he could never find a logical or reasoned way to contradict or convince her otherwise. Apparently at that very moment his grey cells would decide to freeze up and dive for cover when Jhansi ki Rani went on a rampage. 

     Zoya was obviously not done. As she covered herself up and got up to deposit Zaid in his crib, she ranted on. "What a happy marriage we have! We'll live happily ever after because hello, we won't let the other person know about our worries and fears and failures. Heaven forbid that we find out about each other's troubles because then apparently we'll be struck by lightning or keel over from heart attacks because we'll be so goddamn worried."

Asad rolled his eyes. There she goes again. Still on a tear. 

Uh oh, she was turning to him and that finger was getting ready to stab him in the chest repeatedly.

     "You promised on our mehendi night, which you ruined by the way, thank you very much, and that night when you were so rough with me at Abbu's house, and the second time in Mangalpur that--that we wouldn't hide our fears and worries from each other!"

She'd stabbed him at least fifteen times by now. 

Asad would've bitten her finger too like he did his son's to discipline him, but her accusations were doing a number on him. He was beginning to feel guilty now. Damn, she was right, he had made her that promise. He had ruined her Mehendi ceremony for her forever, and that other night at the Siddiqui house under virtual house arrest by Tanveer, he'd been so livid with repressed anxiety that he'd almost ra--

Oh god! Was he behaving the same way even now? Was he taking out his repressed rage on her again? He was hurting her?

     Asad groaned and dragged her into his arms in a fierce hug that lifted her clear off the ground. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he repeated in an agonized litany. 

     Zoya couldn't breathe, he held her so tight. "Asad," she croaked. "I can't breathe!" 

He let her go feeling even worse. But now that her arms were free she wrapped them around his neck. Slowly, his arms came up around her too.

     "I don't want you to apologize for that, you silly, crazy man! That's all water under the bridge. I just want you to tell me what's bothering you so that I don't have to go behind your back to ferret out the truth." She continued to talk softly as he rocked her in his arms. "I know you've been shielding me from all this. But I don't want that! I want to know what you know, what you're going through. I want us to talk about the things that have you so tense. I hate guessing what might be wrong and imagining the worst. Just be straight with me, is that too much to ask?" 

     "No," Asad whispered. "It's not too much to ask." 

     "I hate that once trouble comes you go back into your hyper protective 17th century mode." 

He smiled. Yup, he did do that, didn't he?

     She backed up to look into his face. Zoya played with the collar of his kurta. "Umm, and I also feel bad about being excluded." 

     "From all the fun and action, you mean?" Asad asked with an eyebrow raised in taunt. "See, that's why I don't want to tell you half the time. Because you'll think of it as one grand adventure and go half-cocked into your Sherlock Holmes meets James Bond mode--that terrifies me, Zoya!" 

     "Asad!" 

     "Babe, it seriously does. Nothing scares me more than imagining what goes on in that head of yours when we're under siege." 

     "But I hate not knowing and when people are keeping secrets from me! It used to drive me insane whenever Jeeju and Aapi or my friends tried to throw a surprise party for me."

     He sobered up fast. "This is no party, Zoya. This is serious business. And I meant it about not poking around in this." 

Zoya pouted. But his tone made her thoughtful too. He would know about what was at stake better than her. 

     "But you can still talk to me about it, can't you? We can brainstorm solutions, try to find a way out? I can still be of some help?" 

And there it was, Asad thought. That was the real reason for why she had to know. She didn't want to feel useless. She wanted to do something. Whatever, but something. Any thing to not wallow in freezing worry. She was just hard-wired to make things better, to be the little Ms. Fix-it. She came from a world where she believed that every problem had a way out. A world where technological innovations trailblazed new ways; where you didn't learn to live with problems just because it was standard operating procedure. Where you didn't challenge the system; you learned to live with it. She could never understand why someone wouldn't want to change things if they didn't work.

Asad hoped that his world would never change her.

He framed her face in his hands.

     "I'm scared," she said. "I would die if--"

     "Shh, don't even think it." Asad led her to bed and together they huddled under the thick comforter. 

     "What if--" Zoya tried again and he put a finger on her mouth to sush her.

     "No what ifs. I've played that game a million times in my head and it only makes things worse."

     "Then what do we do? What can we do?" 

     "We figure things out." 

     "Will you consider shutting down the project?"

He sighed. He had toyed with that idea. They'd crunched the numbers; it would cost too damn much. And a shut down would lead to more labor issues for sure.

     "What about Abbu? Mine? Yours? Can't they help?"

Asad remained silent. 

     "Genius," Zoya muttered, pressed up against his chest. "You haven't told them, right? Two people with experience and contacts in the industry and you haven't told them because you didn't want them to worry either. Oh, Asad, what do I do with you!" 

     His arm tightened around her. She pressed her lips to his neck. Asad smiled. "Abbu read something and did ask, but I brushed him off. I'll talk to them tomorrow, OK?" 

     "Promise? You won't be Batman on your own? You'll share the fight and the glory?" 

     Asad chuckled. "I'd share it with you in a heartbeat!"

     "Now that's my dark knight in charming armor!" 

     "Charming? I thought it was knight in shining armor'?"

     "Oh, Mr. Khan, don't you remember? Now pay attention, I don't want to have to explain it again. It's charming because you're my Jahanpanah charming. And besides, Batman can't have shining armor. It's got to be matte finish so he's untraceable in the dark!"

     "Sorry babe, looks like I took my stupid pills again." 

She giggled up at him satisfied with his returning memory; she felt more hopeful now. They'd put their heads together and figure it all out. They were super-jodi Asad and Zoya after all. Zoya saw his face and her smile dipped. He'd fallen asleep mid-discussion. Allah miyan what's wrong with Mr. Khan! But she hoped he'd sleep like a baby tonight. The harsh planes of his face had relaxed, but only a smidgen. He needed a good night's rest. Tomorrow, she would show him her ideas and plans. Tomorrow they'd be cowboys and ninjas. They'd be righteous! 

 

 

Song in Title:

Slumdog Millionaire (2008): "Jai Ho"


	123. Haath-Vaath Maar Di Ai, Baithe Kabhi Na Backseat

 

So how soon would it be that Zaid got a mashed-up bite of cheesy, tomatoey gloop that his mom loved so much and his dad made faces at? 

Not too long. 

Hmm, though come to think of it, he'd seen his dad sneak a bite from mom once or twice when Dadi wasn't looking. Ammi had smothered a gasp and a giggle and Abbu had winked at her. Maybe Abbu liked it too; he just didn't want anyone to know. 

But Zaid knew. And he'd keep Abbu's secret. All safe.

Because Zaid was a master secret-keeper. Like when he saw Khala kissing Santa Claus. 

Haaw, did Ayaan Chachu know? 

But he wasn't going to rat Santa out either. Santa Miyan had got him lots of presents--he even had his own red guitar now. It played better songs than Abbu's.

Zaid flapped his arms and beat the tray table with his tiny hands but Ammi and Abbu seemed to be locked in some alternate bubble of their own where time stilled and music swelled. 

They locked themselves in their zone shutting the door on everyone's faces.

They got that way sometimes. 

Me too! Me too! And on those days little Zaid did experience annoyed moments of FOMO. He had to remind them that he existed too. That he was the center of their universe. And no, not even Dobby could claw through that bubble; he would only roll his eyes and shake his head when AmmiAbbu got like that.

But thank god for Dadi who made that noise in her throat because only then would Ammi and Abbu spring apart like guilty bunnies. Ammi would turn red and Abbu would hightail it out of the room at a fast clip. 

 

So did Zaid like his first bite of pizza served in a pudding-like consistency? Sure thing! It was a new taste, but was it, really? Hadn't his taste buds already feasted upon this even in their inception?

     His dad did tease his mom after all: "If they ever do DNA sequencing on you, half of you will be pizza."

Zaid still hadn't figured out who this, "Mr. Khan!" was. Only Ammi called out that name and Abbu laughed whenever she did. 

Was he Abbu's friend? Why hadn't he met him? 

Little Zaid rapped his spoon on the highchair tabletop; it was already showing signs of fresh dents laced with Zaid-DNA. 

He hummed in happy approval of his first bite of pizza. 

HhhmmMAaahhh!

 

     "The best I can tell, it's some shadow group that calls itself Indians For Progress and Prosperity.' They seem to be feeding false reports and propaganda pieces to these news rags."

As promised, Zoya was delivering on her hacking and detecting results from the smear campaign she'd uncovered. But she'd also hit a wall. This was no amateur. These people had covered their tracks too well. Which was all the more suspicious, wasn't it? What were they hiding? Their site was a dead end--a bunch of twaddle about innovation and progress while dil hai Hindustani. They advocated for unfettered business enterprise, cutting through red tape, and demanding open access to public lands protected by the Ministry of Environment, Forest and Climate Change. 

Hmm. 

     "No idea of the proxy that's funding them? It's got to be a well-known group, right? Someone prominent enough to want to cover their tracks?" Asad asked as he loosened his tie and bent over Zaid's crib to kiss his head. 

It had to be someone who wanted to wound by stealth because they didn't want to risk exposure nor a direct confrontation.

Zaid reached out his arms and Asad dashed into the bathroom to wash his hands first. 

     "And someone with enough money to invest in this shadow war," Zoya too was thinking aloud. But who? Why? 

Idly she popped another potato chip into her mouth. She wiped her hands on her jeans and hid the crinkling bag behind a cushion on the rocking chair. If Mr. Khan saw her, he'd growl as usual about filling her stomach with junk food instead of eating a proper dinner. 

Chik-chik and choon-choon he would do. Like always when he saw her with her chips or cookies. Or crackers. 

She watched Asad return and pick up Zaid to lift him high over his head--the baby was ready for bed, in his yellow footie pajamas painted with spaceships and rockets. Asad would lower Zaid to brush noses with him and then return him high in the air. Then he'd lower him again to rub his nose against Zaid's belly or blow raspberries. 

Rinse and repeat. 

Her son's delighted squeals made her smile. 

But a second later her eyes widened in horror and then squeezed shut. No, no, no, no.

Damn. 

Asad sat down in the rocking chair with Zaid in his arms and leaned back. Crunching sounds behind him made him sigh and look up at her.

     "How many times have I told you to stop hiding half-eaten junk food behind pillows? Serves you right. It's all mushed up now!" Though knowing her she would probably still scarf down the crumbs or sprinkle them across pizza or pasta. 

     Zoya scrambled for damage control. She better distract him before the lecture came. "I don't get who could be going through all this trouble to blackball you," she said in a super somber tone. "We know the motive is to stall your project, but why?" 

Rakesh was trying to peel back the layers from this enigma too. And of course Zoya was working closely with his IT team--who could've dared say no? 

In her research she'd found that the more established media wasn't running these stories of sly malice and coy innuendo--as yet. As best as she could tell, it was some of the second tier, obscure special interest publications that were beating the drums of alarm. They were crying foul about how environmentalists had hijacked the progress agenda, how this was forcing jobs cuts and raising the unemployment rate. 

But what was the real motive? 

Who were the movers and shakers behind these dummy corporations? Why was Asad's company's work being spun as too radical when the city's government was actively backing green projects that were in-line with Bhopal's Smart City Mission? Why were there hints and murmurs about kickbacks or shady backroom deals of astroturfing--projects not really being green but masquerading as eco-friendly. 

It made no sense. They'd tried things this way and that. Follow the money, was the old journalistic adage. But this group had managed to effectively hide their trail. So now what? Work backwards? But who was hoping to benefit from this game of charades? Competitors, seemed the obvious answer. But there was nothing pinnable, or pointable, or provable.

In the meanwhile Zoya's terror-bingeing was mounting.  

She had to slap her hand away to not call Asad every 15 minutes to check up on him. Till he got home--safe, in one Jahanpanah-six-packs piece, she'd be a twitchy, nervous wreck on many days. She'd begun lobbying for him to work from home--at least on one day of the week. 

That wasn't too much to ask for, was it? 

To make it an offer he couldn't refuse she'd had the storeroom tricked out and souped up into a kind of home office--an office away from office--as she put it. She had used it during her pregnancy on and off, and whenever she could get away from being a new mom--for non-mom interests and duties. 

It would now be perfect for Asad and his non-dad business.

     "Promise, we won't disturb you. You can lock yourself behind closed doors and put all the ghar-sansar noises and smells and calls behind you. Please, please, please!" Zoya had continued to hound him for at least a week, if not two, before he caved in.

 

Despite humself he liked what she'd done with the place. It was probably the one place in the house that showed her stamp--it was quirky and kooky. 

It was all her. 

Zoya hadn't really done much redecorating to their room or the rest of the house--even when he'd told her to have a go at it. 

     "I love it the way it is, why would I want to change anything," she'd said long ago. 

     "Make it your own, in your image," he'd persisted. 

     "I don't need to," she'd sassed back, dimple deep and sure. "It's yours and you're mine. It's already in my image!"

But this space truly was Jhansi ki Rani's kingdom--if Jhansi ki Rani had grown up in 21st century New York that is. The big farmhouse-style table she used as a desk was all warm brown and nicked up with god knows how many marks made by god knows who--wait, were those bite--? Of course, Zaid had already been here marking and eating his territory. 

It wasn't glass--his tabletop of choice. But then glass wouldn't have preserved--Asad traced Zaid's dental calligraphy lovingly. There were nutty woods all over--a carved walnut screen hid the storeroom clutter draped under a mirrorwork spread. A cloth doll hung from it too--suspended by a noose. 

Ahh.

So Raaburt had been here too, then. 

Asad knew that Ayaan used to do this to torment his kid sisters--it was a young boy's signature revenge against sissy sisters who complained against him and got him into trouble. 

Asad wondered what Zoya was being avenged for. There had to be a story behind that doomed doll. Some how Mona Darling must've upstaged Raaburt. Again. 

He looked around the room some more--reluctant to sit his butt down and get to work. Even he didn't want to admit to having fun exploring the recesses of his wife's decor. Bright splashes of color splattered every surface. Even the leather chair had been draped in a Kantha stitch quilt--an ikat-printed lumbar pillow was squished into its back. Doll prototypes lay scattered about--sitting up on shelves or propping up books and stenciled-mugs crammed with pens and pencils. Pictures from the factory launch--the mayor cutting the ribbon, the shyly smiling workers--crowded the corkboard which spilled over with campy quotes and kitschy paraphernalia. 

     "Dobby has no master," proclaimed a bumper sticker next to a quote by Martin Luther King Jr. "Injustice anywhere, is a threat to justice everywhere."

These bumped elbows with more photos from trips and family get-togethers. Asad couldn't resist straightening a photo of his holding a new-born Zaid in the hospital.

Dobby had been here too? Asad turned to the window hearing a familiar sound: the cat sunbathing on the sill. He yawned.

Of course. 

Asad never knew whether Dobby hung around him because he liked him or whether he was just keeping an eye on him as an arch frenemy. 

The opposite wall held a Captain America's shield--there was some mythic lore about it that Zoya had tried to tell him about many times. But he never remembered. Something about it being indestructible because it was made out of vibranium, or unobtanium, or some other weirdanium. 

Whatever. 

On a shelf next to it sat her light sabre that Omar had sent over long ago. Her American Girl doll--who now wore the onesie that Zaid had outgrown with "The Force is Strong with This One" still embossed on it. And next to these nested all of Asad's trophies and medals from school: a 3D collage of his academic and athletic pursuits. 

He loved this. She'd raided his childhood once again and given it a place of pride; she'd dusted off the terrible memories and returned his troubled adolescence--crisp and angst-free from the cleaners.

Another wall held giant maps of India and the US. She'd placed colorful pushpins on the cities and places she'd visited in both countries. A selfie of theirs at the Taj Majal from their honeymoon ... 

The photo he'd taken of her under the Hawa Mahal chhatris ... 

There was a whiteboard next to the maps--jammed with bucketlists and to-do lists. 

He peered at the to-do list--oh boy, there was much here that she hadn't done! Only 2 of the 11 items had been checked off. Some of those things were from before Zaid had been born! 

Only Zoya.

But it was what he saw in the corner of the room that had him gagging first and then laughing out loud. Asad's shoulders shook.

Big Bear too had returned from the dry cleaners. And Zoya had given in to Asad's demand that his guitar stand be replaced in their room. The monstoristy was now serving as a beanbag chair--mostly used by Dobby when Zoya worked at the table or Ayaan when he popped in for a visit. There was a beloved photo on everyone's phone somewhere--of Ayaan passed out on top of Big Bear, with Zaid too fast asleep on his favorite Chachu's chest. 

Next to a demoted Big Bear was a side table--stacked high with his old comic books--well-thumbed Tin-Tins, Asterixes, superheroes and Amar Chitra Kathas. The one on top caught his eye. It was the brand new Amar Chitra Katha he'd got for her on her last birthday: Rani of Jhansi: The Flame of Freedom. 

Smiling, he flipped through it to read the inscription he'd written more than a year ago: "To my very own dimpled crusader and Shayara Bano. Goddess of the pepper spray and my Telpur ki Shehzaadi--may you win all battles against injustice, always slay mangalpur demons and raise an army of Jhansi ki ranis and rajas!"

Asad grinned as he replaced the comic. He looked around one last time.

Zoya'd cleaned up the room to make the place habitable for him but a potato chip piece was still smushed between the pillow and the chairback. He carefully collected the crumbs and dusted them into the trashcan. Finally he settled down at the table and clicked his laptop open. 

Enough dawdling. 

High time he got to work. But he got lost in the 15-inch digital frame that played a slideshow of hundreds of photos. 

How did she get any work done with so many distractions? So many mellow inspirations ...

The frame was a replica of the one she'd given him for his office--she'd set it up so that she could change the pictures by adding or deleting them remotely from home. He didn't even bother to ask how she did this. 

His laptop whirred and reluctant icons lit up on the desktop. Asad clicked the browser open to check his emails. And his eyes snagged at yet another Zoyaism. He had to chuckle when he saw a post-it note stuck to the lamp shade: "I would if I could, but I can't, so I won't," it announced unapologetically.  

Oh yes, he was in the Zoya zone all right. 

God help him if he got any work done today.

 

At 11:30 she came in with a steaming cup of coffee and a small bowl of almonds and pistachios for him. And with Zaid in tow. It was time for a break and Abbu probably needed some koochie koo therapy. Zoya plopped the baby in the middle of the table and he clacked away at the laptop like he'd seen his parents do. 

Zoya slipped her arms around Asad's neck from the back and kissed his cheek. 

     "I love having you work from home," she murmured in his ear, inhaling his after-shave. 

     Asad rolled the chair back to pull her into his lap. "With these perks I love working from home even more," he nuzzled her neck and she snickered. "I love what you did with the room," Asad lifted her hand to kiss it.

     "Really? Tell me more about everything you love!" 

He did. Between tiny kisses at her temple and ear. His hands were traveling down and her breath was hitching up--

Zaid burbled and cooed. 

So they watched him waiting for their heartbeats to return to normal. The little mister grabbed a pen and sucked on it. 

     "OK, that's enough," Asad intervened, gently dislodging his son's grip. They pulled him into everyone's favorite lap sandwich. Zaid bounced and knocked his knees against them wanting to hustle and clutch forbidden things. These days he preferred to be unrestrained by adoring parental arms--he tolerated being held only if he was being transported from one fun place to another.

But wait, Abbu's collar looked incredibly edible. Mmmhhhmmm.

The sun streamed in, bedazzling their little world. Asad kissed Zaid's downy head.

     "Gaahhhmmmbbbaaa," his son chirped. Both his parents reached out to wipe his chin. 

     "Why does he drool so much these days?" Asad asked, putting his handkerchief away. 

     "I don't know. May be he wants to speak up a storm but his mouth and tongue just won't keep up! Or may be it's all those bubbles and constant humming," Zoya offered up a mother's unbiased analysis.

     "I can't wait to hear his first word," Asad mused.

    "Me neither," Zoya breathed.

The girls had a pool going--everyone had bet a Rs. 1000 on what the baby's first word would be. It was a toss up between Ammi, Abbu, and Dadi. Ayaan predicted that it would be Dobby or Chachu.

     "What if he doesn't speak for a long time?" Zoya worried. The moms had made her rub honey and salt on his lip to ensure that wouldn't happen but you never know. Every kid crossed their milestone at their own pace. You couldn't hurry nature along. 

     "He's talkative enough," Asad reassured her. "He'll be fine. He's got the syllables and the sounds already. It's just a matter of stringing them into words."

A timer pinged from her jeans pocket. Asad looked around wondering about the source.  

     "C'mon baby," Zoya picked up Zaid. "Time for Abbu to get back to work. Coffee break's over!"

It was hard to tell who was more bummed: Zaid, or his Abbu. 

Asad frowned. Did she have to be such a drill sergeant? Would five more minutes have killed her? But his phone rang. Prasad.

Coffee break was really over.

Crap.

 

Her obsession had possibly started the day Najma Phuphi had couriered a pair of shiny-red baby boxing gloves and baby boxing shorts for the world's best nephew.

But, truth be told, it had all really started as a joke even before Little Mukka, AKA Zaid, had blessed them with his birth. In Zoya's third trimester, Najma couldn't stop talking about her first gift to the baby being boxing gloves. To match Bhaijaan's of course.

She'd followed through on that promise with a mock crochet set for the newborn--complete with tiny lace-ups to tighten the cricket-ball sized mittens.

They came with matching boxing booties.

Then when Zaid had outgrown those (already immortalized wearing them in a million pinned and tagged pictures), Phuphi had phollowed up with the real deal. 

Real leather. Real badass.

Then Zoya saw the film "Mary Kom." 

She raved about it for days. As an inside joke, Asad made the mistake of presenting her with a brand new charm for her bracelet. Because a 21st century Jhansi Ki Rani needs boxing gloves instead of a sword and shield. Besides her trusty pepper spray of course.  

The rest is history.

 

     "You have to teach me," she declared to Asad one fine day.

     "Teach you? What?" he asked, distracted, still tapping away at his laptop. They were in the new home office that he was still falling in love with. 

But he really should've learned to pay more attention by now. She probably meant, you'll have to touch me. Now, that he could fall behind and drop all work for.

     "Hellooo, BOXING!!!"

     "Wha--?"

     "No, really! I mean it. It'd be so cool. And I think I'd be really good at it too. Don't you remember how good I am at Karate? Remember, I showed you my moves when I first moved in here?"

Oh boy. Did he remember. 

Then too the woman had been hellbent on distracting him. 

She was fully convinced of her fighting skills.

But she never did manage to tell him what that show had been about. Why was she practicing her non-existent Karate by his window in the middle of the night? He'd forgotten to ask because he'd made the mistake of looking into her eyes.

Besides, who was he to burst her bubble?

     Asad bit off a chuckle. "Umm, do you really need me to teach you? Why don't you learn boxing the same way you've learned everything else in your arsenal: from movies and video games that you love so much? Besides, how many times have you watched Mary Kom'?"

He didn't wait for her to answer. He already knew because she kept announcing it loud and clear everyday, broadcasting it even on her social media sites telling friends and family members to girl power it up and kick patriarchal butt. 

     "I'm sure you know everything there is to know about boxing and more!" Asad continued, tongue firmly in cheek. "In fact, I'm sure you could teach me a few things." 

Zoya was not liking this teasing. Not one bit. She knew a backhanded compliment when she saw one. Her husband seemed to be having way too much fun at her expense. 

It must stop.

     "Mr. Khan!" she hissed. "You're so mean! You're teaching me, and that's final! I already ordered my gloves online. They're hot pink! I even got them monogrammed and everything!" She took his hand and turned it over to stab the scar on his palm. "--just like this! So there!"

She clapped her hands, all aflutter.

     "It'll be so fun!" And she scampered off to tell Dilshad.

  


Asad looked at Zaid. What had just happened?

His mom's inspiration, Zaid Miyan already had his gloves on this morning. He loved to gnaw on them. They even showed some champion-sized bite marks as he sat at Big Bear's feet. Those paws were large enough to be his training punch mitts. The boy would fast grow into the title his Chachu had given him: Champ.

Zaid looked at his dad: Where're your gloves? Let's rrrumble. He waved his arms and managed to whomp his sidekick.

Dobby Miya-oon did not approve of this. He hissed off to sulk near Asad's feet. 

Asad sighed. He needed to have a talk with Najma. ASAP. No more boxing paraphernalia. But it was midnight in California. 

Tonight then, for sure.

But for now, his Sunday was probably shot. He had personal trainer duties to perform. And this new client was high-maintenance--very set notions and firm opinions on just about everything. She probably wouldn't listen to a thing he said.

 

He needn't have worried though. Not when he saw her for their first training session.

Oh she was ready to listen all right. 

Zaid and Dobby were down for their afternoon naps and Dilshad away for a Quran Khwani at a relative's. 

Asad had fitted out the punching bag in the recently converted storeroom. Suddenly this room had morphed into the heart of the home--neglected all these years as a dusty tomb of bad memories--it had now become a room that could become anything at will--much like the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts. But Asad was one of those Muggles who would know nothing about Hogwarts. May be his father-in-law could enlighten him. Or Dobby. (This was after all the same place where Warrior-maiden Zoya had sneaked in a terrified Mariam to protect her from Mangalpur villains--and a certain Akdu Ahmed Khan.) 

He was adjusting the height of the bag and giving it some test jabs when Zoya walked in. 

Hot damn. 

Hair high up in a fountain ponytail that bobbed with each step. Short shorts. His vest. Bra peeking through. Long legs that ended in ankle socks and sneakers.

     "Won't you be cold in that get up?" Asad asked, more than a little warm himself and already devising ways of warming her up.

     "Not for long!"

She grinned up at him; dimples blinding at high-beam, eager to start. 

He couldn't help himself. 

     Asad yanked her to him. "Do we have to waste this golden opportunity on boxing? Kids are asleep, Ammi's away for at least 4-5 hours (he'd already confirmed that she'd reached there safely). I have better ideas for what we could be doing right now."

     "Asad!" she giggled and wiggled in his arms, dodging his kisses. She loved that he meant Dobby as the other kid. "No, you promised!"

     "It would be a good warm up--and you have to do that anyways." Asad tried to sweet-talk her as he ran his hands down her arms--one smooth and the other bumpy and puckered.

Zoya moaned. The offer was tempting. 

His thumbs trailed up the inside of her arms and gooseflesh erupted all over. 

Zoya slipped out of his arms slapping his amorous hands away. 

     "No funny business, Mr. Khan," she wagged a finger at him. "Training first, and then--"

     Asad crossed his arms over his chest mulishly. "Only on one condition."

     "What?" Zoya pouted. 

     "That bra needs to go."

Zoya exhaled. She reached in the back under the vest and unhooked the bra. Then she slipped one strap off a shoulder, wiggled her arm out of it and pulled the bra out from under the vest. It landed on--- 

It landed somewhere. On something. Probably on Big Bear.

     "Ready?" she arched an eyebrow.

His eyes snagged at the shadowy peaks under that white cotton. 

     "Asad?"

     " ... Hmm?"

     "Eyes up here, baby."

Reluctantly Asad brought his eyes up to meet hers. He gulped. And cleared his throat. 

     "Right ... yeah. So let's start with some foot work and then some sparring."

     "No gloves right now?" Zoya asked, extremely bummed out.

     "Umm, no, not right now. Feet and legs first--they're your anchor and savior. We have to strengthen them first." 

Asad shook his head to clear it. He wasn't lying, just tweaking things to his advantage. Was that so wrong? He was the trainer after all. He had rights. And needs.

He showed her how to to rock and bounce on the balls of her feet. To dance and dart, to always keep your feet under you. To always keep moving.

     She was bored in ten minutes. "But when do we get to the gloves?" Zoya huffed--all that bouncing and dancing around was getting her winded. It was hard to remember to always keep moving from the core. So that was the secret to her Jahanpanah's six packs? 

     "Soon. A good warm up first is a must--we'll go slow to avoid injuries and umm ... build endurance." His eyes wandered and jaw dropped--he was just---well, he was distracted.

     "But when do I get to try the puncing bag out?" OK, this was not going according to plan at all. She hadn't even got a chance to inaugurate her brand new gloves. And the noticeable bulge in her husband's pants was getting to her. She was breathing hard, had worked up a fine sheen of sweat that made the vest cling, and what the hell, she was just a little bit horny herself.

     "We'll have to tape up with hand wraps for that--you don't want to have a boxer's fracture on your first day of training, do you?"

     "Duh, I won't if I wear my gloves!"

     Oh god. Asad rolled his eyes. He didn't have the time to explain that it was a very real possibility. Obviously there wasn't enough blood in his head--his mind, that is, to argue with her. Or may be there was too much bloodflow to his head. "OK fine, put those bad boys on and let's take them for a spin."

She squealed and clapped. And bounced. Asad's eyes nearly rolled off to the back of his head, but valiantly, selflessly, he helped her put them on all the while giving her a bunch of strict instructions--after he'd shown her a few shadowboxing moves: Don't hit too hard. Throw from the elbow, not wrist. Remember the feet--keep moving. Blah. Blah. Blah. She'd stopped listening. 

Did Mr. Khan really think that she hadn't researched her stuff? Please.

Zoya took a jab at the bag. It was harder than she thought it'd be. She ducked, dodged and blocked like he'd showed her. Asad held the bag for her, ocassionally offering tips and encouragement.

     "Don't tense up, or clench your hands too tight. You'll be sore otherwise. Core--work through the core. Engage it, see? (he lifted his T-shirt to show her--really, Mr. Khan? Sneaking a peep-show in there to make her drool). Or you'll hurt your back," he continued. What? He was just telling her about muscle safety. He was being a diligent trainer. 

     "And watch the feet--not too wide." He demo-ed the foot placement again; he showed her his sculpted abs again. Trust him to turn training into foreplay. 

     "Good girl! Nice and easy--controlled. Knees slighty bent. Don't lock up." Huh? No, he just didn't want her to injure her knees, seriously, you guys. Those knees needed to be strong to--

     Asad shook the red lustmist from his eyes. He made her go through another work up of lunges and shadowboxing. They'd do mitt training next weekend. "You're alternating upper and lower body workouts at the gym, right?"

Zoya gulped (not noticing her husband's groan); her eyes skittered away in shame. Ever since Naz aunty had left there was no one around to hound them into the gym and whip them into shape. So they'd slacked off. Just a tad. 

     Shireen made excuses. "Kitna sara kaam pada hai, Allah!" 

Dadi and Nuzzhat had been the most enthusiastic converts but now that Nikhat was gone ... the lull and bad habits had returned. They went to the gym maybe on one day in a week--mainly because Ayaan made fun of them.

     "I could've gone to the Formula 1 Finale in Dubai for all the money you guys wasted! Just imagine--the post-race concerts! The festivals and the food! Y'all are so useless!"

They'd gotten a workout that day. By pounding and thumping Ayaan. Even Dadi hadn't come to his rescue. 

Zaid had been a bit alarmed though. He was learning quick: you never messed with the women in the house.

For two weeks after that though, they'd dragged their butts to the gym on an extra day--just to shut Ayaan up. 

     "Ow," Zoya yelped suddenly. 

Asad was at her side in an instant. The bag swayed slightly--disoriented and unanchored.

     "Are you OK?"

     "Umm hmm. Just a slight twinge, is all."

He made her rotate her wrist and checked the bones.

     "I'm OK, really," Zoya whispered.

Asad grabbed her wrists and peeled off the straps with his teeth. He tossed the gloves away.

     "Asad! I wasn't done!"

     "Oh yes, you're done! I am too. Time for a break." This once he would decide when it was time to take a break.

There was only so much a man could take after all. 

Initially, he'd thought that he'd have her under him in a few seconds and all boxing fantasies would be forgotten. But to watch her dart and hop and dance and bounce---to see her breasts jiggle, the white cotton cling and mold to her nipples had been slow and sweet, sweet torture--he could get used to this. And why hadn't he realized how erotic this could be? Wait till he got her sparring with him. He'd--

He would've cut the lesson short there and then (he needed a seventh-pack workout--bad), but that tiny frown of concentration on her forehead stopped him.

Zoya was in the zone--she was doing what she wanted to do. She had the stance right--body braced, chin tucked, fists up, elbows by the side--there was real potential here. They could work on speed and reflexes next. And maybe this was a good way to burn off that restless and fretful energy that seemed to pour off her these days.

And she was actually following instructions. 

For once. 

He didn't have the heart to interrupt. If she hadn't cried out in pain he'd have let her continue. For a few more minutes, that is. 

But now that he was within kissing distance he couldn't stop himself. Asad's hands lifted her by her waist so that her breasts were at mouth level. He sucked through the thin cloth and she moaned in gratitude. Her legs found their sweet spot and her heat suctioned and blazed through him. Oh yes, she was ready too.

     "Oh god, Zoya! You drive me crazy, you know that, right?"

     "You're welcome," she breathed.

He already had her down on the rug, one hand already sliding down the inside of her shorts. Zoya cried out as his fingers homed in on her waiting nub and stroked her to a punishing frenzy--it was revenge for tempting him and keeping him at arm's length for so long. 

His mouth teased and tasted the garnets at her breasts.

She was already swollen and god-help-him so wet--for him. All for him.

His fingers danced and darted now, sliding and gliding, scooping and sculpting that wet heat; next, his mouth lowered and his greedy tongue flicked and lashed, mining that glittery gem. 

Her wild hips bucked, thrusting eagerly to greet his mouth.

She didn't know when she'd kicked her shoes away or when Asad had shucked her shorts and vest off. 

He'd only left her pink-edged white ankle socks on. 

There was something about them. Something that turned him on even more. And when he looked down to watch her face, that mouth ... when he grabbed that ponytail as she worked him ... on her knees--oh god, he nearly came then.

But he came later when she kneeled in front of him on all fours, hungry to take him in. That sweet ass wiggled and booty-called---

He watched himself move in and out from between those half-moons and ... and he caught a glimpse of the white socks from the side of his eye. 

Her toes arched; the puma soared. 

... elbows ... knees ... and toes ... She sang that song for Zaid when they played together ...

... on her elbows, knees and toes ...

He came then. 

 

     "Asad?"

     "Hmm?" They were still on the rug; he still massaged her wrist. He'd tape it up for her so that she wouldn't be sore. He'd grabbed some cushions and a throw from one of the armchairs to cover them up.

     "You'll be sore tomorrow," he warned. "Do some stretches."

     "My wrist you mean?"

     He laughed. "All over, baby. You'll be sore all over. Have some haldi milk just in case."

     She made a face--what was with these people and haldi milk. Gross. Zoya returned to the subject she wanted to talk about with him. She'd been thinking about it for some days now--when she took a break from her worrying that is. "We have to think about protection. I don't want to be pregnant again for some time."

     "But you're nursing--that's safe."

     "Not when he's on solids now. We'll have to be super careful. No Irish twins for me!"

     "Irish twins?"

     "When the second baby comes within 11-12 months after the first."

     "But we're way past that."

     "But still! Not now. I want us to enjoy Zaid more. Be able to do more stuff with him. So not for another year or two." 

     "At least," he agreed.

He had read that a woman's body took a year to fully recover from childbirth. It made sense. He would've loved a little girl. But Zaid could wait to be bhaijaan. What was the rush. Besides the kid already thought of Dobby as his little brother--his own Ayaan. 

Though if you asked Dobby he'd say that he was Zaid Miyan's Bhaijaan--he came first, didn't he? And like any self-respecting big brother he'd saved the munchkin's life, hadn't he? 

So it was settled. No moot point about it--nothing to see here. Keep it moving, people.

Dobby blinked his eyes. He'd managed to get his paws on yet another bra as he swanned into the room after his eleventieth nap of the day. He perched himself on Big Bear's belly and watched his humans go another round. Not boxing. It was that age-old sparring game that they loved to play so much.

Really?

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Tanu Weds Manu Returns (2015): "Banno Tera Swagger Laage Sexy"


	124. Tere Bin Jee Nahin Lagta, Tere Bin Jee Nahin Sakta

 

 

     "Shut up, Mr. Khan," she muttered darkly. His cheery I-told-you-sos were grating on her nerves. He had no right to look so relaxed and fit. 

And smug. 

Asad hadn't been kidding. She was sore. All bloody over. 

     "You didn't stretch like I told you to, did you?" he'd smirked through his coffee when he heard her groan and hobble out of the bathroom the next morning. That's what had triggered her grumpiness. 

Her quads and glutes were killing her. 

And her core? 

She made a face and swore under her breath. 

     "Work through the core," he had kept telling her yesterday. Show off! 

Sadist.

Tyrant. 

Shit. 

What was she thinking? She should have just cut the foreplay short yesterday and stuck to breaking in her new gloves flat on her back. With Asad on top. Then he could've worked his core by grinding into her-- 

With a soft moan Zoya flopped down on the bed--facedown.

     Asad's swaq switched to concern. "Aw, poor baby," he murmured and leaned over to massage her back. 

Zaid raised his head. He was on AmmiAbbu bed gnawing on his teething ring.

Baby? Someone call me?

Legs tucked under him, these days he was trying to scoot forward--that was the next new mission, the next frontier. To boldly go where no Khan baby had been before. Well, no Khan baby from his generation that is. Because hello, he was the pioneer.

Zaid used his butt and knees and hands to propel himself forward; he wiggled and shimmied but nothing much happened. Nada. This made him hum in anger.

Zoya meanwhile groaned in relief this time. It felt good to feel Asad's contrite hands on her. He owed her that back rub for overworking her yesterday. So what if he'd warned her? He should have warned her better. Allah miyan, what's wrong with this man.

     "I'll run a hot bubble bath for you. That'll help with the body ache," Asad offered. 

She nodded, head still pressed into the bedding. Zoya sighed in gratitude as she heard him run the water in the bathroom. Aw, come to think of it, Mr. Khan wasn't such a bad guy after all. 

Zaid slapped her back with soft pats like he'd seen his Abbu do. 

Aw. How lucky was she? Another good guy offering more TLC.

Not to be outdone, Dobby climbed up on her back and settled down with a soft plop. 

     "Ahhh," she groaned. 

 

The bubble bath must have worked its magic. 

Because an hour later she was recharged enough to spar with him. Verbally. 

Here's how it started: Zoya was devising unique ways of using up her potato chip crumbs which Mr. Khan had pulverized the day before. She sprinkled them on her omelet and toast in between feeding Zaid who sat between them enthroned on his high chair.

Zoya slathered her omelet pie with chilli sauce. 

And then she moaned in pleasure. 

Asad kicked her under the table and jerked his chin at Dilshad when Zoya glared at him. Ignoring him, she took a hearty bite, shut her eyes and moaned some more. 

Asad could bear this sexy fudging of food frontiers only so much. It was criminal the way she didn't respect food protocol. 

Or stop making those sounds.

     "Why must you do that?" he asked, quite patiently.

     "Because it annoys you so much!" she quipped. 

Just to bug him more for his strict food tehzeeb she added another layer of potato chips. The omelet was now being reformulated as crunchy lasagna. 

Food fusion: 1; food tameez: 0.

And she was messing around with this--with her hands.

     Zoya extended her arm. "Try it. It's yum!" she teased. 

A piece fell on the glass table. Asad's eyes squeezed in revulsion.  

Zoya eyed the offending morsel. She smirked. And picked it up to dump it into her mouth. 

A shudder rocked through him. 

     Asad exhaled violently. "Aapka taste bahut ajeeb hai."

Uh-oh. Big mistake. 

Oh no, Mr. Khan, you should not have said that. My abs are still sore thanks to you and now you dump "ajeeb taste" on me! That old Zoya Farooqui who liked to challenge a prickly Jahanpanah six packs on auto-pilot, reared her "oh really?" head.

     "Yup, my taste MUST be very ajeeb! Look at who I chose to be the father of my son!" 

They glared at each other. 

They stabbed their food and slammed their silverware, eyes drawn and still crossed at each other.

Dilshad rose to put her dishes away and ignored the cottony tension that settled at the table. 

They did this once in a while needing the silliest of excuses to needle one another and jump down each other's throats. But they'd forget it in a milli-second and be back to being shameless cotton-flossed bunnies soon. At least this was welcome a reprieve from having to play the pyaar police--might as well savor it. And she wondered--not for the first time--did she need to have a talk with them? Zaid was growing up. She hoped to god they behaved themselves-- 

They were adults, she told herself. It was their business. 

Dilshad u-turned her mind to the currently redrawn battlelines. Formerly horny bunnies now morphed into thorny porcupines, and still scowling at each other. Their older taunts and complaints floated up in her mind: 

     "Aap ko khana nahin aata hai!" 

     "Aap ko jeena nahin aata hai!"

Or,

     "Aap ko tameez nahin hai! Clean up that mess!"

     "Dekhiya Mr. Khan, main aapki kaneez nahin hoon! Don't order me about!" 

And,

     "Aap careless hain!"

     "Aap robot hain!" 

     "Ms. Farooqui!"

     "MR. KHAN!" 

Allah, too ziddi for their own good, these two! Patting a prickly cactus would be more fun. 

Dilshad bit off a chuckle. 

Because to her, when these two fought it meant that the world was soon going to right itself; retilt back on its axis. It was just a regular tune-up and mechanical servicing that their relationship demanded--just some carburetor ka kachra. An oil change, tire rotation, some checks and refills, and VROOM, they'd be back in roaring business. 

A sunbeam tilted. 

Asad noticed a crumb clinging defiantly, valiantly, to the corner of her mouth. He raised his napkin to brush it off.

Disarmed by that infinitely indulgent and intimate gesture, Zoya grinned at him.

A beloved dimple blazed. 

Vroom!

Dilshad sighed. That was quick. Quicker than usual, in fact. 

The eye sex thingy, and poof! All was forgotten and forgiven. 

     Well almost. Much later, at night, he'd whisper hotly in her ear, "Jahanpanah ko ajeeb taste ki latt lag gayee hai."

     "Told ja," she'd sass before they went back to eating each other up, cotton candy, chilli sauce and all. Delayed make-up sex was to die for. Specially when deliciously slowed-down and topped with whipped cream and drizzled with caramel sauce. Surely he didn't mind her messing with food then. Or getting her hands dirty. 

Mmm, Mr. Khan, the hypocrite!

Food porn: 1; food tehzeeb: 0.

 

Meanwhile Zaid had scarfed down some of his own omelet and was now feeding his imaginary friends. This was a daily ritual. His belly was full; it was time for foodplay. There was a bite for Nemo. And Mowgli. And Captain America. Then Bagheera, and finally Baloo. 

Dobby, the faithful sidekick, was parked under the high chair to slurp up all this eggy debris. He happily played all the shapeshifting roles of all the imaginary friends. 

     "Dobby!" Zoya shrieked as he streaked across the floor to lap up another morsel. "Shoo, idiot boy! You'll explode!" 

The vet had just told Zoya yesterday that Dobby was getting fat. He needed to be put on a diet. And here he was scarfing down on table scraps. 

Ayaan had laughed so hard when he heard this that he fell off the dining chair and knocked his head against the table leg. He had a gumball-sized forehead bump to prove it too. 

     "Motu Dobby is a mini bhains," he guffawed hard as he held his stomach. "You better put him on a diet or he'll be a total drag in the Zaid Miyan and Dobby Miya-oon adventures. A worthless huffing puffing sidekick who'll slow our hero down. Total dash mein bumboo! Isko gym bhejo! As it is you guys don't go. At least he'll paisa wasoolo!" 

Oh god, he had nearly died from laughing so hard. And then from being whomped by Nuzzhat. 

 

Zaid gurgled and burbled as his mom shooed Dobby away. 

Asad had just managed to dodge his wife's food torture. But his son had better aim. A glob of buttery baby omelet landed on Abbu's cheek and slowly slid down his face. It disappeared into a waiting fat cat's mouth. 

Zoya laughed and Zaid whooped. Score! He flung his tiny legs in celebration. 

Dilshad whipped out her phone and took a picture of her son's stunned expression. A giggling Zoya reused his napkin to wipe his face. Bechare Jahanpanah. Itni gustakhi! 

Asad remained rigid--a bristly ice sculpture.

     "Welcome to the club, Mr. Khan. It's a good thing that Raaburt isn't here or this would have turned into a legit food fight between Chachu and his favorite bhatija!" 

Dilshad rushed to release her grandson from his high chair before his father detonated. 

But Zaid lunged to be in his Abbu's arms instead. He had apology-kissiyan to give and fresh DNA to transfer. 

And of course Abbu melted. Like a hot knife through butter. Father and son played rocket ship and then took a gud-gudi break--after a careful swipe with a napkin on Khan chins and cheeks, and after an omlettey bib had been discarded. 

Baby squeals and daddy cheers filled the room as Ammi and Dadi smiles slow-danced. 

     "Daaa bbbu!" Zaid shrieked as he thumped his palms on his dad's shoulders.

Plates and silverware clattered on the dining table.

     "Did he--did he just say his first word?" Zoya cried. It must have been! Her son had finally strung two syllables together, hadn't he? 

Hadn't he?

     "He said Abbu!" Asad whooped and swung Zaid in the air. "Say it again," he begged his son. "Say Abbu again!"

     "Mr. Khan, he said Dabbu, not Abbu!" Zoya teased.

     "But he clearly meant to say Abbu!"

He missed her little pout and crumpling lips.

She had so hoped that Zaid would say Ammi first. But he had said mamm maamamma so many times--maybe that counted? 

But that was so generic! Every baby's first syllable in the world was "ma," or some variation. 

NBD.

     "Ammi, he said Abbu right? You heard him?" Asad asked Dilshad who was filming this scene. She'd never seen her son this excited as he spun in circles with Zaid held high in his arms. Even Zaid was looking at him funny. What had happened to his Abbu? 

He held his father's face in his hands. Are you OK?

     "He did," wailed Zoya. "You're right. He said Abbu and not Ammi!"

     "Aww," Asad loped over to draw her to him and Zaid.

     Dilshad snorted, "It's obvious that it was a combination of Dobby and Abbu!"

Zoya wailed louder. Not even second. Now her son, flesh and blood of her loins, would say her name after Dobby? Stupid fat cat. He was not only going on a diet--no, a fast--but he was going into solitary confinement too.

Dilshad couldn't help laughing. The more her daughter-in-law cried the more she giggled. Allah, what was happening to her?

     "Mammmam maaammm," Zaid soothed his Ammi by patting her head. Why was Ammi crying? And why was Dadi laughing?

His head moved from Dadi to Ammi. 

Ammi to Dadi.

He couldn't make up his mind. He wanted to laugh like Dadi. But his lip stuck out. Why was Ammi crying? He leaped into her arms from Abbu's and blubbered too. He slapped her cheeks with pudgy hands. What happened? Tell meee.

     "Aww, my baby," his mom whispered, blown away by her son's teary concern. "You're so sweet."

     "Mmm meee," her son cried.

     "See?" Asad squeezed Zoya's shoulder. "I think he's saying Ammi."

     "Really?" Zoya asked in wonder. He wiped her tears and Zaid's with his handkerchief.

     "Really. I'm sure of it!"

     "Yay," Zoya cried and kissed her little scamp a hundred times. "Say Ammi, say Ammi again! Amm--mmi."

     "Aaa mmm muumuum."

Zoya sighed. Oh well. It was close enough.

 

And so it was that Zaid Miyan was able to trick both his parents into thinking that he'd called them by their names. But was he really calling them Abbu and Ammi? Who really knows.

He wiggled restlessly, wanting to be on the floor to play with Dobby. His job here up in his mom and dad's arms was done.

He had adventures to go on. Music to play on his red guitar. Fat cat whiskers to pull.

Besides, they had already forgotten him. 

Abbu was murmuring something soft and soothing in her ears. And they were back to playing that no-blinking eye-to-eye game again. Aw, c'mon AmmiAbbu! Dude, get a room already.

 

     "Again?"

     "Yes, please," she begged.

It was his nightly ritual to read to Zaid in the rocking chair just before they put him to bed. The boy would gaze up at his Abbu solemnly, eyes tracking his dad's lips. His fist would clamp around his dad's thumb. 

Abbu read to him softly. Calmly. 

It was hypnotic. Mesmerizing.

His voice rumbled in his chest and Zaid could hear it against his ear just like he could hear Abbu's heart drumming--dhak-dhak, dhak-dhak, dhak-dhak. He didn't make the crazyass sound effects like Ammi or Chachu.

Zaid would stare into his dad's eyes rewebbing and retrieving their kayanat connection. And slowly, softly, his lids would droop and whisper close. And slowly, softly, his Abbu would kiss him goodnight and place him in his crib. 

Hibernate mode complete.

 

     "Please," Zoya begged some more. "He loves it!"

     Asad sighed. "I think you love it a little more than him," he muttered.

He had just read them the story of Rani Laxmi Bai yesterday. It was from the book that would be bundled with the Jhansi ki Rani doll from their collection and Zoya could not get enough of it. It even had a dedication from the writer and illustrator: "To all the Jhansi ki Ranis of kal, aaj, aur kal."

Zaid perked up too. This story Ranjshi kRani was fun because his mom would act it out with him. As Abbu read she would make him ride on her back and swish her lightsabre and Captain America shield--single-handedly. He'd hang by her neck and gurgle and together they'd kick some British butt. Sometimes he got to swing the lightsabre too. She'd help him hold it and wave it about. The green light would glow and buzz. 

BZZZ.

And he would be one with the force. He would be Zaid Skywalker. 

Asad would shake his head at this daily drama. All this excitement--the baby would take extra long to sleep because he would be too wired. 

All thanks to his hyper Ammi. 

But truth be told, he never tired of this scene. Aapi and Jeeju had already told him how she acted out her favorite stories as a kid complete with dialogues and expressions. This was just a re-enactment of those glory days that Aapi never got the chance to record. Asad on the other hand did remember to record these scenes. Aapi had cried a little bit on seeing that old Zoya with a new live prop--apna Zaid Miyan riding piggy back and slaying bad guys. Oh my god, why hadn't she recorded a young Zoya fifteen years ago!

 

So Zaid was already a Jedi in training. But did you know he was also a mini white-belt Taekwondo trainee? His Khala made him do the kicks and strikes each time she massaged him. Khala moved his legs and arms and taught him blocking techniques as she stretched him out. 

     "Ki-Hap!" she'd yell and his eyes would get dinner-plate sized.

     "Kaa kaa maaamm umm baaa," he'd imitate her. Hey, did anyone notice that Zaid was dividing his syllables into words these days? Whoa, he was speaking entire, whole sentences! Why didn't anyone notice?

He was already close to graduating to the next form--he'd soon be earning his gold stripes. His Nikhat Phuphi had even sent him an appropriate uniform for these daily exercises.

But whenever Khala did his maalish and Chachu was around she could barely get a "Ki-Hap" in; on weekends Chachu would take over and make their other favorite sound effects.

     "Dhishoom!"

     And Zaid's little mukka would fly. "Ka-Pow!" "Phshoow!" "BLAM!"

He would giggle so much that his stomach hurt. He would dribble so much that his chin would glisten.

     Ayaan loved that Zaid was such a happy tyke. "He's laughing Mukka," he'd tell Humaira and Zoya and whoever would listen. "Must've got it from me!" he'd boast not noticing the sisters grinning behind his back, shaking their heads and mouthing, "no!"

     But the other day Humaira had to remind Ayaan: "stop with these silly sound effects! As it is Aapi is freaking out that he's not speaking properly and it's probably your fault for teaching him these nonsense words and confusing him."

     "Please. He'll speak when he's ready," Ayaan dismissed an aunt's guilty worries. Dadi said the same thing and he'd rather trust Dadi's instincts over Mona Darling's or his wife's. 

     He'd tease Zoya too: "I thought you claimed to be a warrior not a worrier! Kahan gayee warrior sahiba?"

     "Hey, once a warrior always a warrior! But still ... what if he's late--"

     "Don't worry, he's Chachu ka champ!"

     "That's exactly why Aapi's worried," Humaira teased him and winked at Zoya.

     "Humaira begum, your General Jeeju has spoiled you way too much!"

     "That's what Jeejus are made for! Those are the cosmic rules, Ayaan. RTFM!"

     "What did you say to me? What did you just--" He chased her down with Zaid Miyan riding on his shoulders. Zaid's tummy hurt again from laughing so much as he bounced up and down.

The grandparents smiled at that combination giggling and cooing. What a sound that was. Bells in a temple or the breeze of a Sufi Dervish's dhikr.

     "Ayaaan!"

Ayaan halted at the panic in that voice.

     "Haye mera bachcha!" Raziya fussed and charged at him. "Put him down! All this running around--you'll bump into something ... What if Zaid gets hurt? Main bolungi toh bologe ki bolti hai ..."

She rushed to grab Zaid away from his careless Chachu. And she checked him for bumps and bruises worriedly massaging his back. Zaid patted her cheeks and babbled. She wiped his chin with her dupatta unable to resist kissing him.

Everyone snickered.

Ayaan sighed. He could never catch a break. His mother-in-law still treated him like the bratty prodigal son. All the hyped up damad-respect and bhav went to Bhaijaan. 

Here he was just ghar ki murgi. Plain old dal and roti. But Bhaijaan was all Shahi Toast and Murg Mussalam.

Ayaan grinned shamelessly at Raziya. It was awesome! Two or three years ago he wouldn't have imagined this possible. But today? Today it was as it should be.

     "Zaid's a tiger," he reminded his mother-in-law. "He's my babbar sher! ARRGGH," he roared.

     Zaid clapped his hands. "AAARRR," he agreed.

     "Aur issi baat pe ek sher ..." Ayaan continued.

Groans and sighs rose around him. Shireen would have been offended but she was too busy these days preparing for the US trip--making lists, shopping, bugging anyone who would listen to enquire about airline baggage weight limits.

     "Arz kiya hai--"

Hurriedly Raziya dumped Zaid in his Chachu's arms--it stopped all the shayari. Thank you, Allah miyan!

Chacha bhatija zoomed off--ghodon pe savaar. Their plan had worked as they knew it would. 

Dobby tucked himself tighter under Siddiqui Saheb's chair. There was so much napping to catch up on. His stomach rumbled. He eyed the biscuit in Dadi's hand and watched her dunk it in her tea. 

He sighed.

No worries. A quick trip to the kitchen just as everyone rose to leave would keep him going till they got home. Wajid always saved a treat for him as he pretended to shoo the cat. 

 

Asad couldn't believe he was having this conversation again. Though he should have known that it would come back to haunt him.

     "Everyone's going," Zoya informed him very reluctantly. A part of her wanted to go too. So bad. But--

This time Asad knew it would be harder to say no. But this time there was also Zaid to think of.

     "Please, Mr. Khan. New York isn't some third world country!"

And there it was. That same argument.

     "But the plane ride ..."

     "The whole family will be there!"

     "Not me! I can't afford to go what with all the issues at work!"

Zoya sighed. She knew he'd say that. She slipped her arms up his chest from behind saying nothing. Zoya leaned her head against his back.

Asad lifted her palm off his heart and kissed it in defeat. All these days he knew this day would come. And he still hated it. The tickets were being finalized.

She dithered, wanting to go ... to stay.

     "You go," he murmured. "As much as I wish I could, I can't."

Zoya knew that too. She wouldn't even ask him to consider it. Things really hadn't settled down at work. Everyone still walked on eggshells. New worries still poked the fires of the old. Uncertainty lurked and mushroomed. Would the project fold? What would the fallout be? Would there be lawsuits and stay orders?

There were queasy rumblings and uneasy rustlings. And they seemed to get louder with each passing day. A dharna last week. Protests by local farmers against illegal land acquisitions yesterday. Legal notices were dogging them. But they'd got all the permits and clearances, then why--

     "It's like being in a sniper's cross-hairs," Zoya had muttered one night. Asad just nodded. It drove her crazy. Not being able to do anything about it drove her crazier.

It all made very little sense. But it made very big dents. Had it been in the US, they'd've been talking layoffs, downsizing ... But Asad wouldn't even--

She couldn't keep up with the research on the shady happenings. And she couldn't leave him in the middle of a fight. Because these guys were fighting dirty. New groups and fronts kept changing guard every day. Of course all these efforts were co-ordinated! It had to be. But they still had no answers for that one question: why? Or the second one: who? It felt like a conspiracy--but that stuff happened in films and bad shows. 

 

Zoya had tried unorthodox means to bust the conspiracy--and hidden them from Asad. For now. It was on a need to know basis only. He didn't need to know. Because, of course he would kill her. When she had concrete results she'd tell him. He had enough on his plate.

In the process of hiring and recruiting for the factory she'd made friends with some of the transwomen in the Kinnar community. Ever since she'd seen them perform and negotiate at the house the day after they brought Zaid home from the hospital, her curiosity about the community had deepened. They'd even offered employment opportunities and quotas at the factory.

Zoya loved their attitude--they were bold and sassy. No one dared mess with them. They always spoke up loud and clear--silence was not an option. They even joked that making dolls was the perfect symbol--without overt private parts every doll was a Kinnar, wasn't it? They'd hooted and slapped their thighs at this. The other women had covered their faces, giggled, and gone, "haaw!" And every doll was meant to show empowered girls and women--that was part of a brash Kinnar manifesto too, wasn't it? 

It was a win-win.

Some of them were even teaching the other women how to walk and strut so that if they were mistaken for being a Hijra on the street, no one would bother them.

Zoya was really pleased with the modest advances they'd made at the factory. It was so cool that she was getting to put into practice every idea of empowerment and progress she'd ever imagined. They were still not completely breaking even but hey, so what if the experiment failed? They'd still have some great victories to show for it.

After initial threats by some local gangs they'd begun self-defense and yoga classes for the women in the mornings. And surprisingly that had been Asad's idea. He'd said something about women needing physical confidence and knowing the power of their bodies. Women worked with their hands, walked miles for their families, went through the pain of childbirth--if only they knew that these same things--hands, elbows, knees, heels, fingers--could be effective weapons. She'd been so proud of her Jahanpanah that day. And of course Humaira was put in charge of teaching the workers how to S-I-N-G-H.

And the idea of dipping into a strengthening information network had come from the Kinnars. In order to protect themselves they already crowdsourced Whatsapp alerts to let their people know about safe and unsafe zones or where to assemble for protests. Like the app Safecity.in* they too mapped areas in the city to show violence targets and triggers against members of their community.

Zoya and Humaira had asked the workers to keep their ears and eyes open and report on any chatter they heard about the recent hijackings of construction materials at some sites or dharnas and protests at others. The Hijra community had diversified their income sources--they didn't just appear at doorsteps to celebrate weddings and births, but they also gatecrashed groundbreaking ceremonies at construction sites.

Thanks to some of their workers, information was starting to trickle in: they found out that the protesters at the recent dharnas at one of Asad's company sites had been trucked in from neighboring villages at least a 100 miles away. They'd been handed banners and signs, and promised a daily wage and a meal. But they didn't know any names of the organizers.

Rakesh's team had filmed all the protests--the same faces kept showing up in many screen grabs. This was a flourishing business it seemed--protesters for hire, a rent-a-crowd scheme to create a staged ruckus. They were still trying to work their way into finding out about who hired them. It was slow going though. Apparently there were many such outfits and each was pretty cagey about any details leaking out. These companies had hired goons and security personnel--not something they wanted to mess with at this point. Besides, if Asad found out he'd--  

 

She sighed.

     "Then I'm not going either," Zoya announced. "I'd feel too bad leaving you behind to face this--this stupid mess that we can't seem to pin down. I feel so useless!"

     Asad tugged her by her arm to turn and face him. "Babe, not on my account. In fact I need you to go."

Zoya's eyes rounded; her forehead scrunched up as she got ready to protest and argue with him. He held her face in his hands.

     "Right now at least they aren't targeting the family and the house. I'm worried ... At least this way I'll have one less worry."

     "But--"

     "No buts. It kills me to say it, but just go. I'll breathe easier knowing you all are far away from this madness, and safe."

Zoya touched his face. He was right. It was killing him. To be away from Zaid for the first time. He didn't say it but they both knew that if Zaid didn't begin to crawl in the next few weeks then Asad would probably miss that because it would happen in New York.

     Asad kissed the corner of her mouth. "Though how I'll breathe with you gone, I don't know."

     "Asad, don't--!"

     "I mean it." That tightness he'd felt in his chest all those days nearly two years ago returned. Recalled belts of fire lashed his rib cage again. She was going to leave for New York even then. He had stared into a dark moonless night. A million stars had looked on and heckled him.

     "Mat jao, Zoya," he'd recorded--inadvertently, unintentionally that night.

But had it really been the stars' doing?

He gathered her to him now. Tight. Tighter than any bands of starry bleakness that could have scorched or strangled him that night. 

He gave thanks.

Stars. What did they know? What did they know about love reaching up to pluck them from a smug sky and flinging them to the ground? Fallen beams that created craters on the bedrock--punchdrunk stars cracking open scars on the surface of the earth.

Asad's fingers and thumb traced the galaxy of scars down her arm. His remembering fingertips re-scanned them onto his heart. She was the shooting star, he the astrobleme--the star wound on the earth. (Her science nerdtalk was obviously rubbing off on him. She'd just told him about this word some weeks ago. "Such a cool word, no?" she'd gushed.) 

     "Don't worry, I won't say 'mat jao, Zoya' this time around," he murmured into her hair.

A soft gasp escaped her lips; her eyes stung.

     "I want you to go. I never want to hold you back. The last time I had to say it because I couldn't live without you. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't let you walk away and never see you again. I would burst if I didn't say it… The pain was too great. But now? Two weeks? Three? It's nothing. I'll live. I'll survive." 

     "Asad, you're killing me, you know that right?" she cried. "How can you say something so tragic and so romantic at the same time? And why are we acting as if this is the end of our love story? You're scaring me ..."

     Asad chuckled. "But that's what I'm trying to tell you--there're no fears any more. No more pain. And no ending of our love story. Ever. We may be miles apart, sleep in lonely beds continents away--"

Oh god, this man was so going to kill her. She had to shut him up before she became a soggy, sobby mess because her Akdu had suddenly become a romantic oracle.

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan! If you mention miles and oceans and lonely beds one more time, I swear to god I am going on a sex fast!" 

Yup. She knew that would do it. Akdu needed his screws tightened. A good screw was all he needed.

His soft laugh was balm. He kissed her hand. Asad wanted to say it; but he didn't. I'll miss you.

     "I'll miss you so much," Zoya whispered.

Tell me about it. Asad squeezed his eyes shut. Damn.

     "Oceans? I never said anything about oceans," Asad kidded once he'd regained his breath after the initial threat of a forced virginity ka vrat. He didn't want them to be sad.

     "Talk of continents means oceans!" Zoya snapped.

     "In which Atlas? Who decided this?" he teased.

     "Shut up Mr. Khan, shut up right now!" 

 

     "Thank god!" Najma giggled. She made faces at Zaid in his mother's lap. They were FaceTiming and her nephew wanted to hold the phone. How she wished she could reach out and touch him!

Zaid grinned her her, his eyes crinkling and twinkling. He recognized his Najma Phuphi now. And Omar Phupha! And he even faceTimed with his other Phuphi and Phupha. But Faiz Phupha was the coolest! He always bumped fists with him. Why didn't these people and Nana and Nani hold him? Did they all have to live in Ammi's phone? Was it like being in a crib? AmmiAbbu put them in the phone?

He patted the screen. Come out and play!

     "Aww, hi mera baby!" Najma moaned in longing.

     She continued talking to Zoya even as she made kissy faces at her nephew. "No really, I'm so lucky that no one's bugging me about babies. Omar's mom says it's our decision"she's in no rush to be a Dadi. Go out, have fun, she says. Isn't that so cool?"

     "It sure is," Zoya answered. "But why were you even worried about in the first place? Of course it's your decision. Who else would decide?"

     "Please, Zoya! You grew up here so you don't know how typical mother-in-laws will hint or openly demand a grandchild." She shuddered. She knew. She'd seen friends and cousins being blackmailed daily. If the good news didn't come in the first year then it was the, "doctor ko dikhana padega," threat.

     "What?" Zoya couldn't believe it. But then she didn't need to. Her mother-in-law wasn't like that either. Not that she and Mr. Khan had given Ammi reason to complain! But was Humaira feeling the pressure? She hadn't said anything but ...

     "But Tamatar, things are changing. May be in smaller towns and villages that might be the case. But girls are more independent now--"

     "Zoya, you know nothing, yaar!" Najma went on. "Indian women will happily tell you when it's time for baby number one and even baby number two!"

How embarrassing.

     "But not younger women, surely!"

     "Everyone! Younger ones will say 'it's time for me to be khala or phuphi.' I have a friend here and she was telling me that her little cousin used to ask her this all the time and then she got married herself."

     "And then all the women in the family started bugging her!"

     "Exactly! And there were some fertility issues so it got really bad for her, poor thing. She called up my friend nearly in tears. She said, 'didi, I'm so sorry for being the annoying cousin who pestered you to be pregnant. I had no right'."

     "Aww. That's so sweet of her to realize it. We're lucky aren't we? That's so embarrassing. I can't believe people will talk about something so private so openly."

     "Oh god, at shaadis and functions, they are waiting to pounce on you--when will you give us good news, they'll say?" Najma's eyes narrowed. "Do you remember that horrible witch, Haseena bi? Thank god, Nikhat was saved from her! Can you imagine the kind of mother-in-law her type must be?"

The sister-in-laws shuddered. Khuda na kare! God, they hoped for the sake of all Indian girls that _that_ woman's sons would never get married.

     "You know, there's a special place in hell for those women who trouble other women," Zoya snapped. Even thinking of Haseena bi made her mad.

     "Amen! I swear, the Haseena bis of the world deserve that special place and the Tanveers of the world to be their bahus," Najma joked.

     "Truth! So many lives would be saved!" Zoya laughed and each of them raised their eyes and free hands in prayer. Man, they were so lucky!    

Zaid fussed. Najma Phuphi wasn't playing with him any more. He wanted to be set free. Zoya laid him on the bed where he flipped over and sat up the next instant. Zoya gave him his red guitar and moved out of his way to watch from the settee. He banged on it. Dobby hid under the bed.

     "He loves his guitar, doesn't he?" Najma had to raise her voice to be heard. Zoya had flipped the camera display so Najma could see what her favorite nephew was doing.

     "Oh, yes."

     "What happened, Zoya? Why are you so quiet? Is everything OK? Did you have a fight with Bhaijaan?"

     "No. But he's been acting moody ever since--"

     "Ever since you decided to come here for a visit with the family?"

     "Hmm."

     "Najma sighed. "You know Omar was the same when he had to leave. But I'm sure Bhai understands that you haven't been here for over two years--you deserve a comeback!"

     "He gets it, it's just that--" Zoya made a face.

     "I don't have to be happy about it," Asad had said the other day.

     "It's just that he'll miss you both and be totally miserable. Awww!"

     Zoya smiled. "He hasn't said it, but I know he's worried that he'll miss Zaid crawling. Or speaking." She told Tamatar about Zaid's recent attempts at saying Abbu and Ammi.

     Najma tsked. She wished she could do something to help her two favorite people out. "He's refusing to come, right? Typical Bhaijaan!"

     Zoya nodded. "Yeah, typical Akdu."

     "I wish he'd come too. I'm so happy that everyone's coming! It'll be so awesome to have Ammi here. If only Bhaijaan would come too!"

Zoya sniffed. She wished the same.

     "C'mon Zoya! May be you can do some magic or pull some trick--how long has it been since you've pranked Bhaijaan?"

Zoya's eyes shone. Her spine stiffened. Why hadn't she thought of it! That trip to Britain to watch a cricket match had been a washout thanks to that bitch Tanveer and her daily soap wala horror show ... May be she could really take her Jahanpanah on an overseas trip after all? But she didn't want to trick or scare him into coming--that would not be cool.

     "Zoya!" Najma's shriek startled her.

     "Wha---?"

     "Look! He just crawled!"

Zoya's head snapped to watch Zaid. Crawled? But he was just sitting and playing ...

     "No seriously, he moved an inch or two," Najma was desperate to prove that she hadn't imagined it. So awesome, she actually saw him move! She was the first.

And then Zaid scooted another couple of inches and Zoya shrieked too this time. She fumbled with her phone forgetting what to tap to set it to recording.

     Dilshad came barreling into the room in alarm. "Kya hua? Sab theek hai? Zaid?"

     "Ammmiii! He moved!" 

     "He crawled? Sach mein?" Dilshad asked in delight looking at her grandson and wanting to scoop him up in her arms. But then how would she see him crawl?

     "Well, it wasn't a crawl exactly, just his butt and legs ..."

And then Zaid did the crab-like scooting again. Look mom, no hands. Just his legs powering his butt forward.

He looked at Dadi and Ammi when they squealed. Then Dadi was scolding Ammi when Ammi grabbed Dadi's phone.

     "Beta, stop worrying about recording this. Just watch and savor it. Do you think we had phone cameras to record the kid's crawl or take their first step? Put it away, just slow down, breathe and watch!"

Watch what? Zaid wanted to know. He looked at them and waved his arms. Hello? Tell meee.

     "Do it again," his mom said as she knelt by the bed and clasped her hands. Najma Phuphi begged too.

He played a song for them on his guitar. He frowned when his Ammi didn't clap.

     Zoya opened her arms to him. "Come, come to mama."

Zaid looked at her and raised his arms. Pick me, he telegraphed.

     "No, you come to me," Ammi said.

     Zaid pouted. She always picked him up when he asked. Why wasn't she doing it now? He looked at Dadi and raised his arms. She held out hers and said the same thing, "Aaja mera bachcha, come!"

     "Aaa bbbaaa naaa dooo mmaaa!" Zaid flapped his arms in annoyance. His face got scrunchy and his--

     "Come on munna, come to Ammi," Zoya cooed at him.

     "Come on baby, you can do it," Najma Phuphi crooned.

Zaid smiled. He put his palms down and dragged himself forward. He hadn't figured out that he could use his knees as yet. But he didn't even have time to realize what he'd done. Because both his Ammi and Dadi went crazy right then. He could hear Phuphi yippeeing from her phone home. There were so many "Oh my gods!" and "Allahs!" around him as he was swept up in the air. He clapped because obviously something big had happened. He just wished that someone would tell him what was going on.

No matter. He would ask Abbu. He was the only guy who explained things to him quietly and patiently. Abbu always looked deep into his eyes and that was when Zaid stilled and really paid attention. 

Abbu would tell him everything. And everything would be all right.

Because Aal iz well, like Ammi sang.

     "Aaa lllaaa azzz waaa," he said. But no one understood him. Hmmpphh. 

La mya, wutz rong wi dem!

 

 

 

Song in title:

Once Upon a Time in Mumbai (2010): "Pee Loon"

 

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	125. Tu Kahe To Khwabon Ka Bana Ke Main Bahana Mila Karoon Sirhane Pe

  
  
She had been mad at him.

It was one of those typical Miyan-Biwi nok-jhonk that went a bit south thanks to those daily work-versus-home clashes. Add the stress of a not-so-anticipated long trip and the trauma of an oncoming lambi judaii--it was a spark waiting to flare into a forest fire.   
And this after they'd promised each other that they wouldn't be those typical spouses who fought about stupid, incredibly foolish things.

     "You've been coming home late every day this week and the last--"

OK, may be she had sounded a bit naggy. But could he blame her? All these nights Zoya had seen him come in exhausted and grouchy. Why couldn't he see what he was doing to himself? And her. 

     "You know I can't help it." 

     "But we'll be leaving soon and I ..." 

     "Zoya, stop holding that over my head. You think I don't know that?" 

     "If things are so bad then may be we shouldn't go." 

     "Obviously I don't mean that! You should go. Everyone's going. Najma and Nikhat are looking forward to this. So's Ammi and everyone else."

     "But I don't want to leave you like this! You're under so much pressure and not taking care of yourself."

     "Get used to it, Zoya! This isn't the first time, and it won't be the last that I'll be under pressure," he'd growled and slammed the dresser drawer more violently than he'd intended. 

And that's when Asad had known that he'd pushed too far. Her lips had thinned and she'd turned away from him. 

     "Zoya?"

She said nothing. It wasn't that they were shouting at each other. Zaid was fast asleep so they'd kept their voices down. But they may as well have been shouting.    
Zoya slipped out of the room to heat up his dinner.   
She said nothing the next day either.

At work the next day Asad got swept up in new Catch-22s. A materials stoppage, an absconding vendor, and more whats-its and what-nots forecasted a ball-busting day ahead.

He'd left home fully intending to order flowers for Zoya but that slid right out of his mind as phones started buzzing. He skipped lunch and by mid-afternoon a dull headache loomed. 

Zoya worried when she didn't hear from him all day. Was he still upset with her? Because she wasn't talking to him she was getting office updates from Humaira who was getting them from Ayaan. 

She felt terrible when she heard about the missed lunch. Zoya knew he'd have a headache by now. 

     "Please eat something," she texted him. "I love you," she added after a second. Zoya's thumbs hovered over the screen. "I'm sorry for last night. I miss you."

When Asad hadn't responded even two hours later, a dark bud bloomed in her. She see-sawed between guilt and anger. Why was he doing this? Didn't he know how both she and Ammi would fret if he carried on like this? Didn't he know that both of them would hate leaving him like this?   
Of course he knew! Then why--  
Why wouldn't he let her help him? Why wouldn't he back down from the project? He wasn't superman. Why play the hero? There was no shame in backing away to regroup for another day.  
Zoya sighed. This really was putting a damper on the trip. She wished to god that this trip would never happen.   
She'd sent over juice, cut fruit, and sandwiches with the driver. An hour later she'd found out from Prasad that yes, sir had eaten.   
But she never heard back from Asad for the rest of the day. Or evening.  

  

It was past 10 o'clock and Asad still wasn't home.

When he crashed through the door almost an hour later she rose from the dining table to greet him. She shut her laptop and felt a pang for all her angry thoughts. He looked gaunt--the cheekbones even more defined, lips compressed in a grim line. That pulse in his forehead vaulting--

Asad stared at her from across the room and she stilled. 

She wasn't sure if he even saw her. It was only when he advanced toward her, shedding the computer bag and tie along the way, that she knew. Zoya went to the fridge to pour him a glass of chilled water to delay him. Snatching the glass from her hand he emptied the contents in one gulp. Before she could react he had her pinned against the fridge.

     "Asad?" 

His eyes intent on hers he slowly undid her shirt buttons. Zoya's eyes widened in panic. The kitchen lights were on. Ammi had gone up almost half hour ago but what if she came down? Her hands closed over his.  
He shook them off and moved on to the snap of her jeans. 

     "Asad, please! Not here, not like this!"

But he'd already yanked her jeans down to her ankles and was kneeling in front of her. Zoya swallowed a moan as she felt his fingers push her panties to the side and his hot tongue slid in. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth even as her other hand gripped his hair.  
She wiggled, his mouth trapping her. 

     "Asad, oh god!" she whispered as she felt the orgasm hover and mount. That soon? How-- 

Her hands gripped the top of the fridge door behind her. 

He rubbed and stroked her crazy and in no time her hips bucked wildly. Asad's hands steadied her and pressed her harder against the cool steel even as he teased her wetter still from another angle.   
Zoya bit down on her lip to keep from keening and waking up the whole household. Or neighborhood.   
Oh god, she'd never felt such a rocky climax implode and pulse through her before. 

     "Asad," she breathed. "Asad ... Asad ..."

She didn't know whether it was the fact that he was ravaging her in the brightly-lit kitchen and that they were a step away from being caught, or that her silence was making her nerves scream ... or even that this was the roughness of make-up sex that her body was begging for.  
She'd hardly recovered from the dizziness of the second spell when Asad had her bent over the counter. He'd already pushed her panties down and unsheathed himself. When he entered her she gasped. But even before he entered her he parried at her with shallow brushes and thrusts that threatened to make her go wild all over again. 

     "Please," she whispered. 

     "Please what?" he asked through gritted teeth. His tip side-swiped her again and her hands slapped on the cool counter.

     "Please, take me! Hurry!" Her butt writhed against him. "Don't torment me, Asad please ..." 

A harsh breath whooshed out of him. His hands cupped and kneaded her breasts as he moved inside her. But this didn't give him enough leverage. He gripped her hip, his knuckles white against her skin. She'd be bruised there tomorrow for sure.   
His flesh slapped against hers.   
Oh god. What if Ammi heard them? Fear and desire collided within her. Pleasure won out. It ribboned and exploded from her clamping him in its wake. Asad's hips bucked too as shuddered and grunted softly. He too was trying to be as soundless as possible. But that wasn't possible. 

     "Zoya!" he couldn't stop himself as he threw his head back and jerked against her.  
   
     Later in bed Asad pulled her to him. "I'm sorry for being such a bear. Forgive me?" 

     "Umm hmm," she kissed his neck and shoulder. After that scorching kitchen counter encounter she didn't even remember what it was they'd been mad about. Zoya giggled at her own punning skills.

     "What?" Asad asked. He was nibbling on each fingertip of hers. Still too wired to sleep.

     Shaking his mouth off she slid her hands under his kurta. "May be it's not such a bad thing that you come home late." 

Asad chuckled.

     "But only once in a while, not everyday!" Zoya began her own revenge-nibbling.  
 

     "Humaira, does anyone, like ... bug you about having a baby?" Zoya asked her sister tentatively the other day. 

Humaira laughed and Zoya's worries fled. That was a good sound, thank you, Allah miyan!

     "Who has the time, Aapi! Ayaan's Ammi and Abbu are chill and I'm surprised Dadi hasn't brought it up either." 

     "And Aunty and Abbu?" 

     "Please," Humaira rolled her eyes talking about her mother. "Ammi can't get past making lists of what to do for Zaid. It's all about Zaid this, and Zaidu that."

Zoya giggled. They all knew that Raziya called Zaid Zaidu when she was alone with the baby. And oh boy, the rate at which tiny clothes were being knitted, bought and sown for her son, the Khan siblings better start having babies soon or they'd have to rent out a storage unit for all the mini jumpers and booties and topis and chhadis soon. For a munchkin who couldn't even walk as yet, Zaid probably had more shoes than his mom.

     "And when Ammi does take a breath," Humaira continued, "the next thing out of her mouth is, what'll Zoya say? What will Zoya do? Will she like this? How about that?'" 

Zoya sniggered. Truth! Aunty did seem to have a one-track mind these days. OK, one and a half. And when in the Siddiqui house, Raziya and Zaid were as inseparable as Zaid and his Chachu. In fact there was an invisible tug of war between mother- and son-in-law over who'd spend more time with Zaid and who the kid loved more. When Zoya came to her dad's house, she pretty much remained clueless about where Zaid was or what he was up to. Once she was done feeding him she hardly saw him. If he wasn't somewhere gallavanting about with his Chachu, he was probably being fussed over by his Chhoti Nani. 

     "And Abbu? He's just too happy and content to ask for anything else."

     "Hey, does that make you jealous?" New worries assailed Zoya. It must feel weird to go from being an only child to suddenly be the second child. Zoya loved the attention but what if Humaira resented it? She had heard enough about sibling rivalry-- 

     "What? That everyone worships and fights over Zaid? Nah! It takes the pressure off me. Zaid ka lakh lakh shukar hai!" Humaira bumped shoulders with her sister. "And I love having the world's best Aapi, so relax!"

     "But you guys aren't thinking about having kids right now?" 

     Humaira sighed. And then she giggled. "Honestly, I don't think anyone's in a hurry to see Ayaan as a dad. Dadi says he's got a lot of growing up to do himself!"

     "Abhi Zaid pe practice karne do," Rashid had said once when he'd seen his younger son bump into a servant carrying a tray of food and watched its contents go flying.

But truth be told, both Rashid and Siddiqui Saheb wanted their oldest kids to have everything that they'd missed out as children because of their dads' dark cowardice. No one was in a hurry to supplant Asad and Zoya's rightful haq to being the center of attention this time around.   
And then what was the rush, really?   
In Zaid they had found full redemption. Every day with him was god's grace, every smile heaven's mercy.  

     "Aww, bechara Raaburt," Zoya sighed. 

     "Come on, Aapi, he's no bechara and you know it. Wait!" she cried. "I just remembered." 

Humaira pulled out her phone. She'd updated her device but saved that old photo of Ayaan's where he was bent over and struggling to be a murga to beg for her forgiveness. It was a momento from the night he'd come to woo her back and it was a trophy of her own resurgent spirit when she'd learned to love and be herself. 

     "Now, does this look like a bechara to you?"

     "Haaaw!" 

The girls hooted and high-fived.

     "Hey girls, enough with your khee-khee, kha-kha nonsense," Ayaan popped up from behind and they laughed harder.

     "It's not khee-khee, kha-kha nonsense, Raaburt. It's haha-heehee therapy. And it's good for a woman's soul." 

     "What were you laughing at?" He frowned at them. He had a sneaking suspicion they were making fun of him. Why did Humaira suddenly hide her phone and dismiss a screen?   
They were sitting on the swing outside. He pushed it hard and they squealed.

     "Tell me!"

     "See?" Humaira said to her sister.

     Zoya grinned. "Yeah, he totally needs a lot more practice and growing up. He sounds exactly like Zaidu right now!"

     "Speaking of ..." Humaira snorted as she saw her mother walk towards them with Zaid in her arms.

     "Oh god," Zoya groaned softly. "Here comes ghee-badam ki stinky dukan." 

     "Kya hua?" Raziya frowned at her daughter and son-in-law who were laughing madly. 

     "Ammi, woh actually ..."

     "Hmmphh," she dismissed the feeble attmepts at the familiar non-explanation. "Yeh lo, he's hungry," she handed Zaid over to his mom and tucked Zoya's hair absently behind an ear after dropping a kiss on her forehead.   
Raziya turned to walk away. 

     "Hell--lo?" Humaira complained. "I'm also here." 

     "What?" Raziya looked at her in confusion as she remembered to swipe Zaid's chin with a duppatta.

     "What about my kiss?"

     "Hain? Kya keh rahi ho?"

     "Oh forget it, Ammi! You only care about Aapi and Zaid! The rest of us are ghar ki murgis and gaajar-mooli for you." 

Ayaan nodded his head in vigorous agreement. Yeah, and don't forget Bhai! Everyone saw how Mumani treated her older daamad like some shehenshah royalty.   

     "Aunty, I think Humaira also needs ghee-badam ki maalish on her head. She's obviously losing her mind! Or she's hungry ... like Zaid." 

     "Aapi!"

 

Humaira had resisted going on the big, grand, once-in-a-lifetime Khan trip to the US.

     "No, you all go. I'll stay back and look after Jeeju." And Ayaan. But even Ayaan knew that when it came to his Bhaijaan, his wife and mother-in-law had their priorities straight.

     "Shut up, you're coming." 

     "But Aapi--" 

     Zoya had held up a firm hand. "Don't even think about it!" If Humaira wasn't going then she wasn't going either. As simple as that. 

     Humaira's smile had slipped and Zoya hugged her. She knew exactly how the girl felt. A part of her hated going too. "You've shared all your toys and books and school stuff from when you were a kid, with me." She'd spent hours in Humaira's room poring over her kid sister's childhood pictures and treasures.  "I want to do the same. I want you to check out my stuff, hang out with my friends, go to my favorite places. I'll show you the school I went to, where I played soccer ... C'mon Humairiya, when else will we ever get the chance to just be sisters without our husbands? In freakin' New York!!!" 

Humaira had laughed. Exactly. When?

     "Please," Zoya said. "If I have to go without my husband then you have to go with me in sympathy!" 

     "As punishment?" 

     "No silly, as solidarity. It's sisterhood! Hey, may be you can wear jeans there! We'll be the sisterhood of the travelling pants!" 

Humaira's eyes rounded like her nephew's. Jeans and her? She bet Ayaan would love the idea though! Should she? She knew that both Najma and Nikhat wore western clothes in the US. She'd seen pictures on Facebook. Even Nikhat Baaji?

  
   
The bags were packed for tonight's flight. Dobby had circled and sniffed and circled them a thousand times by now. He'd even sat on them to test their napability. But he got off in a huff.   
Something was up.   
And he was dead sure that whatever it was he was not going to like it. In blind wild fury he arched and rubbed himself against the bags--if they weren't going to tell him what was up he was going to leave his scent all over these namakool things.

     "Dobby!" Zoya scolded half-heartedly. "You'll go bald. Stop it!" 

He ignored her. He was mad at her.  
And for once, he sensed that Asad was on his side.   
   
     She kept waiting for Asad for say, "mat jao, Zoya." But as he'd promised, he never did. That morning she put her foot down. Grabbing his collar she whinnied in protest. "Asad, just once, say it and I won't go. I just can't." 

     He rested his forehead against hers. "Stop making this worse than it has to be. The sooner you go the sooner you'll be back." For him the countdown had already begun. 

Zoya twisted away from him in tears and stared out of the window, scowling at the morning sun.   
Asad wrapped his arms around her. Head bowed she burst into tears.

     "Shh, it'll be OK. We'll survive this. See, I even took the day off to be with both of you."

     "That was only because you knew I'd kill you if you didn't," Zoya cried. "How could you even think of not taking the day off?"

Because that was the only way to keep my mind from turning into mush, Asad thought. His heart sank to his feet each morning when he woke up these days. They'd be leaving in twelve days. Eleven.   
Ten ...   
On and on it counted down on a futile treadmill. He'd kept silent through the excited lists and shopping, planning and gift-stocking. He hated himself for feeling cranky. But he hated their excitement more.   
Only one thing had kept him from flying off the rails.   
Thank god, he'd gotten to see Zaid crawl or he'd have done some serious damage.   
And thank god he'd been the first one to see it--that had been the biggest coup. The best prize of all.   
Just last week he'd walked in the front door and seen Zaid playing on the living room rug. Ammi was in the kitchen and Zoya leaning against the couch glued to her iPad. She hadn't even seen or heard him enter.  
But Zaid had. And as Asad held out his arms Zaid crawled right up to him as if he was doing this everyday.

     "Zaid, mera cheetah!" he'd yelled. "You're crawling!"

     Zoya had come alive then. "What? Wait, I didn't see. Not fair!" 

     Dilshad came running and squealing from the kitchen. "Kya hua?"

Asad had already swept his son up in his arms by then. Abbu and son were spinning in circles. 

     "Ammi, he crawled right up to me!" Once again Asad couldn't contain his excitement. 

     "Mr. Khan, put him down! I want to see," Zoya hung on to Asad's sleeve. 

Asad reluctantly put the baby down on the rug. He didn't want Zoya to be upset about missing this milestone like the last one.    
They backed up as Zoya stood by his side and together they called out to Zaid. 

     "Come baby, come to Abbu," Zoya cooed softly. 

And he did. Straight as an arrow. No more clumsy attempts or bellyflops this time. By now he'd mastered the rhythm of holding his tiny body up and using his palms and knees to power him forward. By now he'd gathered speed and precision with practice.  
But did he know that he was part of his Ammi's and Dadi's plot to trick his Abbu? No idea.   
But he'd seen his mom squeal when she heard Abbu's car door slam outside. She'd picked up her iPad and pretended to be buried in it--weird, just a second ago she was playing patty cake with him. And Dadi too had rushed to the kitchen as though something was burning on the stove.  
So sneaky they were. But then Abbu had walked in and Zaid wanted to show him how fast he could move. Like a cheetah.  
Abbu went crazy. He hollered and yeehawed like a cowboy.  
Just like the last time when Zaid had said Dabbu. Once again Dadi had put kala teeka behind his ear, and Ammi had kissed him on both his cheeks. Would they do this every time he moved or said something?   
Then Dobby climbed up on Abbu's shoulder ... and Zaid touched his own eye and put a kala teeka on his furry buddy.

  
   
Zoya sighed as she monitored her son on one of his in-flight patrols. She'd lost count of how many times she'd done this. Had Asad been here he'd have either killed her for letting his son crawl in the plane aisle or keeled over from a heart attack himself.   
But what was she to do?   
Traveling with a hyper-active baby was to already invite the glares of fellow passengers trapped in a metal capsule hurtling through the skies at hundreds of miles a minute.  
And Zaid wasn't one to sit quietly during a 14-hour flight. He needed his hourly romps. Now that he was crawling he needed his regular exploration trips. There were all kinds of surfaces to touch, vistas to survey, this thing to poke, and that thing to clutch. And his mom kept grabbing him under his arms to carry him away or point him in the opposite direction--and that too after all his hard work.   
Indedly Folish.   
Sure, he had taken naps, been read and sung to, bounced on grandma laps, tickled and played with, but that took just eight hours. He had even seen all the videos of his Abbu singing to him, reading stories to him ... carrying him on his shoulders. Chachu had also starred in some of the videos.   
But this made Zaid crankier.   
Abbu and Chachu wouldn't reach out and hold him. He couldn't feel Chhoti Nani's kisses or grab Nanu's glasses.

INDEDLY FOLISH.

So here Zoya was, spritzing hand sanitizer on his defiant hands every two seconds, being growled at by her infant son, and still following him about in the business-class cabin. Because if she didn't he was this close to throwing a Jahanpanah-sized tantrum.   
Damn, damn, damn. This was so unfair.   
She missed Asad so much.   
Thank god she had the girls and the parents with her or she'd go stark raving mad. 

Listless, Zoya watched Zaid scoot and trundle ahead and make cooing sounds at the young girl in one of the seats--of course. Being a heartbreaker. Just like his daddy. Hard wired in his DNA, obviously.   
Aaannhh, Asad! Why couldn't you be here?   
Because TCB. Taking care of business.   
Zoya pouted. Her eyes glazed remembering their steamy night action in the kitchen. A blush stained her cheeks. She'd never see the kitchen the same way again ...

     "Abbaaa baa buu," Zaid gurgled. Zoya re-focused and bent to pick him up. 

Poor little guy. He was missing his Abbu too. In his mom's arms he let his displeasure known as he fussed and lunged to be let down. Zaid was tired and fussy but resisted sleeping or being held.   
Rashid motioned to Zoya from his seat.

     "Humein de do. I'll watch him." 

Thank god! She dumped her son into her father-in-law's arms. After slathering his hands with sanitizer again. Oh yes, between themselves, Jahanpanah and his chhota shehanshah would keep the industry afloat for years to come.  
Zoya slumped back into her seat next to a dozing Humaira. From behind her she heard her Father-in-law softly tell Zaid stories about his Abbu as a little boy. She smiled as she eavesdropped shamelessly. But she turned fire-engine red the next second.

     " ... because Abbu had a new tooth. Just like Zaid. And he pushed it with his naughty tongue--this way and that way. Just like?"

     "Zaaf!"

Zoya laughed softly at the name her son had christened himself with. But she missed that naughty tongue that went this way and that way. Oh god, Asad I miss you so bad!

     "And Abbu's Abbu told him: don't do that. Your tooth will get mad and run away. But did he listen?" Zaid shook his head. "And then one day, what happened? The tooth ran away!" 

When Zoya turned back to check on them she saw Zaid clutching his Dadu's finger and staring up into his face with saucer eyes.   
He blinked once.  
Aww.  
3 - 2 - 1  
He was out like a light.   
With a sigh Zoya sat back too to catch a quick nap. Who knew when chota Jahanpanah would wake up and her 8th shift would start?

Rashid looked down at Zaid and smoothed the itty-bitty forehead. He used to tell Asad the same story--it went on to narrate a grand adventure of father and son on a quest to find the missing tooth that an evil sorcerer had stolen. On the way they encountered jinns and monsters, good samaritans and frenemies.   
Rashid wished his grandson had fought against sleep a little longer--he wanted to continue reliving memories of Asad as a baby. It was the only small comfort to wash away the swell of regret that still managed to choke him every now and then.

  
   
The nights were the worst.   
But then he knew that, didn't he?   
No, that's not true. He didn't know how much worse they'd be.  
Asad had given in to Ayaan and Raziya's nagging to move to the Siddiqui house till everyone came back.   
So he and Dobby had.

     Zoya had begged him too. "I don't want you wandering around in an empty house, not eating, or coming ridiculously late from work. At least do it for Dobby. He'll go insane!"

     But it was Siddiqui Saheb's quiet words that had sealed the deal. He'd placed a hand on Asad's shoulder. "Please, humein bahut sukoon milega. They are both really asking for themselves too." He waved toward Raziya and Ayaan. "Having you with us will make us miss all of them a little less."

     When Asad nodded, Ayaan had whooped. And then he broke into a sher and everyone grimaced. But it was a remarkably sensitive sher. Something about them all being wretched together ... salting and pickling each other's misery with tears. Something more about ... jaanewale didn't forget their bags and suitcases, "par phir bhi unka saamaan reh gaya." 

Asad had groaned.   
... saamaan reh gaya ... What had Zoya said when he'd gone for those two days to Hyderabad? 

>         "That dimple of yours has gone into hiding, right?" he'd asked.
> 
>         "My dimple went to Hyderabad with you. It must be hiding somewhere in your bag." 

Asad turned on his side on the abandoned bed. Yet again. The shameless pillow next to his was too fluffed up and poufy; undented and pristine, it taunted him.   
Asad punched it. It now had a fist-sized dent in it.   
Good.   
No, you were wrong Siddiqui Saheb.   
Nothing makes me miss them a little less.   
He wished he was home.   
At least at home he could've groaned and groused out loud.   
He could've punched at his bag ...   
He did groan out loud when he remembered the last time they'd used the punching bag. Zoya had wanted to suddenly learn boxing ... 

          "Eyes up here, baby."

          ...

          "Asad! I wasn't done!"

          "Oh yes, you're done! I am too. Time for a break."

     And what a break it had been. 

          "Oh god, Zoya! You drive me crazy, you know that, right?"

          "You're welcome!" 

Dobby mewled. He shuffled restlessly in his own bed and broke Asad's reverie of misery.  
Asad looked at Dobby, first in irritation, then in sympathy. Poor thing--Dobby had his own issues.  
The cat wound around his legs more than usual now. That first night he'd sniffed Zoya's side of the bed and peeped a billion times in the crib looking for his favorite people. He'd looked in all the rooms too.  
But suddenly they were gone. Dadi too!  
Only two questions remained for Dobby. These questions were like ballsy mice running around in his head and jeering him: 

     1) Where had everybody gone?   
     2) Why had they left him behind?

     There was no baby chatter or a tiny hand yanking his tail these days. No table scraps. Nor did he hear shrieks of "Dobby, shoo! No food for you, you fat boy!"

That night Dobby had lunged at his Abbu and dug his claws in. 

     "Ow! Dobby, stop it! What's gotten into you?"

Never, ever leave me! Promise, he'd looked deep into Asad's eyes. Bring them back! Right now. Why don't you do something? They could be hurt! Remember that last time I had to save everyone's butt? What if they never come back?   
MEORRRW?!  
OK, so he had a lot more questions than two.  
The cat raised his head and looked back at Asad in between licking his paws. Each sighed and looked away.  
Asad re-punched his pillow and checked his watch for the thousandth time. They would still be on the flight. It was another five hours before they landed at JFK. Thank god, they'd been able to talk at the stopover in Frankfurt.   
He turned over with another grunt. 

     "Missing us, Mr. Khan?"

A half-smile peeked. The chime and tinkle of her voice speared his heart; it lifted him up; it ripped him apart. 

     Asad could imagine how she'd say it too. "Missing us, Mr. Khan?" How her face would light up, how that saucy dimple would deepen and how that pouty mouth would ...

     " ... so much ... " he whispered into the night.

He wished he could take those words back as soon as they were out. Because those words of his would wipe her smile away. Guilt and regret would shadow her face. 

     "I'll be fine," he muttered into the dark.

Dobby stirred. Who was Abbu talking to? He hopped up on the bed and sniffed his face. Asad stroked his fur absently. Taking that as an invitation the lonely and confused cat plopped down on Asad's chest and curled himself into a tight ball.   
Her smile would return slowly. Surely watching Dobby would get her to smile again. 

     "Aww, is Dobby Miya-oon taking good care of you? I gave him special instructions to do so." 

Asad strained his neck to look down at the cat. 

     "Hmm ... kind of. He's missing you both ... Like me." Like crazy.

     "Shh, close your eyes."

He did. His eyes burned.

     "What do you see?"

I see you.  
I see you ... like I saw you that first time at the dargah.  
Asad felt just as hollowed out as he'd felt that first day when he'd opened his eyes and she hadn't been there.   
He dared not open his eyes now. She wouldn't be there.

     Shit. May be he should have said, "mat jao, Zoya," like she'd asked. Then she wouldn't have gone. She'd have stayed back for him.

     "What do you see, Mr. Khan?"

I see you when I said goodbye at the airport twenty-two hours ago.   
Asad squeezed his eyes tighter to blot out the memory of a crying Zaid and his nearly teary mom. Zaid had sensed the coming separation and had stretched his arms toward his Abbu. Like Dobby he couldn't understand what was happening and why. He too had questions that rattled around in his head. Zaid hollered in confusion. Fat tears rolled down those plump cheeks.  
Zoya had almost caved in then.   
And Asad had smiled and reassured them: it'll be OK. You'll be fine. I'll be fine. Just a few days. We'll chat and facetime every day. Who's a good boy who'll take care of his Ammi? The best and bravest in the whole wide world? You'll have so much fun you won't even think of me. Iloveyou.   
He had the unwanted job of pacifying two distraught souls before bidding them goodbye. Actually three. But who was counting.   
Bidding goodbye ... how do you say bye to a part of you? Your hand. The crook of an elbow. Your chest where a head rested every night. Your shoulder that a tiny arm held tight. Your neck that siren lips brushed ... A thumb that a perfect little hand curved around in complete trust ...

     "What do you see," Zoya's voice whispered in his ear again ... it hovered in the air. Her breath fanned--

No, it couldn't be. Could it? He must be losing his mind.

     "What else do you see?" 

I see us. You. Me.  
I see us in that ridiculous supply room in that Thai restaurant when I first told you I love you ... Because I couldn't bear to wait another second and not tell you. When I really held you in my arms even though you'd fallen into them a million times before.   
I love you, Zoya ...  
Haunted and restless, Asad shoved Dobby off his chest and rose to get himself a glass of water from the kitchen.   
This was getting ridiculous.   
He walked through the darkened hall trying hard not to bump into something or send some other thing crashing. 

     "Asad ..."

He closed his eyes and came to a standstill. He couldn't fight it.

     "Anything else you see, hmm?"

I see us in this pool ... the thin mist that rose to wrap us in a heated veil ... I'd made love to you here. You were still pregnant. In that white bikini ... and then the red one ...

          "Say it!" I'd begged when I was inside you. 

          "I love you, I love you," you'd breathed and thrashed.

          He couldn't help himself from plunging into that memory ... deep and deeper he went ...   
He let it  wash over him ...  
That night her breathy litany in his ear had punctuated each grateful thrust as he'd hitched her hips closer, impaling her deeper. 

          "Keep saying it," he'd shaken her when Zoya's strangled words faded. 

          "I can't, oh god, Asad I ca--!"  

Asad swore under his breath. The dark hall ... the moonlight had spotlit them that night. It spotlit emptiness now. Then, he had swallowed her soft cries to hush her. Now, he swallowed the ashy lump in his throat.  
Zoya!  
His fingers dug into his palm pressing her initial deeper into his flesh.   
But Asad grinned the next instant. A merry memory came bubbling up to slice through that pall of longing.   
That night she'd forgotten her bra by the side and had made him run to retrieve it. She'd shaken him awake at 4 the next morning.   
Yep, that's what she'd turned him into: a besotted retriever who ran at command to fetch a bikini top.   
A lovesick, horny retriever ... who had no wags left to give.   
A half hour later Asad dropped into an exhausted nap.   
Well, at least missing his family had made him forget about the cluster of escalating crises at work. The physical ache had temporarily devoured that daily unease.   
 

     "Asad, I can't tell you how much I've ached for you!"

Finally they'd been able to facetime in private. Zaid had fallen asleep in her arms. Zoya rubbed her cheek against his head as she looked at Asad. She rose to place the sleeping boy on the bed before returning to chat with his father. Their seeking fingers pressed the screen from across oceans and continents. It was futile.   
Fingertips flattened against cold panes.  
Ached? Asad chuckled. If they were competing, he'd win hands down. Because she didn't know how his ache had stirred up hallucinations so vivid that he'd felt her breath on his ear, her hand on his heart. 

     "How're you?" Zoya asked.

     Asad smiled a half-smile. "Not good." 

     "You too?"

     "Umm hmm." 

Their gazes clung. 

     "How was it for Zaid?"

     She sighed. "He was mad as heck that he couldn't find you. And believe me, he looked everywhere."

     Asad laughed. "Dobby too." The cat climbed up next to him to peer at Zoya. Dobby meowed softly. Did he know that Zaid was asleep and didn't want to wake him up?

Asad grabbed him before Dobby settled down on the keyboard. 

     "Tell me about work." Zoya bustled about picking up Zaid's clothes. "Any good news for a change?"

     "Sit. Let me look at you fully," Asad said softly.

Zoya did. Their hungry gazes re-collided and searched the other's for tired lines and hollows.

     "I loved the message you recorded for me," she murmured. 

It had been a complete surprise. And such a pleasure.   
She's seen it only at the airport at Frankfurt. And then in the craziness of a two-hour stopover, changing Zaid who kept trying to escape, and getting something to eat, she'd forgotten to talk to him about it.   
Zoya'd gasped out loud when she saw it.   
Deja vu had never been so sweet.  
It was the same time of night.   
Against the same window in their room (it had been his room the last time), in the same kurta, this time too Asad had struggled between yearning and self-control.   
He must've recorded it after returning home from the airport.   
Two years ago his voice hadn't been as certain.   
His voice was still husky this time but it expressed so much more than he would have in person. Before they left for the airport and in fact even at the airport, she knew that Asad was putting on an all-smiles-don't-worry-about-me front. She'd let him get away with it because not doing so would've meant a public scene and a sorry sobfest.

     "I know you wanted me to say it. I wanted to say mat jao, Zoya a thousand times over, but I couldn't. You needed to go and I needed to make my peace with that. But each day without you will be dark, each cold night the boulder on my chest won't let me breathe. Come back home soon. And never leave me again." His voice became gruff. 

     It made her eyes sting. "Never," Zoya would promise each time she watched the video. She had watched the first video more than a hundred times too. 

     "I'm never traveling without you again," she said to him now. Zoya rested her face on her folded arms. "If you don't go, I don't go." 

     "Good." 

     "What did you eat?" 

     "Don't remember." 

     "Asad, you better be eating well! Or I'll have to talk with Aunty."

     "I'm eating. I just don't know or care what it is."

She hmphed in impatience.

     "Zoya ..." 

Even now love felt fragile. It could be gone in a day, an instant even. Why was it still handcuffed by borders, visas, air travel, time zones: by mornings-here and evenings-there? By IST and EST?   
How lucky they were and how unlucky.   
To have and to hold, and ... to not have and to hold. To see each other, face-to-face, to be so close to almost touch ... but to touch the terror of loss and taste the spasms of separation instead.  
Asad gazed at her through the screen and bit off an oath.   
They were trapped in twin screens that were wirelessly handcuffed to each other. ... twin heartstrings beat one beat.

     A sudden Mangalpur memory pricked her. "Mujhe laga ki main abhi bhi apse se bandhi hui hoon." 

     Asad saw the gathering sheen of moisture in her eyes. "Zoya, no babe--" But it was like lying to himself.

     She smiled a watery and trembly smile. "Remember Mangalpur?" 

     Asad sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Vividly. Every minute and every second. But why would you want to remind me of that?"

     Zoya giggled. "No, I meant Mangalpur Part 2!"

Asad smiled too this time.   
Mangalpur Part 2--when Zaid had been with them too. And the whole family. When they'd been able to get back at the damn panchayat and play Batman and Wonder Woman. Where he'd given her a brand new charm for her bracelet: a pair of miniature handcuffs.   
And when Zaid had kicked for the first time.   
The paradox of distances and the paroxysm of nearness melted for the briefest of moments. They grinned at each other.   
Zoya shook her bracelet to show him.

     "You're wearing it again?" Asad asked in wonder. 

     "I decided to bring it with me--I wanted to show it to Aapi and Jeeju and my friends. It was fun to tell Zaid stories about some of the charms on the flight. He likes the sound of it tinkling."

Her bracelet was getting even more crowded. Aapi had gifted her a charm of a pair of baby shoes engraved with Zaid's name in the back.

     "I miss you," she blurted out. Her hand rushed to cover her mouth--she didn't want to say it out loud and remind him of it again. She started to cry quietly. 

     "Shh, Zoya," Asad soothed.

     "I'm sorry," she wiped her cheeks. "I didn't mean to just say it out like that and upset you. Of course I miss you ... I miss you like ... like a ..." 

     "Like a heartbeat that feels off, a car that won't start? Like someone ripped my heart out and put it in a shredder?"

     She gasped and then nodded. "Put it in a blender and set it on high. Oh god, Asad I don't know how I'm going to survive the next few days."

     "We will, babe. We will. We have to." 

She turned the computer sideways so he could see a sleeping Zaid. He was fast asleep, lips slightly parted and arms thrown over his head. The tiny chest rose and fell. Asad reached his hand out to try and cup his son's face, rest his palm on that tiny chest and recite Allah's name 99 times. He remembered the heartbeat they'd heard and recorded in the doctor's office so many months ago.   
He'd listen to it after they finished Facetiming.

     "He was so mad that he couldn't find you," Zoya whispered. "All through the flight ... he seemed anxious. He used a lot of his Zaidwords to ask us where you were. Why weren't you with us? Oh god Asad, it was so sad and cute at the same time. Only your Abbu could calm him down when he got really miserable."

     "Really?"

     "Umm hmm. Abbu would tell him stories about you as a baby. I learned so many things about you that I never knew before!"

     "No!" Asad looked embarrassed.

     "Yes! I finally came to know how my Akdu came to be my Jahanpanah! That he went on dangerous quests and adventures for missing baby teeth. That this was all the training he needed when he rescued a certain damsel in distress." 

     Asad grinned. "A damsel that was more distress than 'in' distress!" 

     "Mr. Khan!"

     "Oh god Zoya, I've hungered to hear that! No one scolds or sasses me like that."

     "Good, no one better do that either! It's my registered trademark and nobody better steal it!"

They sighed as they ran out of things to talk about. 

     "I talked to Abb--" 

     "Aunty and Sidd--"

They spoke at the same time. They laughed. 

     "What were you saying?" Zoya smiled. 

     "Before dinner we watched videos of Zaid and Aunty started crying. She's really missing Zaid," Asad told her.

     "Aww! So sweet. He's wondering where Chhoti Nani's too. And his favorite Chachu!"

     "So he got a lot of gifts, I bet."

     "Don't ask! And even after I'd told Aapi to not over do it. How am I going to bring all this stuff back?" 

     "Simple. Leave some of the things you took from here behind."

     "Please, Mr. Khan. There you go being all practical and all! I was planning to get some of my stuff from here." 

     "Like what?"

     "Some school stuff I wanted to show you. Albums. I wish I could bring my trophies too--I don't have as many as you. But still! Favorite books ... toys ... you know, random stuff." 

     "We'll have everything shipped over," Asad decided.

     "Not everything! Don't be ridiculous!"

     "Everything. Especially that princess costume you wore when you were 7."

     "Very funny! You're talking as though you know everything about me."

     "I do," he said huskily. 

Zoya's breath caught. She rose to turn the lights off. Only a bedside lamp threw a soft glow in the room.

     "Let me see them," she whispered. "Take off your kurta."

Asad's smile froze too. His breath quickened. In one fluid motion he threw it off and Zoya's hungry gaze drank him in. She had left countless love bites on him to punish him for all his Akduness and as payback for the kitchen ambush. She started counting them now in the same order that she'd marked him in. That night she'd started at his neck and feathered down to his collar bones. She'd even left some on the inside of his upper arms. Then she'd detoured to each bump of his six packs ... and made her way to the inside of his thighs ...

     "Does it hurt?" she asked when she'd done a careful re-count.

     "Only that you're not here." 

     "Asad ..." 

     "I love you ... I miss you, and it hurts like hell!"

 

 

Song in Title:  
Bachna Ae Haseenon (2009): "Khuda Jaane"


	126. Jaane Tu Kahaan Hai, Udati Hawa Pe Tere, Pairon Ke Nishaan Dekhe

  

     "You tricked me," Asad complained the next time they FaceTimed.

     "What? Why would you say that!" Zoya did a quick mental database search. OK, what was it that Jahanpanah had stumbled upon? Which trick exactly was he talking about? He didn't look too angry so it mustn't be that bad, right? 

     "I wasn't the first one to see Zaid crawl. You made me believe that I was." 

Ahhh ...

     "Umm, woh actually ..."

     Asad chuckled. "Stop it," he drawled as he rubbed his tired face. 

     "Asad, you didn't sleep well again?" 

     He shrugged and waved her concern away. "It's nothing. But tell me what was the logic behind that elaborate skit? Why did you and Ammi pretend that I was the first one to--?" He smacked his head. Of course, he'd answered his own question, hadn't he? 

     Zoya smiled when she saw him connect the dots. "Well ... yes, actually Najma was the first one to see him scoot. And then Ammi and I watched him do it too." She paused. "Asad you were so stressed out and down about us leaving. I wanted it to be a special moment for you ... another Zaid milestone that was for your eyes only. I didn't want you to hear about him crawling from us. I wanted you to see it--firsthand. So yeah, I got Ammi to agree ..."

Asad shook his head. Why was he really surprised? At one time, way back when, he used to worry that a certain Ms. Farooqui would be a corrupting influence on his sister. 

And look at them now. Looks like she'd worked her magic on Ammi too by now. Now his own mother and sister collaborated with her to trick him into happy discoveries as she orchestrated and choreographed serendipity.

     "Wait!" Zoya's head reared. "How in the world did you even figure it out? Did Ammi say something?" She smacked her thigh. "It must've been Tamatar! Blabbermouth!" 

     "No, it wasn't either of them. It was you. You, Ms. Farooqui, are the genius blabbermouth!" 

Zoya tilted her head to the side in confusion--that frown and pout intensified. 

He laughed. She looked so much like Dobby when she did that--just like Dobby trying his best to decipher human inscrutability.   

Asad held up Zaid's Baby Book for her to see. A second later it dawned on her. She really was an idiot. She'd recorded the exact date and time of Zaid's first attempt at crawling in there. Asad had seen Zaid crawl four days later. Duh, do the math, Zoya.

     "Are you mad at me?" she asked after she'd given herself a mental kick: dude, you're such a dumbass.

     "No, not really. What matters is what I felt at that moment when I watched him crawl toward me. It's one of my favorite Zaid moments." 

     Zoya clapped, immensely proud of her trickeries. "Yay," she squealed. She didn't want to tell him of her initial fears that he'd miss the big moment if Zaid had started crawling here in the US.

     "That's exactly why we did it!" She went on. "And that's why, Mr. Khan, we have the full video of the event--thanks to Ammi who started recording as soon as you walked in the door."

Asad sighed. He really was Tubelight Ahmed Khan as his wife often liked to call him. He should have made the connection when he'd seen the video and shown it off to Abbu and Ayaan later. Why else would Ammi have her camera ready? 

Needs things spelled out for him, Ammi had always said about him.

Oh well. 

In the larger scheme of things it really didn't matter did it? What mattered was that Zaid was awake now after a full night's rest. He was in his usual happy-yappy mood, cooing away, touching and clutching at the screen and banging at the keypad--all at once. 

And what mattered the most was that he was ecstatic to see his Abbu. 

Zoya sat back, chin in her hand, as she watched dad and son have their own boys' time. They'd already jammed on their guitars, sung songs and shadow-boxed. 

Zaid was now letting loose a flurry of Zaidwords to report to his Abbu on every detail of the last 30-40 hours. He waved his favorite soft toy of the day: a red and yellow and blue airplane. Anwar Nanu had greeted him with it at the airport. 

Charmed, Asad watched Zaid talk animatedly of the plane ride, of finally meeting Najma Phuphi who gave him a thousand kissies, of instantly recognizing Zee Nani ... and coming to Noo Yawk--did Abbu know that it was a land of no skies? That strangers called him "hey, buddy"? That Anwar Nanu had held Ammi and Zaaf in his arms and sobbed like a baby? 

The questions were endless too. Did Abbu know how his ears hurt when the plane was landing ... and by the way, where's Dobby? And why must he wear so many layers of clothing when they went outside ... And why was Ammi always bugging him and not letting him crawl wherever he wanted ... Where is Chhoti Nani? Wasn't it time for his ghee-badam maalish? How would he be the world's smartest boy otherwise? Why didn't Chachu tell more Zaid Miyan and Dobby Miya-oon stories? 

Zoya laughed. She knew Asad was dying to reach out and wipe his son's chin. "Why does he drool so much," she remembered him asking. "It's because he's trying to speak up a storm," she'd reassured him. 

And boy, was their son talking up a storm! Hurricane Zaid had blown into town and made the cutest landfall. 

She didn't dare wipe Zaid's chin because that would break the flow of his conversation and concentration. Asad didn't dare blink or he'd miss the climax of the most interesting story he'd ever heard in his life. 

Surely this was one of his most favorite Zaid moments now? 

Asad recalled some lines from a poem that Zoya had scribbled in the Baby Book:

> "The angel forces open my hands
> 
> And in the palms
> 
> Leaves her footprints." 
> 
> \--Michael Harper

Forces open my heart ... it should have said, Asad thought. This angel leaves tiny footprints all over my heart. 

He had been reading and poring over the Baby Book cover to cover these days; he breathed it in when he woke and traced its heartbeat before he fell asleep ... He touched the hair clippings from when Zaid was 7 days old and rubbed the stamps of his tiny hands and feet when he was just 5 days old.

Asad watched a chattering Zaid intently; he made encouraging daddysounds and asked his son a billion questions: How did you like Najma Phuphi, did you show her your boxing and Taekwondo? He smiled when he got detailed answers with gestures and claps and lots more drooling. 

There were some Zaidwords that sounded a lot like dhishoom and bam and pow--Ayaan Chachu would be proud of his champ. 

This time Zoya stepped in to wipe his chin and Zaid let her. She offered him his sippy cup of water which he drained gratefully. He was thirsty!

      She picked him up to place in her lap. "Abbu has to go to work now, say bye."

      "Baaah," Zaid called out with lots of air kisses. He snuggled into his mom's arms and got ready for his night feeding. 

     "Say, I love you," Zoya encouraged. 

     "Laaa yuuu!" He was getting sleepy and fading fast.

     "I love you too," Asad whispered. "Good night, sleep tight, tiger." He touched the screen. Zoya pressed Zaid's fingers against his dad's.

     "Naaaiii ... " 

     "Asad, promise me you'll eat well," Zoya said after tucking in Zaid tighter to her. "You know how you get acidity and a headache if you skip a meal!"

     "... OK ..."

     "Mr. Khan, that was not convincing at all! Promise me, or I'll tell Ammi. You don't want her to worry, do you?" A girl had to resort to blackmail once in a while. 

     Asad exhaled. "Promise. Is Zaid OK? No upset stomach or cold or a cough or anything?"

     "He's fine!" Zoya patted her son's back softly. He was this close to dropping off to sleep. "With all the daily kala teekas and duas would upset tummies and colds even dare to come close?" 

     "Why's he so tired, then?"

     "Must be jet lag. Babies get it too. Asad seriously, don't worry. He was fine all day. Besides, the whole Ammi army is here to protect him." 

     He smiled. "True. And his Chhoti Nani is protecting him remotely, by long-distance telepathy." 

Zaid had FaceTimed with everyone else at Siddiqui house too: Nanu, Chhoti Nani, Ayaan Chachu and Dobby. 

     "Aunty's planning a Quran Khwani as soon as you all come home." 

They spoke softly now as Zaid fell asleep. She eased Zaid down between two pillows on her bed. They had moved her bed closer to the wall so that the little tyke wouldn't roll over. 

     "Promise me also that you won't be the lone wolf or try to play a hero?" Zoya reminded him of their conversation when she'd left home.

Asad nodded absently as he watched her cover up Zaid. He didn't want to think about work. Or talk about it. 

After their last fight he'd sat her down and talked about the recent developments at work--some of it she already knew but he'd gotten a more detailed report from Rakesh this time. 

A much clearer picture was emerging. 

For months now the storm clouds had been gathering. The national housing bubble was stretched tight, and the pendulum was all set to swing the other way. In many major cities, this meant that builders were getting antsy about the downturn and super-vigilant about protecting their turf--and bottom lines. Recent government policies were already tightening funding loopholes in the construction industry. Everyone knew there was an inventory glut ... and everyone whispered about black money being held to tighter, microscopic scrutiny. 

The pressure was mounting; so was the finger-pointing. 

Farmers weren't happy about shady land acquisitions, workers weren't happy about the slow-down, homebuyers weren't happy about the delays, and the general public wasn't too happy about the cozy relationship between high-powered developers and politically-juiced government officials. 

Every day the media cheerfully bleated about scams and scandals.

And here is where their company came in, Asad explained.

The local syndicate in Bhopal was feeling the squeeze and crunch too. And they were lashing out against mavericks--like him. From best he could tell, the builders' association was getting jumpy about the recent real estate slump and was warning outliers and rebels to fall in line. They had laid down the law: don't rock the boat, no price cuts for new homes to move stock, and under no circumstances any innovations of green infrastructure that could change the landscape of their domain. 

The freeze was rippling out--relentless like a tsunami.

Suppliers, truckers, sub-contractors and most materials' vendors had already been bullied into submission: stay the course or face blacklisting.

Any independent builder or smaller real estate outfit (such as theirs) bucking the diktat was going to be punished. Asad's company was one of a handful of firms not feeding from the black money trough. He had maintained strict standards about not over-extending into new projects before completing older ones. This meant that their growth had been slower than others at times of mega economic boom but also steady enough when the bust cycle came around. And thanks to this conservative policy they had a comfortable cushion and didn't need to participate in the consortium's manipulation of the market. 

And this made the powers that be frantic. 

The recent crises of sabotage and dharnas and blockades and mini-accidents were just gentle reminders of the don't-mess-with-us-or-else variety. It was standard intimidation procedure: play by our rules or you don't play at all--because we own this city. 

And it was a warning that would be best heeded. For now, at least. 

Dark rumors were swirling about the recent deaths of a journalist and a couple of whistleblowers and activists who were supposedly working on an expose of the industry. Despite curbs on it, black money was still flowing and greasing palms, still blocking transparency ... still erecting an invincible wall of corporate self-defense and immunity. This was the state of the Vyapam scam after all. The death toll from that racket was still fresh in people's minds. 

     "So they're like a mafia? Is it the same sand mafia that--?" Zoya had gasped in alarm even though some this had kinda confirmed her suspicions.

     "We don't know for sure. But it's serious enough ..."

      "They're like a cartel, right? Oh my god, Asad! That's so much worse than I'd imagined."  

As an American, the word cartel brought to mind dangerous drug gangs that controlled multi-billion dollar empires with law enforcement agencies on their payroll. These guys didn't bat an eyelid ordering swathes of assassinations in brutal spectacles of raw power ... 

By now she'd also read and heard about the growing muscle of the sand mafia in India. And c'mon, Bollywood had made enough movies on the rampant corruption and violence in the construction industry--building moguls who were the mighty sugar daddies to powerful politicians ... who flaunted open ties to the underworld ... who swatted police and investigative journalists away like flies. 

Oh my god, Allah miyan! If this was the world Asad was dealing with, she'd rather have him back away completely. The sand mafia was already being linked to brazen assassinations and slayings in other cities too. 

     "Zoya, I'm telling you all this because we had a pact about being honest with each other. I could very well have hidden this from you." Asad grew more serious. "I know you're up to something behind my back. That you're somehow plugged into this with Rakesh. Just stop, OK? It's too dangerous."

     "That's exactly what I've been trying to tell you too!"

     "Fine, I'll back off but only if you do too. Deal?"

No! How could she give up on their grassroots investigation? Fine, they weren't getting the quickest results but at least they had momentum going ... they had solidarity with the workers from the factories. They were united against the bad guys and making tiny inroads ... 

Zoya had tried using all her wiles, all her tricks and tools from her arsenal to dissuade him. But Asad hadn't budged. So, in the end, she'd said yes, OK, and fine. And she hadn't even crossed her fingers behind her back even though she was dying to do so. 

Because this was dead serious and too damn important. 

But she felt angry on Asad's behalf. 

His company was doing good work--they were partnering with local farmers in negotiating an agricultural buffer. He had future plans for affordable housing co-ops and was hoping to inaugurate urban infill and retrofit projects ... Besides if they gave up, then what about the current project and buyers who'd be stuck? Common people, middle-class families who'd scraped and scrounged money to buy a piece of earth to call their own? What of their lost savings and hopes? 

Zoya knew that Asad hadn't forgotten his earlier days of struggle and deprivation ... Ammi's hard work ... the vow to himself to pull them out of hardship and make a safe home ... It wasn't fair that good will could so easily be halted. That hope could be so easily snuffed by cynical politics. Just because a few crorepatis felt threatened by time's shifting sands--? It made her so mad. Why was it so hard to do good in this world and so easy to do bad? Why was the system rigged to be broken?

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with this world!" she'd cried in frustration.

Asad had looked at her, head tilted, and she'd sighed. A promise is a promise is a promise, right? And if it removed Asad from the path of risk this was all worth it. Wasn't it? They could be superheroes another day.

But she felt selfish thinking this way ... She knew Asad did too. In order to do good, you needed money, and in order keep money flowing why did you have to give in to cartels and mafias? That was just wrong. So wrong. It shouldn't have to be this way. 

     "Asad ... it feels so wrong. I mean ... I know that I want you to be safe above all else. But ..."

     "I know, babe. But at this point being safe also means feeling guilty." He felt like a coward and hypocrite though ... 

And she knew it. 

     "Then at least add a Part II to our deal ..."

     "What do you mean?" 

     "Promise me that when I return and when things stabilize a bit, we'll revisit this issue. That we won't close the chapter on this. That somehow you'll find a way a go on with the good work you started last year?" 

     He smiled. "Even if it puts us in the path of danger?"

     Her smile wavered. "Oh god, no!" 

     Asad had pulled her into his lap and hugged her tight. "Let's wait and see then. I know, I hate it as much as you do." 

She'd smiled weakly. It was the only option. 

For now.

 

Back at home in New York Zoya'd taken Zaid to visit her own pediatrician. After much oohing and aahing over how time had passed (how she had come here nearly twenty years ago and now look: A baby of her own!) she asked Dr. Rodriguez what she really wanted to ask: nut allergies. 

The doctor carefully explained genetics, immunity, and variables. It could be inherited but it didn't have to be. Zoya grew more and more hopeful as she concentrated on snippets of info: 

     "No conclusive proof."

     "You didn't have to stay away from nuts during the pregnancy."

     "Careful exposure under supervision is OK." 

     "So we can try to test him?" But then Zoya turned pale. Visions of needles and blood tests nearly had her hyperventilating. My poor baby! No needles, please! It would hurt so bad. She always had to look away when Zaid got his shots. His little face scrunched up and it took a full 2-3 seconds before he let out a mighty bellow. But those shots were absolutely necessary. Was this? 

     Dr. Rodriguez laughed. "Still hate needles?" she teased. "Same old Zoya!" The girl had come into her office with broken bones and skinned knees, a swallowed dime and a bead up her nose, but the sight of a syringe still made her weak at the knees. Every flu season she'd ask: "Do I have to get a flu shot? What if I don't get one this year? Aapi, nothing will happen to me!"

No, Aapi would say. Hold out your arm and look away, Aapi always said. But at least she always got Cold Stone ice cream every blasted flu-shot day. 

     "Don't worry. No needles, I promise," Dr. Rodriguez said. "We could do a patch test or just monitor him in a controlled environment, right peanut?" The doctor tickled Zaid under his chin. He ducked his head into his mom's shoulder, shy all of a sudden.

This time Zoya laughed. 

Dr. Rodriguez called her little patients, peanut. She'd called Zoya a peanut till she was 4. Then at 5, Zoya had put her foot down and declared that she wasn't a peanut or a nut of any kind. That she was Zoya Farooqui who crushed peanuts. The doctor had laughed as she examined her ear. "That's my girl," she'd said and they had high-fived. 

When Zoya was 15, Dr. Rodriguez told her that she loved watching her patients rebel against being called peanut. For her it was a personality test: how soon did a kid develop their fighting spirit and find their voice?

Zoya looked down at her son. Ironic, right? Allah miyan, I hope my little peanut isn't allergic to peanuts! She wondered what Asad would have to say about trying to get Zaid tested.

 

     "Should we?" she asked him when they chatted later that night. Zaid had already talked with him and let him know what he'd done all day. He'd gone swimming with Nanu and then for a ride on the carousel at the mall. A big Winnie the Pooh balloon swayed in the corner of the room. Tomorrow they would go see Stachoo of Wibety. Had Abbu seen it?

Worry lined Asad's face as he considered her question. In a flash, he relived the convulsions and swelling that had choked his airway when he went into anaphylactic shock the last time. What if Zaid--? 

Zoya too remembered Asad flailing and passing out ... The attack was swift and visceral. In just seconds he was gasping for breath and--

She nearly burst into tears. 

He could have died! No way in hell did she want Zaid to feel even a nanosecond of that pain and breathlessness. What if his attack from the induced allergen was more severe?

     "No, no it's OK. We don't need to do this!" she choked out. Zoya hugged herself wishing Asad was there to hold her, to pull her into his lap and kiss her better. "I couldn't bear to see him like that, Asad! He's so tiny--" 

     "No, wait," Asad interrupted. "Let's think more about it. Don't rule it out it completely." He took a deep breath. "We found out about my allergies the hard way because we didn't know I had them. I remember Ammi getting so panicked ... no one knew what to do."

He looked away weighing their options. He had the same fears but-- 

Wouldn't it be better to know in advance? To be prepared? Ammi was a wreck when he'd had his first attack--her anxiety levels off the charts. Luckily they were at a relative's house and there were others who were able to act swiftly. 

Not testing Zaid now would mean not knowing ... not knowing till it was too late and Zaid was in the throes of anaphylaxis if he did indeed turn out to have the allergy--chances of kids inheriting allergies from parents were high. Asad knew that this ignorance wouldn't be bliss--it would be corrosive doubt, in fact. They'd always wonder, what if ... 

     "Do it," Asad told Zoya. 

     "What, no!" 

     "Zoya, think about it. You trust this doctor, right?"

     She nodded. "I've known her most of my life."

     "And if, as she says, it'll be in the controlled environment of her office they'll have emergency measures and trained medical professionals if ... if anything happ--I mean if he had a reaction." 

     "Asad ... I'm not so sure. At least if you were with us ... but not--"

     Asad leaned forward. "I know babe, I know. But think about it. I still remember how hyper Ammi used to be when I was small. If she couldn't be with me, she wouldn't let me go to birthday parties or school trips or anything. I wasn't allowed to share lunch with anyone at school." 

     "But, Asad ..."

     "Look, it wasn't fun. And it was stress that Ammi didn't need at that time," he added. 

     "But what if we find out he is allergic?" 

     "So what? We'll deal with it. We'll know what to do!" 

     "So ... if Zaid does test positive for food allergies ... you're saying that we'll know what to expect. We'll be in more control that way?"

     "Exactly. No hyperventilating about what ifs and if onlys." Asad's hand sliced through the air decisively. "We'll know for sure and do what's best." 

     Zoya was still thinking it through. "I know that some people wear a medical alert bracelet that lets people know if you have some disease, allergy or disorder so that they can get prompt medical attention ..." 

     " ... in case of a medical emergency." Asad completed her sentence. "Think, this way we could make sure that he's still safe and not go crazy with worry every time he's away from home. We'll be prepared."

They looked at one another.

     "Really? You think it's the right thing to do?" Zoya still dithered. The vision of Asad's attack still wouldn't release her from its haunting grip. 

     "Yes, I do." Asad reminded her. "The more I think about it the more I think it's the only thing to do. We're grown-up, smart parents. We can't rely only on duas and kala teekas alone to keep him safe. If we can find out in advance and take precautions accordingly, then that's what we should do."

     "I'll try'n get the earliest appointment. You're right, it's a no-brainer."

Asad smiled. There she went with her Americanese again. She'd be spouting more of it now that she was back at home base and docked at the mothership ... The motherland ... or was it, Uncleland--it was Uncle Sam after all, wasn't it?

     "Isn't it weird that I'm being the cautious one this time and you're all Jhansi ki Rani all of a sudden?" Zoya teased as she finished adding a reminder on her phone calendar.

     Asad laughed. "No, it's not weird at all. Looks like one of us has to be the Jhansi ki Rani in this relationship! It's what keeps us going, I guess. It's our trademark!"

Indeed. Jhansi ki Rani had become their beloved symbol of strength and resilience. She'd brought their signature dolls and graphic novels as gifts for Aapi, the girls, and their in-laws. And already Facebook was bulging with new images of these dolls, and already there were inquiries about how gorgeous they were and where could one buy them.

Zoya grinned at him. She felt relieved that he'd taken the decision about Zaid's testing. Maybe if he'd said no, then she'd have used the same logic to convince him ... Who knew. But for now, she was glad for his take-charge attitude. 

     "I can't believe how scared I felt," she said later. "I was fine at the doctor's office thinking about talking to you about this. But then I remembered your attack and it freaked me out thinking about Zaid like that ..." She shuddered. "Asad, your last attack was because of me ..."

     He sobered fast. "Shh, stop thinking about that. It wasn't your fault."

     "But it was! If only I--" 

     "Zoya, you have to let that go. You didn't know--it's as simple as that. And you're the one who keeps telling me, 'it doesn't take a lot of strength to hang on. It takes a lot of strength to let go.' Just let go."

     "But Asad, it's not easy! You could've--" 

     "I didn't, because of you, remember? You found the Epi-pen and gave me the life-saving shot. And if we're going to be playing the self-blame game then I should feel much worse for sending you to meet that weasel Akram ... or for Mangalpur. I put you in danger, nearly walked away. _You_ could've--"

     "Shh, I didn't, because of you. You came back for me and fought for me." 

     "You took care of me. Both times, remember?" She added. 

     "Exactly! That's what I'm talking about--fighting for each other. And remember, you're allowed to freak out about Zaid--you're his Mom. I've seen Ammi, Zoya. Motherhood makes the strongest women vulnerable. Sure, they're tigresses when their kids are in danger ... but most of their lives they live in terror of losing them ..." 

Zoya's eyes stung. She knew what he was saying. Single mothers like his Ammi lived in mortal terror for their children and their wellbeing. But wow, Jahanpanah was on a superhero roll here. Proactive dad and super-supportive husband! She loved him like this! Zoya clasped her hands in silent gratitude. Thank you, Allah miyan. 

     "Promise me one thing," Asad said. 

     "What?" 

     "That you'll still be my Jhansi ki Rani and not let any fears for Zaid weaken you or make you doubt yourself."

     "But--"

     "Promise me that you'll always be you." 

Zoya beamed at him. Jahanpanah wasn't just asking her to be strong. He was actually giving her permission to be a bit of her usual mental self. 

M.A.! 

     "Be that same girl who drove you crazy for days on end?" 

     He laughed. "Umm-hmm, that same girl. Be her. Don't ever change." He didn't worry about her leaping before looking anymore. He knew the protective instincts that drove her now; they were his own. 

She no longer drove him as mad as she used to. 

Well, she did. But not in the same way. 

     "You're sure you'll be able to handle this badtameez ladki and Musibat Mohatarma as you used to call me?"

     "Please. I've handled her just fine so far, haven't I?"

     "Mr. Khan!" 

     "Ms. Farooqui!" 

     "Oh god Asad, I miss you so much! I miss holding you, touching you."

     He raised an eyebrow; she blushed. "Yes, and that too. I miss that the most!"

Their gazes snagged as if they were already in each other's arms ... like the thousands of times before. 

0 to 60, and VROOM! 

They weren't parents or superheroes anymore. They were just Asad and Zoya. The same Zoya and Asad who couldn't keep their hands off each other when within a foot of each other. The same ...

But their hands came away empty this time; solo breaths remained unpaired ... and lonely. An entire universe gaped between them. But she'd promised herself that she wouldn't be a Debbie-downer with such thoughts. She wouldn't bring Asad down along with her. He could do with some cheering.

     "And I miss Rumi. Give me a little Rumi," she begged.

     He exhaled. "I knew you'd ask." 

     "And I knew you'd have something special waiting for me!" 

     "I wanted to do something more special--like you did for me when I went to Hyderabad. I was thinking of leaving surprise notes for you to find each day ... But I had no time!" He pounded his fist on the cushion beside him. He nearly flung it away. But this was Asad. He carefully patted it and placed it a sharp 90-degree angle against the back. 

     "Asad c'mon, I totally understand! Don't beat yourself up about it. Of course, you didn't have time. I was there, remember? I saw how crazy busy you were. That's what our last fight was about  ..." She grinned at him and a half-smile tugged at his lips. 

     "I was my usual Akdu self that night too, wasn't I?"

     "Umm," Zoya let her head fall to the side; her eyes drooped, her hand rose to stroke her throat. "I've always loved your usual Akdu self! Maybe that's what makes our marriage tick: you being Akdu and me being badtameez!" 

     "That night though, I was rough--"

     "On some rough days Mr. Khan, rough is good for the soul. We needed rough that night to put us right, to put us together."

     "Zoya, you're crazy."

     "And you love me more for it! Hey, you already knew you'd signed up for crazy."

     "I sure did. Who knew that I'd grow to love crazy? That I'd crave it! Wait just a second," Asad went over to the closet to retrieve her love notes from his trip to Hyderabad. 

     "What's that?" Zoya asked. 

     "Your notes. I put them back in my wallet to read through them whenever I get a break." 

     "Aww, you liked them that much?" She'd never get enough of hearing him say that.

     "I loved them! And I'm kicking myself for not doing something similar for you."

     "Asad you can always live-recite Rumi for me whenever you feel too guilty. Besides, I brought your postcards with me to re-read. So we're even."

     "You did? Good girl! Do you remember long ago when you dropped off flowers at my office in disguise? This is the note you'd left me then."

> When I'm with you,
> 
> We stay up all night.
> 
> When you're not here,
> 
> I can't go to sleep.
> 
> Praise God for those two insomnias!
> 
> And the difference between them. 
> 
> \--Rumi

Twin insomnias haunted them even now ... Zoya thought. No, she wouldn't look into that abyss nor drag him down with her. 

     "When I'm with you again, we'll stay up all night, OK? We'll put this beghairat and awaara insomnia to sleep!" She coaxed a smile from him. 

     "And this one?" Asad showed her the most recent note. "You dropped it into my coat pocket at the airport, right?" 

> Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes.
> 
> Because for those who love with their heart and soul,
> 
> There is no such thing as separation.
> 
> \--Rumi

Zoya nodded. It had been murder walking away and leaving him behind that day. 

She'd wondered when he'd find the note and why it hadn't been sooner. Mr. Khan must be losing his edge not cleaning out his coat pockets the moment he took it off! But she knew why he'd lost his edge these days. He was missing them that badly. 

Zoya watched him read her more Rumi. Some lines he knew by heart. Others he re-read from her anniversary suagat: the Jahanpanah-nama.

> Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
> 
> They are in each other all along.
> 
> \--Rumi

And ... 

> Your body is away from me
> 
> But there is a window open
> 
> From my heart to yours.
> 
> From this window like the moon,
> 
> I keep sending news secretly.
> 
> \--Rumi

     Later Asad flipped through her notes as he spoke softly from memory. "OK, here are some more lines from Rumi I was thinking of today on my way home." He took a deep breath.

> "There's nothing worse than to walk out along the street without you.   
> I don't know where I'm going.  
> You're the road, and the knower of roads,
> 
> More than maps, more than love."

     She sighed and closed her eyes. "Mmm, that was lovely ... you're my road, Asad--at my feet ... as well as the North Star above me. You're my map too like my body is yours. I don't need maps or compasses when I'm with you. You're both. And without you, I'm lost. No GPS or nav. system would help find me."

Asad watched her face in repose. Her eyes were still closed. For all the fun he made of her Americanese, Allah miyans and silly shayari, she still managed to surprise him with the depth of her longing for him. Had she been next to him he would have kissed each quivering eyelid softly. 

She sensed his yearning as her own.

Zoya opened her eyes and reached out her arm to him. 

     "Asad ... My 'knower of roads' ... walk with me and tell me more. Take me away with some Ghalib now." 

Asad leaned back against the cushions on the settee and closed his eyes too. 

> "Unke dekhe se jo aa jaati hai munh par raunaq, 
> 
> Woh samajhte hain ki beemaar ka haal achcha hai ..." 

     "Mr. Khan, don't you dare be beemaar!" 

     "I already am." 

     "Asad!" 

     "Zoya, it's no use telling me not to feel miserable. I already do." 

     She got her bag and pulled out the postcards from Hyderabad. "It's uncanny. Your last postcard was a verse from Faiz: 

> "Raat yun dil mein teri khoyi hui yaad aayi,
> 
> Jaise viraane mein chupke se bahaar aa jaye,
> 
> Jaise sehraaon mein haule se chale baad-e-naseem,
> 
> Jaise beemaar ko be-wajhe qaraar aa jaaye."

     "Don't be beemaar, please." 

     "Till I see you in front of me, I won't be beemaar. But till I don't hold you, it's like going through withdrawal symptoms ... like someone turned off my oxygen supply and I'm gasping for breath underwater"

     She groaned. She felt the same way. But she sure as hell didn't want to dwell on the image of him gasping for breath. "Remember in Hyderabad I said I was your asli Epi-pen!" 

     "Hmm, my life saver. Life-saving-shot-giver! Iss beemaar ka karaar ... Nothing's changed since that trip except for the fact that you're away from me for a longer time now." Asad continued. "The only bright spot in my day is talking to you both." 

     "I know, me too." 

     "When I'm awake I think of you sleeping at that time--too far away from me ... I pray that you're sleeping well because I sure as hell am not. When I'm asleep, if I sleep, I dream only of you ..." 

     Hah, like she slept well at all! But he didn't need to know that. Zoya's hand flew to her mouth as she bit off a sob. "I shouldn't've come. I miss you so bad and I hate what you're doing to yourself!" 

     Asad's eyes darkened and his breath caught. "Zoya, babe don't ... You did the right thing by going. I just need to stop being a baby about it, I guess." 

     "Aww," she cooed.

     "I'm just counting the days till you return, the day that my family will be intact in my arms. And that day I promise you, I'll get a full night's rest."

     "Asad, honey, please try to get some rest. You know I'll be miserable here if you don't."

     "I'll try." He pointed to the stack of albums, the Baby Book and the Jahanpanah-nama on his night stand. "These keep me company when I can't sleep." Asad couldn't believe how fast Zaid was growing up. He was so much tinier just a few months ago--that teeny foot had been no bigger than his dad's thumb. He cleared his throat. "Some of the pictures and notes have come loose in these because I've been going over them again and again ..." 

     "No worries. I'll fix it all when I get back." 

     "Get back soon and fix me too." 

She smiled. He teased her about being Ms. Fix It so many times.

     "Hashtag Ms. Fixit," he'd put down next to her picture in the Jahanpanah-nama.

     "I will." 

     "Hey, you get a good night's sleep too." He'd seen her cover up many a yawn and knew that she was cheating sleep too.

     Her eyes drooped. "Make love to me," she whispered.

He stilled, then cleared his throat. Desire curled and coursed through him. He thought she'd never ask.

     "Close your eyes," Asad said after staring at her for a long time. 

She did. 

     "Now touch your face, softly ... slowly. Feel your fingertips on your eyelids, your cheeks. Your lips ... feel how full they feel. How soft. Trace them with your finger for me. Lick them." His voice had roughened. 

Asad couldn't bear to see her this close and not be able to touch her. He couldn't look away. He would've used his thumb across her lips. His knuckles to brush her cheek and jaw ...

He was already hard. 

Her mouth felt dry so she swallowed and licked her lips again. Zoya smiled when she heard him groan. She opened her eyes to a slit to take a peek at him. His lips were parted, his gaze snagged at her lips, his breath erratic. Already? 

     He saw her looking. "No peeking. Now slide your hands down your throat." He watched her head fall back and her hair spill over her shoulders. He would have tugged at it and wound a strand around his finger. Slowly.  She would've gasped and he'd have dipped his head to kiss her."Find that pulse that I love to bite and suck on when I'm inside you ..." 

     "Asad," she moaned as felt that familiar tug.

     "Yeah baby, I'm right here. Watching you ... loving you." 

When she opened her eyes again, they were drugged. Her face was flushed. Asad swore under his breath. 

     "Take off your shirt and bra," he ordered. 

Zoya did. On the plane ride over she'd imagined putting on a long distance show for him. But she liked this better. She wanted him to direct and cho*reograph her. He would demand and dictate the pace. She would follow the tenor of his voice, the tone of his ardor.

And with each husky command, she imagined his hands on her, his mouth and breath on her. He told her to cup her breasts, to stroke her nipples with her thumbs. To feather her palms over them and feel how ripe and ready they were. For him.

     "Take off your jeans ... slowly. Don't remove your panties as yet." 

Her breasts moved as she bent and he sucked air. He ordered her to sit back, knees bent. Slowly he made her trace thighs, knees, and feet with her fingertips. Very slowly. Exquisitely slow.

     "Now, just as slowly, walk back your fingers from your feet to your ankles. Rub your thumbs on the inside of your ankle like I do ..." She whimpered as she bent to do his bidding. "Now drag them over your shins ... knees ... back of your knees where I love to kiss you." 

     "Oh god, Asad, you're killing me," she whispered.

     "No babe, I'm not the one doing the killing, believe me. Now move them up your thighs ... to the tops. Small circles ... now, bigger. Good girl." 

     He paused. "Now brush the inside of your thighs. Soft, like a feather. Now pinch them for me. Leave marks." He watched her quiver and let out a harsh breath. "Take them off. Now."

When she opened her eyes this time, his face was flushed. His eyes burned into her. 

Slowly, deliberately, she slid out of her panties waiting for his instructions. She didn't have to tell him how wet she was for him. He knew. 

     "Show me," he ordered. 

Zoya blushed. She felt shy all of a sudden but the intensity on Asad's face made her bolder. A pulse ticked at his throat. She would have licked and nibbled on it. She knew he was hard for her. She knew his body like she knew her own.

     "Suck your fingers." He would've made her suck his fingers before touching her. He watched her lift her hand and slowly suck on two fingers not breaking eye contact with him. He groaned.

     "Touch yourself for me," he urged. 

She gasped at the break in his voice. She knew he was barely holding on to his self-control.

     "Asad ..."

     "Do it." 

She reached her hand between her legs and flinched at the ache.

     Asad nearly flew apart when he saw her crying softly. "Shh Zoya, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have." 

     "No, I asked you to make love to me. But I didn't realize that I'd feel so hollow. I need you," she sobbed. "When I'm with you I'll do anything, everything you want me to do, but not like this. I can't bear to come without you holding me." 

     "I know. Me too, baby. Me too. Shh," his eyes were damp too. 

     Zoya wiped her tears and smiled at him--she still hadn't forgotten her mission to cheer him up and didn't want to end their chat on this note of raw despair. She pulled on her old robe. "You've ruined me, Mr. Khan. I can't believe that I'm so useless without you!" 

     "Funny," he grinned. "I was thinking the same about you!"

     "Asad!" 

     "I love you. I love you so much."

     She touched her lips and pressed her fingers to the screen. "I love you too. Now go and have the best day ever. Remember Rumi's words--we aren't separate. We are in each other all along. Eat well and don't drink too much coffee. I'll be waiting here when you return from work."

     "Good night, babe. I'll be taking that cold shower now."

She blushed as she clicked on 'end.' 

Zoya imagined him in the shower. 

Shoot. She might need one too. 

I love you. 

She looked at the charms on her bracelet. Their initials. The cricket ball. The tiny handcuffs. The infinity sign and the Yin and Yang. Closing her eyes, she ran her fingers over them with a prayer. She remembered each moment the charms signified. Each moment he'd given them to her.

Her fingers closed around ... the boxing glove. It reminded her of-- 

She called him up the next second on her laptop. 

The familiar tone rang and rang. 

Asad, where are you?

He clicked on at the eighth ring--naked, with just a towel around his waist.  

     "Zoya, is everything OK?"

     "Take me in the shower with you."

Song in Title:

Veer (2009): "Surili Ankhiyon Wale"


	127. Heer Toh Badi Sad Hai

 

 

Asad smiled as he saw Zoya's name flash on his phone. He clicked the call on eagerly.

     "Asad! I got the flag charms you sent. They're beautiful! And just perfect! I'll show you when we chat at night--your time," she rushed, her words a babbling brook tripping over time-polished pebbles. 

     "Zoya, wait--"

     "I have to go. Talktoyoutonight!" The happiness decibels in her voice made his arms hurt. 

Asad looked the dead phone in his hand. She was gone; the ache remained. 

It was late, Or early--must be afternoon there. He looked at the clock on the side table. 4:07 am. 

She must've forgotten the time difference in her excitement. 

Asad lay back down and crossed his arms behind his head. Damn, he was wide awake now. He rose to offer his morning prayers and get the day started. 

 

He arrived at work earlier than usual these days much to the staff's fright. Were they expected to come in as early too? 

But Asad seemed more preoccupied than before, never really prickly, or strict with anyone so they went about their regular routine. Only Prasad seemed attuned to his absent-mindedness and strange inertia. He did try to come early even though Asad urged him not to.

     "Then, you must leave early too," he told an obdurate Prasad. "Spend more time with your family. It's an order," he added to end all protests.

Work had halted at one of the sites thanks to the ongoing crises. A chilly peace had descended on the industry in the wake of the economic downturn and its dark aftershocks.

And nothing was normal no more. 

Everyone knew that the inaction was a mere veneer of calm. Underneath it, everything bubbled and simmered angrily ... as if weary snipers bided on never-ending vigils in their nests. The wait for something to change seemed to never end; the other shoe seemed to never drop. And yet they waited for it to drop every day. Invisible bull's eyes and crosshairs marked each player. Page 3 parties dripped with unease--laced with a dose of ricin.

Asad pushed back from his chair and rose to glare at the street below from his window. He hated this standstill--it went against every fiber of his being and yet he had to toe the line. 

He raked an impatient hand through his hair. 

Restless energy poured off him. He felt suspended in mid-stream--as if he was punching his sandbag underwater. Everything was in slow motion and his fist never connected. There was nothing to do here and he still needed to be here. He wanted to be with his family so bad but he still needed to be here. Morale. He needed to keep up employee morale in these days of corporate fret.

A fist pounded the wall next to the window; a picture rattled in its frame. 

He turned back to his desk and exhaled. 

Zaid's palm swatted his cheek. 

Asad squeezed his eyes shut. 

Zaid's bright giggles mingled with Zoya's. Her breath fanned his neck. They were in his arms ... her perfume in his breath, his son's lashes fluttering against his cheek after a sloppy wet kiss ...

Instant zenness flooded him. 

Asad felt himself calm down and decompress. His fingers relaxed. And a new energy zipped through him. He removed Zoya's shayari notes from his wallet and re-read them one by one. The urge to write to her rippled through him. He was done with postcards this time around. He didn't know how long they'd take to get to her and god knows who would touch or read them. Instead, he flipped the yellow legal pad open to a fresh page and hand-wrote a Rumi quote: 

>           I am ashamed
> 
>           To call this love human,
> 
>           And afraid of God
> 
>           To call it divine."

Asad took a photograph of the note and sent it to her mail, message, instagram, facebook and Whatsapp. He just had to be sure she'd get it. And then he sat at his desk to compose a long letter to his son. He'd slip it into the Baby Book and email a copy to Zoya so that she could read it out to Zaid--as many times as possible.

 

He was woken up in the middle of the night again but this time by a set of messages buzzing on his phone.

Asad grinned at the photo she'd sent back. 

Only Zoya.

She must've printed out his note to do this. She'd sent a picture of his note with lipstick marks of a kiss on it next to his words. And under it she'd hand-written her reply:

>           "You have breathed new life into me
> 
>           I have become your sunshine
> 
>           and also your shadow."

Zoya must have obviously researched the lines he's sent her because these lines were from the same poem by Rumi. Asad ran his thumb over the screen to touch the words and re-read them. 

Sunshine ... and shadow ...

His heart knocked in his chest.

It hadn't escaped Asad's notice that she was trying to be extra cheerful these days for him. 

He just hoped that his dour mood wasn't casting a chill on all the fun Zoya could have been having with friends and family and visiting old haunts. As alien as America was to him it was her home after all. He better keep his Akduness under wraps. Only two weeks more. He could survive. They'd be home soon and everything would be all right. 

The other photo she'd sent, showed Zoya's bracelet now sporting the American and Indian flag charms next to all the others.

Asad frowned.

There seemed to be a forlornness in that image of the bracelet on her thin wrist; it sat on her skin in heavy doom.

Earlier he was planning to send her a picture of one of her own notes to him from when he was in Hyderabad--a perfect quote from Neruda. It echoed her yearning then; it would be his now:

>           "... so I wait for you like a lonely house
> 
>           till you will see me again and live in me.
> 
>           Till then my windows ache."

But no. He wouldn't send her this one right now. Too real. And too crushing. That separation had been short--only two days. This one was an eternity by comparison. Nor would he send the lines from Zauq that he was planning to, earlier:

>           "Shola-e-aah ko bijli ki tarah chamkaun
> 
>           Par mujhe dar hai, ki woh dekh kar dar jayenge ..." 

Not today. Was she weighing herself down with his misery? He'd talk to her first about not being a martyr who oversmiled for his benefit. He needed her to keep being his Jhansi ki Rani.

 

He had guessed right. But what Asad didn't know was that Zoya had struggled with composing her reply to his latest note. She wanted to add words, lines and stanzas for the charm bracelet that now displayed the twin flags. She'd even written some lines but then she crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it away. But later she fished it from the trash and smoothed it out to add to her collection. Maybe she'd give it to Asad when she was back in India. 

It bared her ache too much for now and she wasn't willing to share it yet. It could wait. What was it someone had said once: Write from scars, not wounds ... ? Yes, this was still a wound--too raw. Let it heal first.

And she had vowed to herself after all that she wouldn't bring Asad down. Zoya re-read her note before folding it carefully and adding it to the pile of postcards and tying them up with a silk ribbon. It was a messy memo--too many words crossed out and re-written. She had spent hours on it. But it revealed a darkness she'd been stuffing inside herself all these days:

>           Me                                    you
> 
>           Stars and stripes ... tricolor bars and wheel ...
> 
>           They lie when they say love knows no borders, passports, flags or visas. 
> 
>           They wrap fallen soldiers in flags too ...

But that felt all too morbid and over the top. That's why she'd discarded the note. Zoya knew that Asad had sent the charms as a token of her blended nationalities. And Zaid's. America and India were the two sides of her coin. And Zaid's. But somehow her mind's deadness couldn't see the sunshine of those tokens as yet. Only the shadows, as they crept closer ...

She wanted to say so much more about the gaping distance between them, the miles and miles of land and oceans that stretched between them because of their nationalities ... but somehow the words were jammed up in her mind like a car sunk into a rut. No matter how much she spun the wheels it wouldn't move forward. 

Time's treadmill was ceaseless; the universe's wink too unrelenting.

In the end, she decided to only send Rumi's quote appended to his own note. The second photo of the silent charms hid the cavity of her soul--whom could she tell that she felt neither American nor Indian right now. She felt ... she just felt hollow. Unlike Goldilocks, nothing felt just right. In fact, it was all just wrong. 

  

Meanwhile, her oblivious bracelet was garnering many looks and smiles wherever Zoya went. There were curious questions as they waited in lines to sightsee; raised eyebrows at the handcuffs; oohs, ahs and awws at all of the Zaid-related keepsakes. 

Naz had ordered charm bracelets for all the moms and girls. They'd all trooped to the Mall to pick out favorite charms. And at the rate hers was filling up, Zoya would be needing a new one too.

In the next few days they went to the usual New York City hot spots: Empire State Building--they would watch "An Affair to Remember" and "Sleepless in Seattle" for a late-night movie marathon to relive the landmark's romantic Hollywood glory.

They took dozens of pouty selfies at Times Square. They paid quiet homage at the September 11 Memorial. They strolled through Central Park and rode the carriages at dusk.

The shops on Fifth Avenue were Masha'allah! Zaid was kept snug in his baby carrier as he ga-gaed and goo-gooed at people who smiled at and high-fived him. His stroller was a lifesaver for when he took exhausted naps in between and perfect for hanging shopping bags. 

And then there was the Statue of Liberty.

Zee Nani bought Zaid a green foam crown and sweatshirt so that he could look just like a mini Statue of Liberty. His Nanis and Dadis and Phuphis and Khalas couldn't resist taking dozens of pictures with this miniature Statue of Liberty. Instagrams and snapchats and whatsapps were clogged with Zaidpics. In a jiffy they had amassed a bajillion likes and faves. 

When he asked his mom who Statue of Liberty was, his mom told him that she was like Jhansi ki Rani--a protector of freedom. She watched over people who were being hurt by bad guys and welcomed them to a safe haven in the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Zaid liked Stachoo O Wibety a lot. She sounded cool. And now that he had the crown and shirt he, Ammi, and Abbu could act out the story for bedtime. But where was Abbu? When would he see him? 

Why wasn't Abbu here? 

Would he never--? 

     "Zaid, what happened baby?" Ammi asked.

And Zaid's lip stuck out; his face crumpled. 

He pulled at his green crown to throw it off, ducked his head into his mom's neck and ... hollered. 

     Zoya hugged him tight. She'd already changed him and he'd pigged out on half a frozen chocolate banana so this was about something else. She rubbed his tiny back in circles. "What happened, honey? Tell mama," she soothed.

     " ... Bbbuuu," he sobbed. 

     "Aww mera baby, you're missing Abbu!" Her eyes stung. What a terrible mother she was for separating father and child! Zoya cuddled him closer as she brushed her helpless cheek against his head in apology. "I'm so sorry," she whispered in his ear. 

She smiled weakly when Dilshad patted her shoulder and gently removed Zaid from her arms. Everyone hovered around them in concern. Humaira hugged Zoya sideways noting her teary distress.

     "Kya hua hamare Zaid ko?" Rashid asked the question at everyone's lips. 

     "Zaid is missing his Abbu," Dilshad told them as she wiped her grandson's tears. "Abbu also misses you, you know?" she asked him.

He looked at his Dadi in confusion. How did she know? Had she met Abbu? Today? 

     "Yes, he does! Every day, so much!" she spread her free arm. "More than this much."

     Najma held her mother's hand and spread out her other arm toward the sky. "Even more than this much!"

     Rashid held Najma's hand and made the arc wider. "Even more than this much!" The others linked their hands too making the circle of his Abbu's love stronger and even bigger. Zaid's eyes widened. He seemed to forget that he was crying a minute ago. Abbu loved him and missed him this much?

     "He told me to tell you a secret," Dilshad said softly in his ear.

Zaid's eyes brightened as he waited for his Dadi to tell him more about Abbu's secret message. His Ammi had already read him Abbu's letter this morning. Two times. 

     "Abbu told me to tell you that when Zaid misses me tell him I love him and that I'm singing his favorite song." 

     The little boy grinned and clapped his hands. "Nnnddd gi ki hree thi?"

     "Yes!" everyone cheered. Najma took him from Dilshad's arms and handed Zaid to Rashid. 

     "Abbu, sing for him."

And with the Statue of Liberty receding behind them on the ferry Zaid sang along with his family. "Zindagi ki yahi reet hai," everyone sang. And he knew all the words too! Well almost. 

When he went back into his mom's arms he was happy again. Zoya pointed at the Statue of Liberty in the distance.

     "See, she's saying, bye! Say bye!"

He waved at Lady Liberty.

     "Give her a flying kissy." He did. Many, many times over. Stachoo O Wiberty reminded him of Abbu. She would watch over Abbu and keep him safe. Just like Abbu watched over him and kept him safe.

Zoya kissed the top of his head. But a jagged piece of ice wedged deeper into her heart. Her baby crying for his father had undone her as nothing else ever could. She squeezed her eyes shut and recalled Asad's letter to Zaid. She had it memorized by now: 

>           My Dearest Zaid,
> 
>           I am writing to you from home in Bhopal, India. You are so far away from me right now--more than 12,314 kilometers! That would be like Abbu going to office and coming back every day for a whole year. That's how far you are from me.
> 
>           And I miss you so much. It's a whole year's worth of missing you. I can't wait to see you soon. Just 14 more days to go before I see you and hold you! 
> 
>           (Asad knew that Zoya would count off the numbers on his tiny fingers, making his letter as interactive as possible).
> 
>           You know what I miss the most? I miss your little fingers against my cheek as I hold you in my arms. (He knew Zoya would kiss each fingertip and his son would gurgle with delight). I miss your eyes as they sparkle like stars (by now Zaid recognized his facial features. Asad knew he would touch his own eyes when Zoya read this out to him), your button nose (he'd next touch his nose) the hundreds of kisses you give me in a day. And I miss your giggles and laughter (he knew Zoya would tickle Zaid at this part to make him giggle and laugh). 
> 
>           Dobby feels the same way. He sends you lots of furry kissies--one for each day you've been away. Chhoti Nani is waiting to give you ghee-badam maalish and Nanu promises to tell you more about Harry at Hogwarts. Chachu is glum too. He misses his champ and best bud. He has lots of Zaid Miyan and Dobby Miya-oon stories waiting for you.
> 
>           You are in my heart (he knew Zoya would draw a circle on Zaid's heart at this point) and thoughts (another circle at his temple). Clap each time you think of Abbu (and he knew Zaid would clap at this part). Abbu loves you from your head to your shoulders, knees and down to your toes (Zoya would walk her fingers from his head and shoulders to knees, and then tickle his feet). Abbu misses those perfect little toes the most. I will bite them and eat them up when we meet again (Zoya would mime the action for him, Asad was sure of it, and Zaid would squeal in delight).
> 
>           Lots of love and kisses and the loudest raspberry (Zoya would blow on his stomach at which he'd giggle and squirm) for my tiger (Zaid would growl for sure),
> 
>           Abbu 

Zoya swiped the moisture from her eyes furtively. She loved that letter and knew that Zaid did too. And as he grew older, their son would realize its worth more and more with each passing year. 

Thank you, Asad. 

 

When Zaid wasn't missing his Abbu he was having a lot of fun. He went to the park every day with Nani and Dadi when they weren't sightseeing. The baby swing was such fun! Allah miyan, there was a sandbox! The zoo at Central Park was M.A. He even got to feed a goat. At the mega toy stores, his Ammi went crazier than him. Zaid had loved to watch the other kids more. So many babies like him! And so many big kids! When would he be a big kid? When would he walk and run? He squirmed and wiggled so much that Zoya had to set him down in the baby play area. Zaid zoomed off to hang with other rugrats to erect skyscrapers with mega building blocks. He was going to be an architect like his Abbu!

 

Zoya spent time catching up with friends. She retold her grand Indian adventures so many times over but her friends never tired of the stories. 

     "You found your birth father AND a sister? How cool!" 

     "And Mr. Right? Un-freaking-believable!" 

     "Who knew that all your dreams were waiting for you all these years in India?"

     "Honeymoon on the Palace of Wheels? Do all Indians live in palaces and ride elephants? But dude, in 'Slumdog Millionaire' there were so many poor people."

     "Your mother-in-law lives with you? Whoa! What's that like?" 

     "Handcuffed to a guy and you hated each other? You're making this shit up!" 

Her friends fell head over heels in love with Zaid and spoiled him rotten. Of course, he got even more gifts.

Allah miyan, there were just too many gifts. 

She was not going to be able to take them all back with her. So Zoya decided she'd donate them to the Children's Hospital that Aapi volunteered at. 

Not that Zaid would miss them. Like Dobby, he liked the boxes and packaging better than the toys themselves. Anwar Nanu had built him a fort by taping and shaping a bunch of cardboard boxes together.

He'd done the same for his mom when she was a little girl--except it had been a princess castle then. When Zaid wasn't helping his grandmothers cook, he liked to crawl in and out of his fort playing hide and seek with Nanu, Dobby, and all his imaginary friends. He was in the process of coloring its walls with crayons (when he wasn't eating the crayons, that is). One day they'd even found him sleeping in there curled up like Dobby.

In a sudden burst of inspiration, Najma Phuphi had offered to buy her favorite nephew a drum set. While Zoya leaped excitedly, Dilshad and Zeenat glared her down.

     "He makes enough noise playing with my pots and pans at home," Zeenat said. "Buy him one when he comes to visit you in your house."

Of all the gifts he got, Zaid soon tired of them. Only the red plane he slept with at night.

But on one of his many crawling adventures, he discovered kitchen cabinets! And since then he liked to help his Nani and Dadi cook. He hummed and banged. And he helped the food get made. The louder he hummed, the better it tasted. Everybody gave him credit for the aloo muttar and koftas. He banged extra loud for the kheer. 

     Zoya sighed and then her eyes lit up. "Aapi, what about my drum set? I hope you haven't given it away!"

     "Ya Allah," Zeenat re-glared at Najma who sniggered. "Why did you have to remind her," she muttered.

     "Aapi!"

     "It's still in the garage, baba." She turned to Dilshad. "I wanted to give it away but Anwar wouldn't let me. When she was 15 she and her friends wanted to start a garage band. Itna shor! Summers, the neighbors would shut their windows and look at me with great pity."

     Zoya grinned, "c'mon Aapi, we weren't so bad." 

     "The only thing you kids ever got good at was singing happy birthday."

     "Hey, not fair. We were pretty good at Jai ho!' too."

     "Hmmpphh!" 

     "And we sang at Payal's sister's sangeet, remember?" 

     "Please, that was a pity booking. My friend felt sorry for you," Zeenat sassed right back.

     "We were awesome and you all loved us. Stop lying, Aapi!"

     Zeenat nodded. "OK fine, you were cute." Thank god for the karaoke machine otherwise thanks to Zoya, her friends would've banned her from all parties! She winked at Dilshad who laughed.

     "Come Tamatar, let's go explore the garage! I'll show you my ice skates."

 

Zoya wanted to treat the girls at Max Brenner, the Chocolate Bar and Restaurant where all the food was basically different combinations of chocolate. The moms declined--"Na baba, too much sugar. Tum log jao!"

Of course the moms had been right. The girls loaded up on so many chocolate pizzas, sundaes, fondues and waffles that they waddled around in a sugar shock for the rest of the day. 

No dance practice that day.

Yes, there was all that practice they needed for their dance at Nikhat and Feroze's reception. It was great to see Nikhat with Feroze, Najma with Omar and Nuzzhat with Faiz. But both Zoya and Humaira missed their husbands terribly. It gave them new respect for how Nikhat and Najma must've felt without their husbands for all those terrible months. How'd they do it? Zoya felt guilty for moping but she couldn't help it. Keeping a cheerful front for Asad and everyone else was taking its own toll on her. 

Memories ran like color ... those memories drew blood.

     "Iss se achcha toh main New York mein hi thi!" She'd yelled at Asad on their first meeting when he'd nearly run her over. Oh boy, she'd been a hot mess that day.

Zoya smiled at the memory of the day that changed her life forever--changed her address, made her leave New York far behind in another hemisphere. Only she didn't know it that day. That day she'd been so mad at the 17th century Jahanpanah who had stepped out of his time machine to quote from his Tehzeebpedia--aurat, sharm, gehna etc. etc. 

Jeez. That day Mr. Khan had come pretty close to being anointed with some choice Jhansi ki Rani pepper spray.

But Asad hadn't backed down one bit. He was equally furious at her behaya and badtameez words.

     "Agar aapko iss mulk se itni problem hai toh wapas New York kyun nahi chali jaati? Bada ehsaan hoga aapka iss mulk par!" Asad had thundered right back.

     Oh really? "Excuse me! Aap koi traffic police hain jo mujhe bataenge ki mujhe kahan jana chahiye!"

A week later she'd ended up in his bed--from which of course he had forcibly ejected her. 

How rude.

     "Main iss kamre mein pehle aayi thi toh yeh kamra mera hua. New York mein aisa hi hota hai!" Zoya had tried to use a purely illogical argument against him. She knew she'd been in the wrong but was she gonna let him know it? Na-anh!

     "Yeh apka New York nahin hai, mera kamra hai," he'd ground out through gritted teeth. If she didn't know any better, Asad had come pretty close to hating New York right then.

 

     "Your arms used to feel like home. Now I'm homesick."

Zoya woke up in the middle of the night from a dream of smoky shadows and cracked glass. For a frozen heartbeat she felt Asad's arms around her and then the earth had opened up under her feet; she was falling off a cliff. Her scream sounded loud to her ears but was really just an anguished croak. 

Zoya sat up with a start in the dark, hand clutched to her racing heart. 

That hilltop had looked too familiar. Hadn't they taken Zaid there the night before they were to leave for America? 

     "Your arms used to feel like home. Now I'm homesick." 

Who had said those words? Was it her? Or was it Asad, just before her hand slipped from his? Zoya gulped down the water from the glass at her nightstand. She turned to place a hand on Zaid's heart. He was sleeping, thank god, arms thrown up, lips slightly parted, lids and lashes half-moons of slumbering innocence.

She leaned over to kiss his forehead more for her own than his sake. Zoya rested her forehead against her son's. 

Why was sleep tormenting her these days? When it came in bursts and starts, it dragged with it haunting traces of incomplete touches and unpaired sighs. What she thought was a stubbled cheek was just a book she'd fallen asleep on. A muscled chest was just the sofa arm ... a warm breath just the heating vent on at night. That slow smile that made her want to tear her clothes off ... was just a sliver of moonlight. When she reached her hand out to touch those familiar lips it grasped thin air.

All these years growing up she'd slept alone and whole in this bed. Then why now did she feel so incomplete, so fractured? It wasn't as if she was nothing without Asad. She would hate herself if she became one of those women who couldn't define themselves without their husband or his name. She wasn't one of those uber-dependent or fragile women made of crystal either. Then why in hell did she miss him so damn much? For twenty-two years of her life she'd managed to sleep without him pressed against her back and holding her. For twenty-two years of her life she'd managed to go to sleep without feeling the need to put her hand on his chest to feel it rise and fall and know that all was right with the world. 

All this tossing and turning was making her mad. And it was making her burn. In frustration, she rolled on her back and dug her heels into the sheets. 

... Just like she did when Asad covered her body with his--

She imagined him on top of her, inside her. She imagined crossing her legs possessively at his hips as he rocked them, controlling his thrusts as he stared into her eyes ... She saw the silhouetted arc of his muscled back and matched the rhythmic tempo of his hips ... she felt his hot breath on her neck as she pushed his hair off his forehead ... she heard his words of nasty promises and dirty oaths in her ear and moaned. She saw them roll over on his back and she watched herself ride him--her own back arched now, her breasts bouncing high ... him cupping them ... and she heard herself keen deep in her throat as she came in a rush.

ASAADD!

Did he hear her screaming his name out in her head? Why didn't he call right away? Couldn't he touch her hot yearning? Feel it calling out to him? If he reached his arm out wouldn't he be able to grip her hair in his fist ... pull her face closer to his? Feel her lips with his ... run his tongue over them ... stroke her cheek and chin with a thumb ...? 

Can't you feel my ache in your bones? Can't you hear my cries?

Asad, come to me! Please.

Fresh moisture pooled in the corner of her eyes and dripped down older tear tracks. 

Zoya ran her hand over her charms to calm herself down. Her fingers read each charm from muscle memory. She passed each of them reverently between her thumb and forefinger. It was only after completing eight or nine laps did she fall into an exhausted sleep. This time her charmed bracelet managed to keep those jagged dreams from rising like Zombies through the fissures of her mind. This time, her spent body crashed into temporary oblivion.

 

     "Uncle, when is Zoya didi coming back?"

Asad smiled. He'd come home to get fresh clothes, and this was the second time the street kids had asked him this question in the past 15 days.

It wasn't long after she'd come here from New York to live in the Khan house when Zoya had befriended these kids to play a rousing game of cricket every now and then--when she wasn't searching for her father or fighting with a certain Akdu dragon, that is. In those early days, he used to frown in disapproval and righteous dismay whenever he came upon her running between wickets--hair flying, fist pumping, squealing like a champ. Even then he had felt reluctant admiration though he'd never admit it--even with a gun to his head. 

Shit, he'd put a gun to her head.

How could he? He had no right to scare her like that. He'd never be able to get that image out of his head. He'd even placed it against her cheek to threaten her. Good god, it was loaded; he'd checked. What if--?

Were there bruises on her face the next day? 

     "Uncle, aren't you listening? When's she coming back?"

Initially, these boys had scoffed at Zoya when she gave them pointers and asked to join in. Please, what did a girl know about cricket! But this was Zoya. She wasn't one to give up. She'd persisted. So they'd let her bowl to get rid of her. Maybe she'd see how lame she was and slink away when they all burst out laughing at her.

But Zoya hadn't given them a chance to laugh at her. She was tough that way--and didn't he have the scars to prove it!

They'd watched, slack-jawed in awe at her form, at the grace of her movements. When as the wicket-keeper she caught two trick catches, she was golden. She had dived and ripped her jeans.

And like a certain Mr. Khan, they'd been floored and besotted too. 

She became Zoya didi then. And because he continued to frown and scowl most of the time, Asad always remained 'uncle.'

During her pregnancy, she couldn't play but she was an enthusiastic cheerleader and benefactor often treating them to ice cream or cotton candy. Over the past few months, she'd re-joined them--not as often as she'd have liked, but enough for them to consider her a part of the team.

     "She'll be back in about 11-12 days," Asad told them. His own heart pitched at that announcement. Only 10 days left tomorrow. 9, the day after ... There were more days she'd been gone than for her to return. Thank you, Allah miyan! 

     "Yay," they cheered echoing his own sentiments. "Why don't they play cricket in America?" one of them asked.

     "Because they're really backward over there!" Asad kidded. 

     They roared with laughter. Over the past few months, they'd grown more comfortable with him. "Remind her to get us lots of chocolates," they threw over their shoulders as they raced off to play some more before their mothers called them in for dinner.

     One boy hung back. "Tell her that she better get back for practice soon. We have a match with the Dilbagh Dabangs in three weeks."

It was cute how they now held 20-20 tournaments with kids from neighboring streets. That too had been Zoya's doing. She'd negotiated and managed them into teams with names that the boys had voted on. Their team was called the Shamla Sultans. The tournaments were becoming more and more professional, with parents now involved, websites, live scoreboards, rankings, uniforms, kits, reservations of local parks for matches on the weekends and pizza parties to celebrate victories or console losses.

During her pregnancy, she'd roped in Asad to be the team coach whenever he had time. After much pleading and cajoling. As much as he pretended to growl at losing half a precious Sunday he secretly loved to play as much as she knew he did.

     "Sure," he said to the boy distractedly.

     "I tried your tips and they really worked," the boy, Milan, continued. "Can you show me more?"

     "Right now?"

     "If you don't mind! I want to really improve my batting average."

Come to think of it, no, he didn't mind at all.

As Asad changed out of his work clothes and later sat huddled between these sweaty kids, joy irradiated him.

The thwack of the ball hitting the bat dead-center was the purest music. Its glorious arc at the full-blooded hook, a symphony. This briefest of moments was exhilarating. Every heartache, every shard of longing fell away. Asad couldn't wait for Zaid to grow up so he could teach him how to play. He came alive as he put the boys through the training drills. Some of these he remembered from his own days of playing for school and college. Others he had researched more recently for Zoya who wanted to inject fun into the proceedings--but of course.

 

No please Allah miyan, not again!

By the end of week three, Zoya was convinced that she was going insane. 

Her overwrought and sleep-deprived mind had begun playing tricks on her. That afternoon at Macy's she had almost run after some random guy thinking it was Asad. He had a similar linen shirt, and the hair was familiar too. What if ...? 

Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, she'd tried to talk herself out of making a giant fool of herself. Get a grip, Zoya. Asad is millions of miles away, 9 hours ahead of New York time. How could he possibly ...? But her mind yo-yoed from one improbable sighting to another. Wait, was that ...? 

Shopping was boring. She had come here only to give the girls company. Pretty soon she would just park herself at a Barnes and Noble and browse through a book. Zaid was dozing in his stroller--it was the perfect quiet time her soul craved. She told the girls where she'd be. They understood perfectly and shooed her away. By now everyone knew that dragging Zoya along for shopping was going to be a disaster. She was useless at telling them what looked good or didn't. She knuckle-dragged and made faces. By the 23rd minute she yawned and groaned, and everyone just felt guilty. 

At the bookstore, Zoya was able to find just what she'd been craving. It had been ages since she read and laughed with a Stephanie Plum and Lula novel. Finally! She found an overstuffed chair in a secluded alcove and wheeled Zaid's stroller close. As Zoya settled in Zaid whimpered in his sleep. She put the book on the armrest and unbuckled him. Maybe she could hold him and read while he napped. She looked up and sucked air. Wait, didn't that guy stride just like ...? 

Shut up, Zoya. Remember, he's 12,314 kilometers away? That's all of 7651.5 miles. 

When the girls found her an hour and a half later they awwwed in hushed tones. Cameras went up to mass-click pictures of a snoozing mother and child. It was only by resting her cheek against Zaid's head, breathing in his baby smell, and feeling his little heart pumping away next to hers that Zoya had found some semblance of a dreamless sleep. For an hour and a half, she had found escape from her own fevered imagination. For almost a full 90 minutes Asad's visions had taken a break from playing hide and seek with her.

 

For the reception, Naz had outdone herself.

     The party hall was magnificient, or at least that's what everyone told Zoya breathlessly. Aapi had elbowed her in the ribs earlier. "Don't let everyone know how much you miss Asad. But don't, khuda ke vaste, do that terrible smile either. It kills me to look at you."

     Anwar had hugged her sideways. "You don't need to listen to your Aapi. Be as miserable as you want to be. And when you need to run away for a good cry, I'll hold Zaid for you!"

     "Jeeju!" 

     "See, now there's that pretty smile we all love," Anwar teased. "You can do it, kiddo! Just remember our secret code and you'll be fine. JeejuMan will come to your rescue each time!"

Zoya laughed a real laugh then. 

A long time ago Jeeju had made her swear to a pact. If he pulled at his left ear with his right hand at one of these parties that Zeenat dragged him to because otherwise, "sab sawaal karenge," then Zoya had to come up and complain about a stomachache or a twisted ankle so that he could take her home. It was the fourth time when Zeenat caught on to this little charade. 

She'd been livid. 

Only a lot of besura singing from Anwar and Zoya had got her to smile. Because if she didn't smile they wouldn't stop. And if they didn't stop she'd have to listen to that godawful song, "lal dupatte wali tera naam to bata," for hours and hours on end. With drums. No, thank you very much. 

     "So nice to hear you laughing again," Dilshad kissed Zoya's forehead. By force of habit, she rubbed at some of her kajal and wiped it behind Zoya and Zaid's ears. "We thought you left those giggles behind in India with Mr. Khan!" 

Zoya blushed--at being teased and because even Ammi had been able to see through her fake smiles. Damn, she was lousy at hiding her feelings. Too transparent, that was her. Though Asad would disagree. Those long sunless days before they were together she'd managed to hide her feelings for him pretty well from everyone. Except him. He'd been able to see those reddened eyes covered up with kohl, those smudges under them and the half-moon bruises on the backs of her hands. Maybe he'd seen those symptoms because her unspoken pain mirrored his own. But then he was the lucky one, wasn't he? He knew how she felt for him. But she didn't know that he loved her then. All she knew was that he had rejected her and was engaged to another.

Zoya's smile drooped. 

     Dilshad cupped her face. "C'mon now. You have no right to sulk or be down." She whispered soothing words in her daughter-in-law's ears as she had for her grandson a few days ago. "Asad must be missing you too. Even more, in fact! He's all alone by himself and missing out on all this fun." Dilshad waved her arm about to include the grandly appointed ballroom. When she saw Zoya's lips tremble she pinched her cheek. "Do you want everyone to sing to you like we did for Zaid, hmm?" 

     "No!" Zoya's mouth rounded in horror. Oh god, Allah miyan, she'd seriously burst into tears if they did that. 

     "Exactly. Besides, there's only a week left--you'll survive. Now go, Najma's calling you for the dance. Lao, give Zaid to me. Come raja, come to Dadi. Ammi has to go and dance for Nikhat Phuphi." 

The girls danced to a medley of songs. Naz and her friends danced too to many catcalls and much enthusiastic applause on a mix of old Hindi songs that was an instant hit. Even Feroze and Faiz's dad joined in to belt, "O meri zohra jabeen."

That had everyone on their feet demanding an encore. 

     "Once more, once more," they cheered. Omar wolf-whistled as his aunt and uncle did the twist to "Aao, twist karein." 

Nikhat and Najma performed a surprise dance on "Sasural genda phool," that had all the moms tearing up. Naz bawled the loudest. 

Dilshad and Shireen were thrilled to see their girls become a part of a close-knit family and even more delighted with the larger family of Indians that embraced them so far away from India. Already at the Sangeet and Mehendi, they had met all of Naz, Hana and Zeenat's friends who told raunchy jokes and brought delicious and gorgeously decorated potluck dishes. The food tasted different in America but the sentiment behind it was pure India. Just M.A.

The toasts were done. Faiz was the witty emcee often assisted by a rowdy Omar who narrated the story of how FerNi met and became Youtube sensations. They even played the video on the projector to Nikhat's embarrassment. The guests loved it! Feroze and Nikhat gave beautiful speeches thanking all their family that had flown in from different parts of the country and especially India.

     "We have one last performance for you and then let the real dancing begin," Feroze announced to whoops and yells from the younger guests.

  


Zaid had managed to fall asleep in his stroller despite the high volume of the music and cheers around him. It had been a long day. They had let him crawl his heart out at home and his mom hadn't let him have too long of an afternoon nap. He was pretty tuckered out by 8:30. Along with Dilshad, Zeenat and Anwar, Zoya and Humaira moved to a quieter corner of the room farthest away from the blaring speakers. They watched Nuzzhat mingle with Faiz's family--lots of cousins and friends. Aww, another one would fly the nest soon and then it would just be the two of them.   

     Anwar was all set to pull his disappearing act stunt; Zeenat glared at him. "Just this last performance. Then after dinner we can leave. This time you can use Zaid as a legitimate excuse, OK?"

He sighed but nodded in mute agreement. Fine, he'd behave.

     "If Zoya and Humaira want to stay back longer they can," he added. "You can dance into the night like I know you kids like to." They had brought two cars just for this reason. 

     "Do we know who's dancing?" Humaira asked.

     "Must be cousins from Feroze's side," Zoya answered as she checked for the blanket around Zaid's ears. The more she could muffle the sound the better he would sleep, poor baby. He really had gotten cranky at the end. The tiny sherwani itched ... he was tired but didn't want to sleep because of the festivities and overstimulation. Everyone came to pick him up, play with him, tickle or high-five him. They squeezed his cheeks and kissed him senseless. The sherwani rode up, the pajamas weren't stretchy, and the dupatta tasted weird no matter how much he sucked on it. What was a boy to do if not cry? It was only crying that got him deposited back into his mom's arms as people nervously backed away to give them space. His Ammi had held him tight, tucked him into her body just right and walked him to sleep in the lawn outside. It was much quieter here. Through the faint music, he had heard her humming close to his ear. He loved this song about a dragon named Puff. Ammi had told him that it was her favorite too when she was small. Zaid felt her drop at least twelve thousand kisses on his head for each kilometer he was away from Abbu and only then did he drift into sleep and dream of riding on Abbu's shoulders. 

     Once he was tucked back into his stroller Dilshad gently patted his chest. "Zoya, I think they've served dinner by now. Go get some food before he wakes up," she reminded her. 

     Zoya made a face. "I don't feel hungry, Ammi. Maybe later when everyone else eats."

     Zeenat tsked. "Ya Allah, yeh ladki! You're not eating well these days. This isn't right. I'll tell Asad."

Anwar patted Zoya's hand but said nothing.

Zoya smiled as she saw a message light up on her phone. Asad! It was a sher he had chosen from Kaifi Azmi this time. She re-read it and frowned. It made no sense to her but hey, the words sure sounded nice:

>           "Rasta bhool gaya, ya yahan manzil hai meri, 
> 
>           Koi laya hai, ya khud aaya hun maalum nahin." 

     "What do you mean?" she texted back. "I love you and am missing you like crazy," she texted a second message when she didn't hear back from him. She felt too depressed to add her usual emojis. 

The music started up for the last number and then abruptly turned off. Zoya peered at the dark screen of her phone. C'mon, she willed it to buzz.

Nothing.

There were some technical glitches that seemed to have delayed the dance. The guests forgot about the promised performance. They chatted loudly. Laughter and happy shouts boomed through the hall. When the lights dimmed everyone looked expectantly at the stage. A fog machine bellowed great plumes of purple, green and blue fog--the theme colors of the evening.

     "Suno ik thi kaanch ki gudiya," crooned the playback singer. The people at the front tables roared and clapped.

     "... suno ik tha pind ka shera ..." the jaunty tempo picked up. 

Zoya didn't even bother looking too hard at the stage.

     "There are two guys who just came on," Zeenat announced for everyone's benefit. No one paid attention to her. Anwar was checking his phone. Dilshad fussed over Zaid's blanket as she gently extracted the red plane from his grip. 

     "Maybe the girls will join them later," Humaira mused, equally distracted but trying to be polite in responding to Aapi because no one else had. 

Zoya put her face against her palm with her elbow resting on the table. 

This song ... it was so familiar. Her eyes half-closed. At Feroze and Nikhat's wedding back home, Asad and Ayaan had danced to it as a surprise. She and Humaira had joined them at the refrain of "Jogi maahi heer ranjhana." 

Girls were screaming at the front of the room. They too craned their necks to see what the big deal was. But their view was blocked. Najma and Nuzzhat had stood up and were cheering. Rashid was standing too and waving wildly. 

     "Jogi maahi heer ranjhana," the speakers thundered around her. 

Funny, her mind was playing tricks on her again. She could have sworn she saw Asad--Nah! Idiot, how could he be here? You thought the same thing yesterday when you saw that guy at the mall. And then at the bookstore. Maybe Aapi is right. I should eat more so I don't go batshit crazy. 

>           "Jogi maahi heer ranjhana
> 
>           Sabnu jaake main ye bolna
> 
>           Baat bolke ...
> 
>           Raaz kholna" 

     "ZOYA!" Najma came running. Zoya blinked at her. Her mind had closed up. Maybe she was having a stroke. Could it be low sugar? "Allah miyan what's wrong with you?" Tamatar was yelling something at her and shaking her.

Zoya frowned. She looked at Humaira who seemed to be shrieking and jumping too. What? She watched, in slow motion as Humaira bolted toward the stage. Huh? 

     "Najma, stop shaking me." 

     "Zoya look!" Najma twisted her face around. "It's Bhaijaan!" 

Yeah right. 

     "What nonsense!" Zoya grumbled. Maybe everyone else had gone mad too. 

Impatient with Zoya's sluggish reflexes Najma grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the stage. Zoya looked back at Aapi and Ammi in confusion. They were grinning and clapping wildly. She looked more closely at that guy who had looked familiar. 

Asad? 

ASAD! 

She lifted her lehenga with both hands and ran blindly. People laughed and jumped out of her way. But she came to a crashing halt at the edge of the dance floor. Zoya reached her hand out towards him. That smile ... the purply-blue fog swallowed him up. When he reappeared he opened his arms to her.

And Zoya being Zoya ran in the opposite direction away from him.

 

     "ZOYA?!!"

She could hear him calling after her. She kept running, unseeing, out the double doors, down the stairs, into the brightly lit lawn. A half hour ago she'd walked the same lawn as she'd sung Zaid to sleep. Now she felt too raw and exposed. She wanted to crawl into and hide in some dark hole. Maybe if she hid behind that column ... it was then that she felt her wrist gripped as she was slammed into a hard chest. 

She struggled.

     "Zoya, babe what's wrong? It's me. Look at me."

She felt his solid arms around her. Surely this wasn't her imagination?

     "Zoya?"

     She really looked at him this time. She touched his cheek and flinched at the contact. He was real! And then, with tears raining from her eyes, she traced every beloved contour on that face she had missed so much. Like a blind scholar just introduced to Braille, she read his eyes, his nose, his cheeks, ears, lips and jaw with starved hands. She felt him kiss her fingertips and sobbed, "it's really you."

     "Of course, it's me. Oh baby, I'm right here." Asad gathered her into his arms as she wept harder. "I'm never letting you walk or run away from me. Never again!"

He held her forever. God knows how much later Asad felt a tap on his shoulder. Zoya was still sobbing with her head buried in his chest. 

     A smiling but apologetic Dilshad came closer. She pinched his cheek in happy blessing. "He was starting to fuss." And she handed Zaid to his dad. Zaid rubbed his eyes and blinked them open. He saw his Abbu and blinked again.

     "Hi baby," his Abbu said softly, still holding Zoya with one arm. 

Zaid peered at him and tilted his head like his mom often did. And Dobby. Then that tiny face twisted and Zaid flung himself blindly at Asad and cried great heart-wrenching sobs with his arms wrapped around his daddy's neck. 

Asad threw his head back and laughed even though his eyes were wet. He'd never been happier as he held his weeping family in his arms.

 

 

  


Song in Title:

Tamasha (2015): "Heer Toh Badi Sad Hai"


	128. Hum Miley Jahan Par, Lamha Thum Gaya

 

 

Later he would ask Zoya why she ran away from him. 

All the way over on the longest flight of his life, Asad had imagined an ecstatic Zoya launching herself into his arms and how he would spin her around in circles. Everyone would cheer. She would dance with him to the rest of the song because she already knew the steps. They would look deep into each other's eyes for the finale when he swung her up by her waist.

But then she'd gone and re-directed his carefully choreographed rom-com fantasy and turned his surprise upside down. Only Zoya. Though by now shouldn't he have known better? 

     "For days I kept seeing you everywhere... I thought I was hallucinating again. What if I jumped into your arms and it wasn't you?" she asked simply. "I would've died." 

     He hadn't thought that she hallucinated too. Her actions made some sense now. He rocked her to him. "Shh, and please, I'd kill anyone whose arms you went leaping into." They embraced tightly. "But Zaid cried so much too..." Asad wondered aloud. 

     "He probably was terrified he'd never see you again," Zoya said softly with fresh tears in her eyes. Asad's eyes filled too. Who knew the depth of emotions babies felt? Could Zaid really have feared that?

 

In fact it was Zaid's tears that got the whole surprise thing started. 

When Zoya told Raziya about how Zaid was missing his Abbu and how much he had cried that day, a hysterical Raziya first went running to Zainab's gravesite. Then together they hatched a plan of how to bring a smile to their grandson's face. 

Raziya started off by working on Siddiqui Saheb. 

     "Bechara humara Zaid! Kitna roya meri chhoti si jaan!"

     Siddiqui Saheb wrung his helpless hands. "My poor baby," he muttered. "Zoya must've been so upset. I wish we could do something..." 

     "But of course we can! We can make both Zaid and Zoya smile." Raziya wiped her tears, sat up straight, and spoke up hopefully. 

     "What? How? What can we possibly do?"

She spelled it out for him. Siddiqui's eyes shone.

     "So talk to Asad tonight, OK? And don't forget to call your travel agent. Abhi!"

At dinner that night she set the ball rolling. She couldn't wait for them to know, so excited was she. It was hard to sit still. She perched at the edge of the chair eager to hear their reaction. 

     "Asad, Ayaan, we have a surprise for you. Please don't say no." 

They looked at her expectantly. 

     "A surprise?" Ayaan asked. "Yay!" He rubbed his hands together.

Things had really been so boring lately with the girls gone and no Zaid to gallivant around with. No teasing, no horse play. Bhai was way too serious these days. Even Dobby was cranky. 

A major snoozefest. 

     He'd partied with friends despite Humaira's dire warnings and threats to behave himself but somehow that too wasn't as much fun. "A surprise? Wow! What is it, Mumani?" 

     "We know that you've been stressed about work. But right now there's a slowdown, right? Things aren't as bad any more. Siddiqui Saheb, aap kuch kahte kyun nahin! Main bolungi to bologe ki bolti hai..." she huffed. 

Dobby raised his head from under the coffee table. Something was afoot. He could tell by the exicted buzz around the table. He slunk closer and hopped up on the chair next to Asad's to butt his head against Abbu's knuckles. What's up? What're you planning? We're going back home, right? Right?

Siddiqui's eyes gleamed. He too was excited to see what his sons-in-law's would think. It was a terrific idea after all. 

     "We've decided that you should take a break for a week from work. If there are any issues Prasad can always let me know..." He saw Asad's face. 

     "A break?" Asad's brow rose. "I don't think that's wise. Everyone's too skittish right now with how uncertain the situation is."

Dobby eyed Asad. Abbu was frowning. What happened? Tell meee.

     "Things aren't going to change any time soon." Siddiqui continued. "And definitely not in a week. You can always work remotely ... stay connected through conference calls and all," he added. "I can help keep an eye on things here. And your team can take care of the rest." 

     "But ... I'm not so sure ..." 

Dobby inched closer and peered over at the table edge to look at Nanu. His whiskers twitched in anxiety. Something bad happen? Guys? Give it to me straight.

     "Asad, don't you think that taking a break would be just the sign to show your employees that everything's OK?" Raziya jumped in. "That they don't have to worry. Besides, it'll refresh you. It will help you get a clearer perspective on things. Siddiqui Saheb, why don't you explain it to them in more detail?" She gripped her dupatta tight. Her fingers tapped restlessly on the table and Dobby stared at them. Chhoti Nani looked upset. He wrestled his way into Asad's lap and purred in confusion. Asad patted his head absently.

Siddiqui Saheb tried his best to persuade them by echoing Raziya's sentiments. But Asad wasn't fully convinced. Raziya couldn't bear it any more. She burst into tears.

Dobby froze. His tail rose in alarm. Guys, hello? What're you hiding from me? Is Zaidu OK? Zoya? 

     "Zoya had called. She was in tears." 

     Asad's eyes widened in fear. "What happened? Is everything OK?" Why hadn't she called him? He grabbed his phone. 

He yelped the next minute.

Dobby had dug his claws into Asad's thigh. He didn't mean to hurt Abbu; he just couldn't help himself. Some serious shit was going down and suddenly everyone was keeping secrets from him? Nobody was telling him anything? Since when did they not tell him or consult with him? He had noticed that all these stupid things had started happening when Zaid and Ammi went away. Incredibly foolish. 

     "No, no, it's not like that. Nothing's happened." Siddiqui rushed to reassure Asad. He hushed Raziya, "kyun darati ho bachchon ko!" She sniffed. Siddiqui turned back to Asad. "It's just that Humaira's Ammi has been upset since Zoya told her that Zaid has been missing you a lot." 

Asad knew that. But Zoya hadn't told him about how Zaid had sobbed for his Abbu at the Statue of Liberty because he missed him so much. She didn't want to make Asad feel bad. She only told him about the family singing for Zaid to cheer him up. She'd even sent him the video of that moment.

     Raziya wiped her eyes with her dupatta again. "She didn't want me to tell you. She knew how upset you'd get. Bechare mere bachche. Zeenat told me that Zoya was heartbroken when she saw Zaid crying. She's not been eating well ..." She inhaled and then squared her shoulders. "Bas, bahut ho gaya! I don't want to listen to your excuses any more. I may not know anything about business but I do know this: You must go. It'll just be for a week. They need you. And that's final!" She knew she was being bossy but the moment called for it--if she left it up to the men nothing would get done. "Work can't be more important than family. Go, please."

Asad protested. Though only half-heartedly. After hearing about Zaid's tears and Zoya's hunger strike the idea of a break to be with his family was beginning to sound better and better. He stroked Dobby's back. Besides, Aunty was right. A week wouldn't hurt. And didn't Zoya always tell him to not be such a control freak all the time? "Have you heard of this word, delegate?' You'd be surprised how well things can go on without you, Mr. Khan," she would tell him every now and then whenever they discussed him overdoing things at work. 

Maybe it was time to find out if she was right. 

     "Can you imagine the looks on their faces when they see you! Allah miyan, they will be so happy! Mera Zaid khushi se jhoom uthega!" Raziya went on as if she hadn't heard a word he'd said. "I already bought him a beautiful white sherwani that he can wear for the reception." She continued to outline her plans to no one in particular. But she hammered in her point home with the piece de resistance: "Don't you want to see him trying to stand up? Dilshad told me that he's —"

     "But even if we decide to go it's not going to be easy to get tickets at such short no —" 

     "We've taken care of that." Raziya went over to the console and withdrew an envelope from the top drawer. Dobby's anxious eyes tracked her. "Here. Your tickets are already booked. Now there's no way you can say no." 

Asad and Ayaan looked at each other and grinned. Maybe this was exactly the nudge they needed. Ayaan jumped from his chair with such velocity that it went flying behind him. Dobby yowled and fled from the room. 

     "Woohoo!" Ayaan whooped and for the first time in his life he lunged to hug Raziya. He twirled with her in circles. 

Asad laughed at the expression of shy pride and embarrassment on her face.

     Siddiqui patted his arm. "Don't worry about anything here. My office will stay in constant touch with your's. Any problem and we'll let you know immediately. But I have a strong feeling that everything will be OK."

 

But was it going to be OK? 

When their connecting flight got delayed by three hours at Istanbul Asad had felt a moment of doubt and then rushing panic. They were to land in New York on the day of the reception. If the flight got any later, what if they missed the whole event? What about the surprise that they'd quickly cobbled together?

Back in America only Najma, Omar and Faiz knew about the surprise. 

Najma had championed Raziya's cause with some major long-distance needling of her Bhaijaan — on a daily basis. But no one else knew. Even Feroze was kept in the dark. When he made that announcement at the party about the last performance of the evening he had no clue that his brother-in-laws would be stepping out from the purple fog — apparated all the way from Bhopal like some Potterverse wizards.

And of course, Omar and Faiz, the eternal pranksters and American coordinators of the plan, couldn't resist one last act after the "Jogi Mahi" repeat performance by Asad and Ayaan and their begums. These wannabe Weasley cousins had nearly disrobed and mooned the audience, loudly proclaiming: "Jahanpanah, tussi great ho. New York ka tohfa qubool karo!"

Naz had chased them off the stage midst the raucous laughter and wild applause. As Tamatar turned redder, Asad had thrown his head back and finally laughed in relaxed abandon.

Najma and Omar had picked them up from the airport and pointed out various landmarks along the way. But instead of looking at the city around him, Asad had looked more at his watch. Tension knotted his insides. Why had he agreed to this surprise nonsense? He couldn't bear to not meet Zoya and Zaid for another two hours. Thank god he'd remembered to give Aunty's sherwani for Zaid to Najma — she would make sure that he wore it for tonight.

Ayaan had convinced him to repeat the dance they'd done for Nikhat's wedding. What an entrance it would be! The steps were already familiar to them — they could watch the old wedding videos and quickly re-learn them. They wouldn't even need too much practice. It was much better than learning something completely new. And once the dance began Zoya and Humaira would jump in at exactly the right time with their steps and it would all be M.A. Asad had groaned inwardly but hadn't objected too much. At least it gave him something to do. Or he'd go stark raving mad waiting to be re-united with his family.

It was at the Ataturk Airport that he had picked up a copy of Rumi's poems for Zoya as a gift. He'd thumbed through it and marked familiar passages. And it was while waiting for the flight to board to JFK when he'd stumbled across Kaifi Azmi's lines during a random Google search. 

>           "Rasta bhool gaya, ya yahan manzil hai meri, 
> 
>           Koi laya hai, ya khud aaya hun maalum nahin."

It would be perfect — just the right lines to send to her before they made their grand entrance. He couldn't wait to see the expression on her face...

 

However belated, he did get to see the much hoped-for expression on her face for the rest of the evening at the reception. Once Zoya was done crying and wiping her tears with his handkerchief, she'd glowed. She couldn't stop smiling. She didn't even need to repair her make-up to make her eyes starry or cheeks rosy. Like that song, she really could've danced all night and still have begged for more.

And surprise, surprise, so could Asad. 

The DJ played songs that the old Asad would've scowled at in another lifetime but they didn't even faze him now. He danced with Zaid and Zoya in his arms to "Baby doll" and "Chittiyan Kalainyan," and "Hangover," without a single frown. The more un-Jahanpanah songs with mad lyrics like "ladki beautiful kar gayee chull," the more he swayed and smiled.

But did he even know the words of the songs he was dancing to? Or care? Probably not.

Besides, who could blame Bollywood for transporting them to India in the heart of New York, minus the twenty-hour air travel? And thanks to Bollywood didn't some songs fit the occasion just perfectly? Like that song the DJ played which echoed that giddy bliss they were feeling ... Whether it was "zoobie doobie, zoobie doobie nache kyun, paagal stupid mann." 

Or ... 

>           "Aa raat bhar, aa raat bhar
> 
>           Jaaye'n na ghar, jaaye'n na ghar
> 
>           Iss raat mein, beete umar, saari umar
> 
>           Toh chal, chale'n, gire'n, pade'n, uthe'n, urre'n
> 
>           Aa tujh ko laga dun mein mere par

Haan, raat bhar...

Thank you DJ miyan, for making it just M.A.

 

Though for a heartstopping moment it had seemed that they'd never be able to get together, raat bhar. Because it must've taken at least an hour for everyone to be properly introduced to Asad and for repeat requests to hear the stories and plans of how they'd pulled off their grand surprise. Even Feroze didn't know? How'd they managed that? Why did they wait so long to come? Why not come a day ahead? Aren't you jet lagged? 

And through all those questions Asad and Zoya had only shared torn glances and smiled promises across the room. Not miles anymore, just meters apart. 

But it may as well have been miles... 

They'd barely had a chance to say more than two sentences to each other. Barely had time to share a kiss...

The things he wanted to whisper in her ear! It was so hard to bite back those words. So hard to not shout them from the rooftops.

And the things she imagined him saying to her! 

When would she feel his breath at her ear, his warmth on her skin? Feel his thumb drag across that pulse down her throat… Would he never get to her side so she could slide her fingers through his to hold on firmly and never let go? 

Her heart flipped...and then it sank again.

She watched Najma drag him away to yet another group of relatives.

Zoya's impatient gaze followed him from one cluster of guests to another. But her eyes softened as she watched a merry Zaid bouncing in his Abbu's arms. The nap and his dad's surprise had obviously recharged him; he waved shyly to each guest as they gushed over him. When he didn't hide his face in his dad's neck, he grinned a toothy grin and dimpled deeply — ecstatic to be reunited with his daddy. 

He was never letting go either. 

Zoya giggled as she watched Asad smooth the tiny sherwani. Already she could see the tail-end of Zaid's dupatta peeping from Asad's side pocket. Her eyes drank them in. Oh god, that sight was pure heaven. Their son's scarf stuffed in Asad's pocket was one of those small things she may have taken for granted if they were in India. But here, at this moment, it seemed nothing short of a miracle. It was one of those treasures that she'd promised to herself she'd take a mental photograph of. 

Click. 

Anwar tapped her shoulder and she tore her eyes away.

     "Go rescue him," he teased when Zoya looked up at him. "He's dying." 

     "Anwar!" Zeenat scolded him. 

     "What! You know I'm right. Asad came all this way to meet Zoya and Zaid not some door daraaz ke khalu or phuphi." 

Dilshad laughed softly as she watched Zoya blush. She found the mock-fights between Zeenat and Anwar hilarious. And she particularly loved how Anwar always took Zoya's side. She now understood why Zeenat complained of both Saali-Jeeju ganging up on her. How she wished Najma had that growing up — a loving father who spoiled her rotten. Who always took her side even against her own mother. Sure, Asad had been a doting big brother. But he wasn't much older himself and as much he loved her, his love had been strict and came with a heaping side of super-protectiveness. Zoya was lucky to have Zeenat and Anwar in her life. 

Dilshad sighed. 

And she and her family were lucky to have Zoya walk into their lives. Walk? More like blunder into their lives. It was as if they had been waiting for her to fly in from New York and yank off that dusty, cobwebby chadar of quiet despair and pain — to let the sun in again. Thank you, Allah miyan, tera lakh lakh shukar hai. And in a way hadn't she come to say thank you to New York too? And that's why she was glad that Asad had finally come. What was the poem at the base of the Statue of Liberty? Something about "huddled masses yearning to breathe free ..." It was as if they were playing a game of statue waiting for Zoya to breathe new life into them ... yearning to break free. 

Zindagi... 

Tum ayee, mano zindagi mil gayee, she'd said to Zoya a long time ago. 

Once during one of the their usual spats, Zoya had teased Asad, "my name means 'zindagi.' Yours probably means 'anti-matter' that's why you're so volatile!" She had laughed in his face as he'd gritted his teeth uselessly. 

Dilshad smiled. 

Bhopal ka gussa and New York ki hansi...yes, it was meant to be. 

She laughed as she saw Zaid do a happy wiggle in Asad's arms as if reading his Dadi's mind and agreeing with her wholeheartedly.

 

Finally Asad was able to make it back to their table. 

This time Zaid lunged to come to Zoya without a fuss. He opened his arms and settled in his mom's lap. Earlier he had refused to let go of his Abbu's collar. Not even for Ammi. Nope, he was going to go wherever Abbu was going. But now he no longer worried that if he wasn't in Abbu's godi then Abbu would vanish. Aaa 'ez well. He felt it deep down in his tiny bones. 

Zoya's pulse leaped as Asad's fingers grazed hers during the baby exchange. It was another of those mental click-worthy moments. She lowered her head to hide her face. Dilshad cleared one of the chairs and signaled Asad to sit next to Zoya. 

Seeing Asad so close thrilled Zaid too. He changed his mind — he wanted to be back in Abbu's godi now. So his parents played the baby hand-off game again. Again Zoya blushed.

     "Asad, now tell us everything!" Zeenat begged. "Itna bada surprise! How long were you planning this? Zoya, you didn't suspect at all?"

And as Asad filled them in on the details Zoya spooned a little bit of rice and palak-paneer into Zaid's mouth who was squirming in his dad's lap. He had just finished munching on a tomato slice. Asad held Zaid's exploring hands often wiping crumbs and drool from the tiny chin. 

Asad looked at Zoya in surprise when she raised a spoonful to feed him too.  

     "You haven't eaten anything, have you Mr. Khan?" she asked. "C'mon, have a bite." 

     "She's right, kha lo beta," Dilshad encouraged. 

And in the midst of telling them about how Raziya convinced them to come to New York, her teary blackmail, Siddiqui Saheb's assurances, how he feared they wouldn't be able to get here in time for the party, how they had decided to only tell Najma, Omar and Faiz, Asad let his wife feed him in between feeding Zaid. He didn't realize he was starving. 

And he didn't realize how intimate and natural this felt. 

When Zoya raised the napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth, Asad froze. Her eyes had snagged at his lips. His breath quickened and he shifted in the chair. Even if he couldn't read her mind she must've read his. She ducked her head and pretended to fuss over Zaid. 

Ahh, babies. Sometimes they were just the perfect cover for their horny parents, weren't they? Zaid laughed and clapped as he saw his dad dropping food as Ammi fed him. He loved this new game when Ammi pretended to feed Zaaf and then fed Abbu instead.

     "HEY CHAMP, there you are!" 

Zaid whipped his head around and clapped even more when he spied his favorite Chachu. Fistbumps and an alien code language followed; Zaid beamed. They had met briefly before each was swept away in opposing directions for a flurry of duas and salaams. Zaid raised his arms to be lifted and worshipped by another one of his favorite peeps. 

But Asad was reluctant to let go of his son. 

Of the many reasons to hold on to Zaid, the biggest one was that once his hands were free he'd have to feed himself. 

And he was so enjoying having Zoya feed him. 

It was slow, smoky, erotic torture. 

Each time her hand came closer he wanted to kiss it, bite and lick those fingertips. Each time he opened his mouth to take a bite he heard the faintest of gasps from her as if she wanted the same; he couldn't look away from her lips. That pout was even more pronounced — he could've sucked on it and begged for more. When she bit her lip because some of the rice grains fell from the raised spoon he nearly groaned out loud — it was the subtlest PDA they could get away with under everyone's noses before they fell to eating each other up. 

But the Chacha-bhatija bro-time would put a damper on this subtle lovefest. With no Zaid to hold there would be no excuse for her to continue feeding him. And he wouldn't be able to hear her sharp intake of breath or soft moan each time she leaned in and he brushed his thumb against her arm or wrist. There would be no excuse for their chairs to be so close together. They wouldn't be able to gaze into each other's eyes each time she raised the spoon to his mouth. His rushing blood would miss her closeness. This rekindling of their spoon-plate porn would be hopelessly terminated.

Ayaan hoisted Zaid in his arms and easily straddled him across his shoulders. Off they went to jumpstart new adventures. Asad sighed, suddenly bereft. He scooted his chair deeper under the table and frowned down at his plate. What a bummer. Suddenly the food didn't look as appetizing any more. Zoya tried shifting her chair away but he grabbed her hand under the table. She went dead still and then nearly moaned aloud when he scraped a lazy thumbnail across her palm. He squeezed her hand and laced his fingers with hers. When he raised a spoonful of food to feed her instead, she looked at him in confusion. Asad grabbed her hand tighter when she tried to squirm free. 

     "You haven't been eating well I hear," Asad said cocking an eyebrow. He had her right hand trapped — even if she wanted to eat by herself she couldn't. Zoya's gaze lowered and she smiled shyly before leaning in to eat from the proffered spoon. 

She smiled not because of that slow curve of his lips or because everyone else at the table was smiling that "awwn, so cute," smile at them. She smiled because suddenly she remembered Mangalpur. 

Suddenly she was back at Apna Dhaba dressed in a green bridal suit, handcuffed to Asad, dupatta hiding their hands...and he was feeding her. That was the first time when she'd seen a gentler, kinder side of him — directed solely at her. And that was perhaps the moment when she'd started to fall hopelessly in love with him. 

     Even Aarti and Yash had smiled the same smile: Awwn, so cute. "Aap dono mein kitna pyaar hai. Khana khatey samay bhi ek doosre ka haath nahin chhod rahein hain."

Hand cuffs...that alien flip her stomach had done when he'd leaned in… A scarred initial... 

Manglapur — the crucible of their love story...the handcuffing of their muqaddars...

Apna Dhaba to New York... 

Zoya's eyes glazed as she recalled angry words from the spats of their tempestuous past.

     "Isse achha main New York mein hi thi!" (Not!) 

Old words shifted into new significance...and reshaped the impressions from the past... 

     "Agar aapko iss mulk se itni problem hai, toh wapas New York kyun nahi chali jaati? Bada ehsaan hoga aapka iss mulk par!" (Haha, dream on Mr.Khan!) 

     "New York mein aisa hi hota hai!" 

     "Yeh aapka New York nahin hai, mera kamra hai!"

 

Deja vu had never felt so right...or so sexy. She could seriously do this raat bhar. 

She leaned in to take another bite and blushed when Asad winked at her. He was channeling Mangalpur too, wasn't he?

  

Zoya cursed herself for not having anything sexy to wear tonight. 

All her fuck-me lingerie was back home in India. So she improvised like any good girl gone bad would: she unearthed an embroidered kurti that she'd worn in her virgin days with a tank top underneath. (Thank you Allah miyan that Aapi had made her clean out her closets and box up her stuff. At least now she knew exactly which box to upend to find love supplies that she could improvise to entice her husband). The net kurti was ivory, deliciously see-through, and as Stephanie Plum would say, it barely covered her hoohah. It would be perfect. A spritz of her favorite spicy perfume that drove Asad nuts, a swipe of mascara and lip gloss and she was ready to hit the road. Her body was already caught up with the fantasies in her head; it had already started to melt and musk even as she placed her hand on the doorknob. She could almost hear Al Green crooning: 

>           Here I am, baby, come and take me
> 
>           Take me by the hand
> 
>           Show me.
> 
>           Here I am, baby

  

But then Zoya laughed softly when she emerged from the bathroom freshly showered, lotioned and perfumed. She had even posed seductively in the doorway and re-fluffed her hair.

She shouldn't have bothered. 

Nice going, Zoya.

Idiot, you shouldn't have taken so long. How much time had she wasted in trying to excavate her princess boa from the depths of another box? Just because she wanted to revive her "bijli girane main hoon ayee" act for her husband.

Oh well, there would be no bijli girana or girane wali tonight. 

Damn.

Deja vu, hello! Where are you? Couldn't you have stuck around for a little bit longer? 

She could've kicked herself.

She should've listened to Asad when he had cornered her earlier trailing her eager skin with soft kisses and nicks. But no, she had wanted the moment of their international mating to be perfect. 

     "I'll just be back in 10 minutes, promise! By then Zaid too will have fallen asleep." 

     "No — " He'd nuzzled that pulse at her throat as his urgent hands molded her body to his.

     "Please," she'd begged. 

He'd let her go with a long drawn-out sigh. Very reluctantly. 

And now? Here she was all dolled up for her New York suhaag raat and there her husband was...fast asleep.

She sighed as she cast a fond eye on the bed. 

When she'd stepped out Zoya was rewarded with yet another frameable dad-son sight. A shirtless Asad lay sprawled on his back with Zaid sleeping on his bare chest. Aww, both her Desi boyz were tuckered out: Zaid after the most exciting day of his little life and Asad from the longest flight, and lambi-est judai and reunion. 

Hand to her heart she watched Asad. An arm was flung over his head--didn't Zaid sleep like this too? And with his other arm he held Zaid to him, palm flat against the baby's back. If she wasn't worried about waking them up she'd have kissed them both, so cute they looked.  

Zoya looked around her room. Asad had been too tired to say much when they'd returned from the reception. He'd had eyes and hands only for her, and she — you stupid, stupid idiot, she scolded herself for the nth time. 

But now she worried about the sleeping arrangements. How were they all going to fit on her bed? It was much narrower than the one back home. Back home Zaid had his own crib but here he was sharing the bed with his mom... 

She went back to rummage around in her closet for an old sleeping bag to spread out on the rug next to the bed. She could sleep on the floor and the boys could have the bed. Thank god she'd thought of getting extra sheets, pillow and comforter from the linen closet earlier. But before turning the light out Zoya gently extracted Zaid from his dad's arms and tucked both of them in.

     "Shh," she soothed Zaid as he fussed at being separated from his Abbu. Asad sighed and turned over on his side. She kissed his temple after covering him up. She knew she'd sleep well tonight. Just having Asad a foot away from her made her world right. She didn't realize she had echoed Zaid's fervent wish: aal iz well. 

 

And she did. Sleep well that is. 

It was around 4 or 5 in the morning when she felt Asad slide in next to her under the comforter and nuzzle her neck. His hands were already exploring under the kurti and she was already smiling.

     "Good girl," he breathed as he encounterd warm, bare flesh.

She shivered. 

This! Oh god, how much had she missed this.

     "I missed you so much!" 

     "I missed you more!" 

There were no coherent sentences after that. Or thoughts. Just gasped words and jagged hisses, soft cries and whispered names...their hungry hands ripped away all barriers. Their bodies surged to meet and reacquaint themselves with each other. Fingers talked...breaths tangled. 

     Asad groaned as he squeezed her breasts. "You're thinner," he complained before tugging at a nipple. His hand slid south to cup her intimately. He wanted to touch her all over, all at once. That familiar liquid heat blazed and shimmered through her. Zoya's head and hips thrashed as he stroked her slick flesh. Her wetness on his fingers made his blood pound. Asad shifted his mouth to her neck and sucked hard; and she came undone. He felt her go from silk to molten satin. But he wasn't done with her yet. That quick orgasm was just a hello, how do you do; it needed to be rewarded with a second, slower one.

     But not if Zoya had her way. "Asad please, I need you!"

     Fingers scalp-deep he tugged her head back. "Like I needed you last night?" He continued to ravage the pulse at her throat and moved lower. And lower.

     "I'm so sorry for last night. You were right! I should've listened to you. Ple— !"

     "Shh," he hushed as his teeth nicked her inner thigh. He was going to mark her, pepper her with love bites as payback for the last time she'd done it before leaving him all alone in India. Too much time had elapsed since he'd savored her creamy skin and cum and heard her whimpering in helpless desire. Zoya's hips bucked wildly as she felt that mouth rebrand her as his. The snatches of role-playing threats he growled against her skin inflamed her higher. Behind her closed eyelids she watched their entwined bodies from above. He was the customs officer. Did she have anything to declare? 

     Darts of pleasure shot up through her as she felt the firm pressure and swirl of his tongue. "Oh god, Asad—! Yes, yes officer, I do have something to decla—" 

No, he wasn't convinced; he would do a thorough inspection first to ensure no contraband was smuggled aboard...an item by item inventory was necessary before he stamped her passport. It was standard procedure. And there'd be no mercy. His hands squeezed her butt as his mouth blew gently on her thrumming flesh. Zoya's neck arched as she felt herself start to unravel. He knew it too. Just a little nudge, a flutter of his tongue, and she'd tip over. 

     "Oh my god, oh my god Asad, oh my—" Another satiny gush and she fell back limp. She jerked one last time as he scraped a thumbnail on the underside of her breast. What was this, her dizzy mind wondered not for the first time. How could this feel so new, so right each time? 

Zoya's eyes fluttered open and she saw him loom over her. She cupped his cheek. But as Asad slithered up to settle between her legs she pushed back against his shoulders. 

     "Not so fast, Mr. Khan," she panted and smirked up at him as she urged him on his back. 

    "Zoya—!" 

     "Shh, it's my turn for an inspection, officer," she giggled and stroked his hard length. "Just doing my civic duty to check a foreign national before you enter my country." He felt her hand encircle and grip him and all admiration for her wordplay fled his mind. The touch and feel of her hand's firm strokes flooded his mind instead. Anticipation made him taut.

Zoya loved hearing him groan; sliding her hand up she pressed her thumb to the ridge and traced the veined velvet. He pulsed against her hand.

     "Zoya," he moaned.

She had yet to feast on him and touch him to her heart's content. Zoya gazed up into his eyes as she skimmed a silken bead at his tip and deliberately licked her finger. Another long groan dragged out of him. She wanted to hear each bitten off oath, each hiss of his. She wanted to hear him beg. 

And he did. 

She let her tongue tease and taste him. When she took him in her mouth his hips twisted off the sleeping bag. His fingers snarled in her hair as he felt her swallow.  

     "Zoya— babe!"

And she was merciless too. Her tongue too swirled and fluttered, teasing him, tormenting...doing that thing he loved… taking him in deep… driving him to the edge. 

She stopped and he moaned.

She took her time to slither up his hips to take him inside her. He loved to watch her bounce on him, her breasts, her glorious breasts, rising with each rebound. But right here, right now by god, he needed her under him and in one swift move Asad rolled and pinned her under him. 

     "It's been too damn long!" he muttered as he thrusted deep inside her.

     "A whole twenty five days!" Her grateful knees hugged his hips. 

     "And twenty five miserable nights," he panted. He bit her neck as he followed up with shallow thrusts that always drove her crazy. Deep ones for him. Shallow again for her. A tilt, and shallow again. Zoya mewled. Deep, deep, shallow, shallow, shallow ... deep, deep, deep, deep, deep— 

They gazed into each other's eyes willing them to stay wide open. She saw the strain on his face and feathered her fingertips down his back. He jerked. She wanted to claw his butt, cross her legs behind his waist but he wouldn't let her. The pain on his face intensified and she knew he was close to coming. Her own orgasm built and rumbled as she began to arch. 

     "Look at me, babe," Asad grabbed her head as he rocked her.

     "Asad, I can't... nno!" Her eyes were wild.

     "Yes!"

     Her eyes pricked and she felt herself melt once again. "I love you! Oh my god, Asaddd!"

His heart thundered against her body as he crashed on top of her. 

     "I love you more," she heard him sigh in her ear. 

     

     "Like Mangalpur," she said a little later.

     "Hmm?" Asad's heart still raced. 

     Zoya snuggled in closer to fan her palm over his chest. "That night in Apna Dhaba when you accidentally pulled me off the bed on top of you?"

     "Mmm, I love that Mangalpur moment. What about it?" 

     "I meant that this reminded me of that night — me on the floor this time, you up on the bed and then in the middle of the night you ended up on top of me!"

     That slow micro-smile curved his lips again. That night, that memory had a special place in their hearts. It's been nicknamed "Apna Dhaba raat!"

     "No, it's more like the second time when we broke the bed and slept on the floor, you mean." He stroked the fading stretch marks on her belly. In the faint morning light they'd gleamed silver as he'd traced them with his tongue. "You were pregnant then." 

She giggled. Ah yes, she remembered. They'd played Batman and Wonder Woman that second night in Mangalpur. The forlorn Apna Dhaba bed had surrenderd to Dobby's kabza instead; they just weren't meant for it. 

 

     "O. Henry once said New York would be a wonderful city… if they ever finish it!'" the cruise tour guide announced. She was pointing out New York's skyline and waved toward the tower cranes still altering and updating that vista. 

     "Wow, is that a Lamborghini going up?" Humaira asked. 

     "That's just crazy," Ayaan shouted against the wind. Everyone just nodded. They had no words to add. 

They were doing a New York architecture tour by boat and the guide had just pointed out the sky garages at 200 11th Avenue in Manhattan. Yes this was crazy but hey, it was classic New York. Each ultra-posh unit in this building had a sky garage where you drove into a car elevator at street level and then parked next to your apartment or penthouse on whichever floor that happened to be. The glass elevator showed Maseratis, Lamborghinis and Ferraris riding up and down, brazenly visible for all the world to see.

     "There's no horizontal space in Manhattan, guys," Zoya reminded him. "It's only 23 square miles! So the only way to build is up."

     "But parking your car on the 5th floor? Isn't that a bit much?" 

     "What happens if there's a power failure?" Humaira asked.

     "Then they're screwed," Ayaan muttered. He was rewarded with a slap upside his head by Asad. Ayaan ruffled his hair. "Bhaijaan c'mon, you know I'm right!" 

     "Ayaan, these are some of the richest people in the richest country in the world. You don't think they have a plan B in case of a power failure?" Asad said.

Ayaan made a face. The girls laughed. He was just trying to be funny. And contrarian as usual. He had found the tour interesting for the first 40 minutes. After that all the tall buildings kinda blended into one another. He didn't care as much as Asad about the Art Deco and Beaux Arts style — whatever the hell they were. He didn't get the big deal about the Flatiron bulding. He had other things on his mind. Like how could he convince Bhaijaan to visit a club with the girls?

But Asad couldn't look away. Brooklyn Bridge's gothic piers... The trademark spires of the Empire State and Chrysler buildings he'd seen a million times in pictures, books, movies and textbooks. But to see them come alive, change color and scrpe a proud sky's underbelly was breathtaking. While Ayaan had loved Times Square and the Wall St. iconic bull, Asad wanted to visit the Guggenheim museum designed by one of America's greatest architects: Frank Lloyd Wright. New York wasn't just a fashion capital when it came to design it was a pioneer and trendsetter in architectural innovation too. He had studied these designs in college! The Chicago school, the International styles I, II and III... all of these were in those thick textbooks, those hours of exams... 

And here they were, spread out before him. Glorious. Touchable. 

...The most famous skyline in the world. And the history... Sure, as Indians you could make fun of America's lack of a history but you couldn't put down what they'd achieved in this brief time. Yes, there were dark chapters in this young history but then no nation was free of such darkness or closeted skeletons.

He could watch this forever. Each view was new with the changing light. Asad already had a list of buildings he would love to tour... some of Frank Gehry's structures were on that list. And the new stuff he was reading and researching about — innovations in green architecture. If only there was more time...  

A hand resting on the rail Zoya watched Asad's face in profile through her sunglasses. A dimple flashed. He was so loving this! This was Disneyland to him. She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. If Humaira and Ayaan weren't here she would've even reached up to give him a quick peck on his mouth. Because hey, this was one of the best perks of being in America — no one stared at you, no one passed comments, no one tried to shame you for being in love.

It was one of the things Najma had raved about too a million times since she got here. 

     "You can wear anything here, do anything and no one cares. Bra-strap showing? Who cares! So liberating man, to not worry about comments and looks. When they make eye contact they smile. It took me some time to get used to that and reciprocate." 

     Zoya had laughed. "Well in California, sure they smile. In the Midwest too they're really friendly. But beware people in New York City — ain't nobody's got no time to smile!"

     "Omar says the same about LA! You know, on the drive from the airport, the first thing Omar warned me about was — don't stare like an Indian. Americans get offended. And then some nutjob might just pull out a gun!" 

     "Oh my god, Feroze told me the same thing!" Nikhat piped in. The girls had warned their parents about this too. And then they discussed the phenomenon among themselves some more. "Do we all tend to stare a bit in India?" Nuzzhat wondered. 

     Zoya giggled. "That's hilarious! I noticed it the moment I landed in India. And it's not just men but women will look you up and down too — to judge what you're wearing, who're you with, what you're doing. It freaked me out earlier. Now I wonder if I do it too!" 

     "Especially when you're stopped at a red light. In India everyone looks into everyone else's car!" Najma hooted. "Oh god, how many times did I do that?" 

Now Shireen and Dilshad were echoing some of the thoughts and remarks of their daughters when they'd first stepped on American soil.

     "Oh my god, where are the people?" Najma had asked Omar on her first morning as she looked out from the apartment window. She could only see cars for miles and miles. Only a couple of people here and there. Cars zipping around with only one person in each of them. What was that all about? 

     "What do you mean?" Omar had asked, not understanding the question at all.

     "But no one's on the street!" Najma tried to make him see how odd that was. At this time of day in India, the streets were a veritable carnival by comparison. 

     "Everything is ulta-pulta here," Najma went on. The light switches turned on and off the wrong way. Same with the faucets.

     "No, everything's ulta-pulta in India," Omar had told her with a typical American's swagger. 

     "Ya Allah, itna bada alu?" Shireen had asked at the grocery store that stretched for miles. The onions were just as huge. Did you see the size of those lemons? Hamare India ke char lemons fit ho jayein! So many varieties of apples, tomatoes and cucumbers? Mexican cucumbers? And Persian ones too? But why didn't all the veggies taste like they did in India? Something was surely missing. 

Laughing, Zoya lifted Asad's hand to her lips as she put the mysteries of India and America behind her.

They watched New York from the water. Dusk was falling. Soon the city lights would set the skyline ablaze to kick up another flamboyant nightshow. Zaid kicked his feet and swung his legs in the baby carrier attached to his daddy's front. He watched Khala rest her head on Chachu's shoulder. They'd retreated to the seats in the back. Abbu put his arm around Ammi and pulled her in closer. Together they dropped a kiss each on his head. Zaid blew bubbles making contented cooing sounds. He was seriously loving Noo Yawk more now that Abbu was here. He pointed and waved again at Stachoo of Wibety. She had watched out for Abbu and brought him to Zaaf. She was his new best friend. If she could only meet Dobby.

But where was Dobby? 

  


Exactly, where was Dobby?

Dobby was not a happy camper, thank you very much. Raziya had called to find out if the boys had reached OK, how did everyone like my surprise, and tell me about every detail. By the way, Dobby had slashed the curtains in the living room, she reported. And he was growling at everyone. Then yesterday he had sneaked outside and got himself stuck in a tree. Poor Wajid had scratches to show for rescuing the little devil. The couch was fraying too under a stealth assault. 

     "Bas, ab jaldi aa jao," Raziya sniffed. "Siddiqui Saheb and I, and of course Dobby — we're missing you all so much. Ghar kabristan lagta hai without you all and especially mera Zaid." 

She had a thousand and one questions about Zaid — is he eating well? Has he stood up yet? How did he react when he saw Asad? Why did you let him play with that dog in that photo? Did you make sure that dog had all his shots updated? When are you taking him for his allergy test? Is that really necessary? Won't it hurt? Why must you all go out everyday? Don't you think he needs a thicker jacket? Main bhej doon?

     "Aunty you should have also come," Zoya told her for the hundredth time. "Then you wouldn't get so worried. I miss you too."

     "No, someone needs to stay here. Can't leave both houses empty like that." She would go to the Khan house every other day to supervise cleaning and just give it a lived-in look so that neighbors and passersby would know that the house wasn't sitting vacant. Dobby went with her to re-sniff all the rooms. On the first visit he had put his head back and yowled to let his displeasure known. 

Allah meow'n, where was everybody? 

What was going on?

     "OK, but next time you have to promise that you will come with us! I want to show you around, the school I went to, introduce you to my friends, take you all over..."

Raziya's eyes prickled as she listened to Zoya chatter away about the wonderful things they would do together. That guilt sometimes came raging back with the force of a rip tide. If Zainab was here... if... 

She sniffed. 

     "Aunty. Is everything OK?"

     "Haan haan, don't worry about me. And would you take me to one of those Broadway musicals I hear about so much?" 

     "Of course! You know what, I want so badly to watch the musical based on 'Bend it Like Beckam'!'" 

     "What's that?" Raziya asked. 

     "Arre Aunty, you haven't seen that film? OK, first thing when we come back we'll watch that movie together. And then we'll watch that other movie by Grinder Chhadha — 'Bride and Prejudice.' You have to see it — it's hilarious!"

Raziya was glad to hear of these plans. Soon they would all be home. Just another week. Then she would watch a thousand movies with Zoya. She would hold Zaid to her heart and then sing to him while she rubbed ghee and badam on his head. She would take him to visit his Nani and together they would drape a phool chadar on the stone... Should she get him a new tawiz? But she'd already put one on him to ward off all evil eyes in America... 

     "Aunty?"

     "Hunh?"

     "I said, what would you like me to bring back for you from here?"

     "Lo, yeh bhi koi poochne wali baat hai, bhala? Mere Zaid ko mere paas le ao! Bring yourself back for me from there. And then never ever leave again for a long, long time." She paused with guilt. "But then that wouldn't be fair to Zeenat and Anwar saheb. Unka bhi to haq hai. Bas jaldi jana and come back jaldi too each time." She wiped her eyes which had become damp at the thought of Zoya going again. "OK, I have to go now." She laughed. "Dobby has ripped the chair cover in Siddiqui Saheb's study." 

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong him!" Zoya slapped her forehead. That was Abbu's favorite chair. 

     Raziya started laughing. "What's wrong with him? What's wrong with you? He's an animal — how else is he going to express himself? If I could, I'd do the same…" Zoya laughed. She knew exactly how much Aunty hated that particular orange cover in Abbu's study. "Bechara Dobby," Raziya continued. "He's just missing you all terribly, that's it."

     "Aunty please, woh bechara nahin hai!" 

     "Kyun nahin hai? First you and Zaid left and now Asad's not here. Ayaan too. He feels abandoned. How does he know that you'll return? In his mind he's probably wondering if you will ever return. He calms down only when Siddqui Saheb sits with him in his lap to watch the news. And then at night he curls up on Asad's kurta. It probably smells like him." 

     "Oh god," Zoya groaned. Poor Aunty and Abbu having to deal with a badly behaving Dobby. But poor kitty — acting out to speak his mind. She totally got why he would curl up on Asad's kurta — she would too. Thank god she had already bought a cute collar and a toy for Dobby Miya-oon. Well OK, three toys but Asad didn't have to know that.

  

     "What're you humming?" Asad whispered next to her ear. Another ten or twelve minutes and they'd be back at the pier. New York glowed molten. Zaid had fallen asleep and was tucked in his stroller.

     Zoya laughed softly. It was the same song she'd been humming for two days now since the party. "Raat bhar..." just kept popping into her head at the oddest moments. It was in her head the moment she woke, on her lips before she fell asleep in Asad's arms.

     "Toh chal, chale'n, gire'n, pade'n, uthe'n, urre'n..." she sang brushing noses with him. 

He shifted to hold her from the back, arms wrapped at her waist as the cruise boat zoomed in closer and closer upon the city. Zoya spread her arms wide and flung her head back to look up at the faded stars. They were no match for New York City's lights. "Iss raat ki ho na seher... haan raat bhar..." She had probably mixed up the lyrics but who cares. There was a line about "chaand ko chakh le, taaron ko pee le," and that's what mattered. It's how she felt. Glorious. Unstoppable. On top of the world.

     She lowered her arms over his. "Asad?" 

     "Hmm?" 

     "Have I told you how happy I am?" 

     "Umm hmm."

She giggled and turned in his arms.

     "And how much I love you." 

     He nibbled at her ear and she hissed. "No, not in the past hour or so, you haven't."

     "Aww. How careless of me."

     "Mmm hmm. Very." He felt just as drugged and high as her.

     "Will I be punished for it?" 

     He chuckled. "Definitely." 

     "Tonight?" 

     "Raat bhar..."

 

 

Song in Title: 

Dilwale (2015): "Gerua"


	129. Le Chal Wahan Jo Mulk Tera Hai

 

  
   
  
     "There he is! There's my tiger!" Asad held his arms open and Zaid leaped down into them from the bed.

This had become his new American ritual. It had started that first day when Zaid woke up and discovered himself all alone in the bed. He'd blinked in confusion at first. Where was Ammi? And Abbu? Had it been just a dream? Didn't Abbu hold him last night? The party...the dancing...   
His face began to scrunch up.  
But then he heard soft whispers and giggles coming from somewhere in the room. They sure sounded like Ammi and Abbu. But where were they? This called for a Zaid Miyan and Dobby Miya-oon investigation. But Dobby wasn't here. No matter. He decided to solve this mystery on his own and went exploring by crawling around the bed. There were pillows here...and here... He went straight to the edge of the bed and peeked. And a wide grin spread on his face.

     "Hi sweet baby," his Ammi smiled up and waved at him from the sleeping bag on the floor. 

     "Come to Abbu," Asad held out his arms and Zaid jumped into the air to be caught by his daddy. This was a fun new game! Zaid gurgled as Asad kissed him and passed him on to be kissed by his mom. Yes, this was just M.A. even if Abbu's stubble itched and tickled only a bit.   
Zaid kicked his legs in glee.

     "Ufff!" his dad yelped and sucked air the next second. 

Zoya hefted Zaid out of the way--his face had fallen and he was this close to bellowing in fear. What happened? Did he do something bad? 

     "It's OK, baby," Zoya soothed both her boys, holding one and patting the other. She squeezed Zaid's cheeks between her thumb and forefinger. "But you gotta be careful, cowboy," she told her son as she rubbed noses with him. "Keep that up and you won't have a chhota bhai or behen to to play with." 

A toothy grin split Zaid's face. Did someone say play? Let's roll! He twirled his mom's hair around his finger absently as he latched on for his morning feed. 

     "Are you OK baby," his mom asked and Zaid nodded, eyes wide and bright. He didn't realize that Ammi was actually talking to Abbu. Abbu grunted something unintelligible. And as his parents talked he wondered what they would do today. Were they going to ride that open bus? Would he see the horsey again and ride the carriage? No, he didn't want to see Elmo or The Hulk in Tai Scare, thank you very much. They scared him. He wanted to sit on the red steps and look up at the huge billboards. He couldn't swivel his head around enough to catch the changing images and videos.  
 

  
     "No!" Asad covered his face with his hands that night. 

     "But you promised!" Zoya said in an indignant stage whisper as she dangled her gift in front of him.  

     Asad groaned. "When I said yes to wearing Batman underwear for you I didn't realize they would look like ... that! He wagged a finger and pointed to the skimpy briefs in black pleather. Who made these things anyways? What imagination! They were emblazoned with the bat signal and even had a zippered front--matte finish of course. 

     "Please," Zoya pleaded and pouted. And bounced. The stars and stripes bounced and jiggled too. Asad's head rolled back as he groaned again. She had already changed into her Wonder Woman lingerie and it was making him hard but then when he saw that...that ridiculous thing that she was holding and expected him to--

     Zoya batted her lashes at him and wiggled some more as he went cross-eyed with lust. "Please, Jahanpanah ... for your kaneez."  

Her husky voice steamed his blood even as that sexy pout did him in--like she knew it would. She held the glow-in-the-dark Batman briefs and dangled them playfully from her fingertips. But he had to burst out laughing when she slowly undid the zipper...with her teeth. 

     "I think you'll fill these out real nice," she winked and stuck out a saucy tongue. 

     "Zoya!" he snatched them from her. "You are so bad!" 

     "And you love me best when I'm bad, don't cha?" she grinned shamelessly. 

     He drew her close by her waistband and flicked a finger under her chin, "that's because you're so good when you're bad. And you know it too!" Asad fingered the batman material and made a face. "What is this made of? Please don't tell me it's leather...or rubber!"

     "It's a special ishqiya fabric, Mr. Khan--it stretches in love and molds and hugs like a...glove." His eyes widened and she giggled. She knew that he didn't expect her to say glove especially when she swallowed suggestively. "Now stop delaying the inevitable--and scoot!"

He spanked her lightly for pushing him. 

     "Ooh baby, is that the best you got?" Zoya did a half-pirouette and then with her hands on her knees stuck her butt out more. The royal blue silk panties made his mouth water. His eyes drank her in. She'd really outdone herself in getting most of the costume details right: the gold headband, the red cape. Only the high-heeled boots were black instead of the classic red. "I didn't want to buy a new pair. My old black boots'll have to do," she'd sighed a few minutes earlier. "Where am I going to wear red boots?" 

     "In our bedroom?" Asad had teased. He loved those spiky boots of hers. His head swam imagining her in them in public with her mini skirt.   
He saw red. Sonofa-- 

But then he got distracted by a deepening dimple... Oh yes, he would insist that she have only those boots on when he took her tonight-- 

     Asad dipped his head to kiss her. "You better be packing those boots to wear in Ind--" but she pushed him away.

     "Mr. Khan, I need you to focus on the right here, right now! Now go change into your Batman undies. Hurry!" 

They had to keep their voices low. Zaid was fast asleep after a long day of taking his Abbu to the petting zoo at Central Park, walking the Brooklyn Bridge and a visit to the Top of the Rock with breathtaking views of the city--Central Park to the north, Empire State Building to the south, the Hudson River in the West and the East River on the opposite side. It was all, as his Ammi always said, M.A.  

     "Zoya--" Asad tried distracting her by nibbling on her lobe. His hands were already exploring Wonder Woman's curves, thumbs dipping under the star-spangled waistband ... 

     "Hey, don't make me whip out my lasso!" she threatened as she turned and assumed her warrior pose.

Asad laughed softly. His American vacation was turning out to be quite the unexpected adventure. But this delicious sightseeing detour he hadn't anticipated.

 

So far he had loved visting Zoya's elementary and high schools. Outside the elementary school office he'd traced her name on a 6X6 ceramic tile painted by her for a school project when she was nine. He had made her pose in front of the tile wall and point to her artwork with Zaid. If he'd had his way Asad would have liked to cut out the tile and take it back home with them, but then he'd end up in an American jail for vandalism.

Everyday he saw a new face of the city. Manhattan hummed with action: New Yorkers hustling away, not making eye contact with gawking tourists who would invariably ask for directions. How the hell did Zoya figure out the whole Avenue versus Street thing, the uptown and downtown speak, the east and the west? It seemed to be some kind of wicked secret that only New Yorkers knew about. Zoya had tried to explain the grid system to him--"remember, 5th Ave. is the spine of Manhattan. Everything east of it is the eastside and the numbers go down. And everything west, westside as the Avenue numbers go up. Simple!" She'd been so patient with him too. It made sense when she said, "simple!" but the instant someone said, "corner of W. 46th and 7th," he got lost all over again. "You'll get the hang of it. A few more days and you'll be a pro," Zoya patted his cheek each time he made faces in confusion. 

And the city plugged away, intimately familiar to the natives, beguiling to visitors who would forget the dizzying street and avenue numbers but remember its steel, and glass, and concrete.   
And grit.   
   
Of course Ayaan fell in love with New York, hard, just like his nephew. He was still rallying everyone for a club night but Bhai hadn't yet caved in to his charm. Stuff it, he knew just how to get Bhaijaan around--at that he was a pro. But by now one thing was very clear: if Humaira and Mona Darling were opposed to Ayaan's shenanigans then he would never be able to persuade him--"Bhaijaan ki wafadar chamchiyan," he taunted them. But with them on his side, it would be a piece of cake. Ayaan ran a cocky hand through his hair. Easy as pie. And of course he'd swiftly lapped up all Americanisms by now.  
If only they could stay here a bit longer...this place was freaking awesome! He'd gone a little crazy at the M&M store seeing all that candy, in all possible colors, stacked three stories high. Humaira had to drag him away by pinching his arm. 

     "Gotta watch those architectural teeth, Raaburt," Zoya had teased him. "With that much candy, saari foundation bigad jayegi!" 

Ppffft! Shut up, Mona.  

     R2D2 and BB 8 made out of candy? Come on! Definitely awesome. He freaking loved it! An adventure waiting at every corner or block. Like on one street they had to weave through an army of film crew trucks. Zoya and Ayaan had sidled up to man with a walkie-talkie. "Are they filming something here?" she asked.  

     "A scene for the show, 'Blacklist.' New season." 

     "Cool!" Ayaan exclaimed. "We'll check out season 1 as soon as we get home," He nodded at Humaira who laughed at her husband's rabid excitement. Ayaan had become a wafadar binge-watching junkie just like his Mona Darling Bhabhi.    

At another street and they'd encountered a long line snaking around a building: The Ed Sullivan Theatre with people lining up to see "The Late Show with Stephen Colbert." At Pier 84 they found their way blocked with dozens of NYPD cars, fire trucks and ambulances. This time Zoya and Humaira hurried to ask someone what had happened. "Some kayakers capsized. A rescue operation." 

Late at night people spilled out of the theaters to throng Times Square. The street performers revved up the crowds. The giant billboards lit up the night with a billion-watt shimmer.   
The city kept going and going and going. It may well have been a never-ending broadway show come to life.  
It was crazy. It was fucking exhilarating. 

But Asad's love affair with New York came with an asterisk.  

     Earlier in the day he had grinned broadly when Zoya exclaimed, arms outstretched, from Rockefeller Center's rooftop, "Isn't this city amazing? I love New York! Isn't it the best city in the whole wide world?" 

Yes it was, he nodded in agreement as he tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear. Her animation had been contagious.  
But then he'd gone dead silent as they rode the elevator down and all the way home. 

     "Asad?" she asked when they were finally in their room. Zoya was worried about him. Why was he brooding? She'd been busy with a fussy Zaid initially but had gradually alerted to Asad's darkening mood. She couldn't ask him about what was bothering him earlier--they'd been stuck in traffic forever with the others. But now she had to know. 

He gazed out of the window arms crossed, brow furrowed. 

She slipped her arms around his waist and leaned her face against his rigid back.  

     "Everything okay?" she asked again. "Are you mad at me?" Asad sighed and let his arms fall by his side. She slid her hands up his chest to hug him closer. Jeeju had also noted Asad's sudden stillness. What happened? Was it some crisis at work? Or was it something else? "You're scaring me by going all quiet. Did I do something?" 

     His hands came up to cover hers. Asad lifted her hand to press his lips against her palm and exhaled. "No it's not you. You didn't do anything, I did."  

     "Asad, stop scaring me. What have you done? It can't be anything bad."  

     "It is bad." He turned to pull her into his arms. "I took you so far away from a home you love...friends, family." He waved an arm in defeat. "This--New York--the best city in the whole wide world." 

     Hysterical laughter bubbled up through intense relief. Going up on her toes Zoya latched her arms behind his neck. "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan," she murmured as she brushed noses with him. "Why would you scare a girl like this for such a silly thing? Look who's being incredibly foolish now!" He sounded like he was actually jealous of New York! 

Aw, Mr. Khan. 

     Asad frowned. "I'm dead serious. I feel terrible that you'll have to leave all this behind. Again. I see how much this place means to you. I never realized till now how much you've given up...for me." 

He'd seen the brimming pride and boundless energy as she'd shown him around, dragged him to some of her favorite places, forced him to sample food truck cuisine from all around the world--falafel and crepes, shwarma and tacos, bagels and Thai rolled ice cream...he'd heard her brag about the sweet water from the Adirondacks that made the New York bagels and New York pizzas taste the best in the world… And ya Allah, the coffee was to die for.

This city was alive and throbbing. The city was all her. It beat in sync with her joy, her vibrancy. Why would she like any place else?

     "I wish we had more time so that I could show you..." he'd heard her grouse a hundred times. 

     Just this morning she'd tried to recreate a photo from her past that graced the mantle in Jeeju and Aapi's home--Aapi holding Zoya as a toddler in her arms with the towers of Brooklyn Bridge rising behind them. Today she had posed with Zaid in her arms in the same spot as she made Asad match the exact details of a picture from nearly twenty years ago. "Won't it be so cool when Zaid comes here years later with his own kid and took the same picture?"  

All his earlier fears and insecurities came rattling back when he heard her declare from the top of the world, "isn't it the best city in the whole wide world?" Was this the real reason he'd hesitated so often in the past, each time she mentioned coming to the US? Did he fear that once she went back she'd never look back? That she'd always compare Bhopal to New York and find it lacking? What city could ever compare to New York?  

     "You crazy, silly man," Zoya pressed herself closer to him. "I gave up nothing and I gained the whole world two times over! It's not as if by marrying you I'm banned from loving and coming to New York. It's not a zero-sum game--" 

     "But I see how much you must miss this--" 

     "I do miss it but it doesn't make me sad or depressed. Each time I miss this a little doesn't mean I don't cherish what I have." She took his face in her hands. "Asad, look at me. I love what I have with you! I love you, our home, Zaid and Ammi, Abbu, Dobby, Aunty, Humaira. Everyone. Everything! Oh my god, Asad nothing else matters, don't you see? I have you. Aap par, humari chhoti si, pyaari si zindagi pe, hazaar New York qurbaan!" 

     Asad smiled at that. Finally! "But I don't want it to be a qurbaani for you!" he tried one last time to make her understand how terrible he felt for wrenching her away from her home.

It was only after they'd declared their love for one another that he'd found out about her original plans when she'd first come to India. It had taken months for her to convince Aapi to let her come to India to search for her father. She'd taken a gap year after graduation even as all her friends had gone on to join new jobs. 

     "I'll always keep wondering, Aapi. Let me have this, please! I'll never ask you for anything else." Aapi had only agreed once Zoya had promised that she would live in India till her visa expired in five months and then return to the US. She could start applying for grad school soon after or join work--but the quest had to be put to rest.  

     "Please Asad, it's no qurbaani! If I had to do it over I wouldn't change a single thing about my life! And hey, New York is a state of mind," she countered, and giggled when Asad rolled his eyes. 

     "You're just saying that to make me feel better." 

     "Of course! But I'm also saying it because I seriously mean it too! Jeez."  

Asad huffed. He was still not fully convinced that she was right and he wasn't.  

     "Noo Yaa!" Zaid twittered from where he was playing on the floor with his mega blocks. It was way past his bedtime but he was wide awake.  

     "See, even he loves New York!" Asad thundered. The boy said those words at least fifty times a day. 

Zoya laughed. Silly man, would Zaid even be here to say the words a hundred times a day if she hadn't gone to Bhopal and lost her heart to this man? She grabbed his hand and dragged him to sit on the floor next to Zaid. Asad sagged back against the bed and Zoya sat down between his legs. His arms came around her to pull her closer. Zaid noticed this and abandoned his blocks to trundle over. He raised his arms to be included in the family cuddle and Zoya rocked him against her.   
He cooed. 

     "Abbu is feeling sad," Zoya told Zaid. "Should we tell him a story?"  

     "Owee tai!" Zaid clapped as he twisted to look up at his dad. He loved story time! 

Asad smiled at his son's growing vocabulary which was still mixed in with a hefty dose of lisping and humming. And of course, drooling.  

     "Once upon a time there was a young girl," Zoya began. Zaid stilled. He understood the cues. His eyes rounded. A girl? Was this going to be the Jhassi kRani story? Good! 

     "She was happy enough in a city of towers and spires but it was as if half of her was missing. This girl wanted to go on a great adventure but her parents wouldn't let her go. 'It's too dangerous,' they told her. 'Don't go,' they said."  

Asad listened too, intrigued inspite of himself. He had picked up on the cues too--the story was for him just as much as it was for Zaid. One hand curled around Zoya's waist and the other stroked his son's head. 

Zoya was on a roll.

     " 'No!' she fought with them and begged and pleaded. 'I have to find my destiny,' she told them. 'I have to know who I am, where I come from. And I know that what I seek lies far beyond these skyscrapers and subways, museums and theaters. Far beyond Times Square and Central Park. To the East I must go.' Little did she know that she would find a father. A husband. And a son." Zoya traced Zaid's face with a finger.  

     " 'How will you protect yourself? her parents asked. 'You'll be all alone.' "  

     " 'I have my pepper spray and iPad!' and the girl held out an arm like the Statue of Liberty's torch with the iPad clutched close to her other side." Everyone knew how much Zaid loved Statue of Liberty. He would raise his arm each time he heard her name mentioned. 

Asad felt torn. The land in the East and the destiny she talked of hadn't treated her well at the beginning. It had given her scars both seen and unseen.   
But this bedtime story though...its charms wormed and wound their way into his shadowed heart. While Asad bit his lip to keep himself from laughing out loud, Zaid looked at his mom intently. His thumb strayed toward his mouth. He frowned when she tugged it away. 

     Zoya continued her storytelling. She knew she had not one but two avid listeners. And she was only just getting to the good parts. Hang on, baby. "She traveled over seas and mountains. Over great lakes and mighty forts. Till she finally came to a beautiful lake city where trolls and monsters chased her. They hunted her down and locked her up." 

Asad's arms tightened around her. All true. This girl had encountered much violence and terror away from her beloved city...   
Damn. So many times she had coming close to dying.  
So many times he had come close to losing her...   
Asad buried his face in her hair. No, thank god that was all behind them.   
They had beat the odds and made it back to each other.  
Allah had opened up a new world to them and the scars that remained were testimony of their resilience. "Hum pe meherbaan do jahan," she loved to sing.  
No more tears...only thanks. 

He nuzzled her neck after pushing her hair to one side. Asad didn't know whether he liked where this story was going. It churned up too much darkness. And when exactly or how would he be making an entrance in this saga? At this point in her story wasn't she was mixing up the two Akram incidents?  

     It was as if she read his mind. He heard the smile in her voice. "She fought hard but she was losing. Her energy was fading. There was no Zaid Miyan or Dobby Miya-oon to help her."

Asad's eyes clamped shut in remembered shame when she spoke of the fading energy. They had drugged her--why had he been so such a stick-in-the-mud in those days? Tehzeeb-obsessed and blind... 

Zoya squeezed and patted his hand as if to say, wait for it, the good parts are coming. We're fine. Aal iz well.  

Zaid's eyes shone. He liked being in a story but why wasn't he around to help this girl? Where was he? What happened to that girl? Someone help her!  

     "Then a fearless warrior leaped up and scissor-kicked the bad guys away. Like this!"   

Zoya grabbed his little legs and helped Zaid mimic his father's kicks. Zaid gurgled some dhishoom-dhishoom-like sounds. They both cheered and Asad laughed. It became a little easier to breathe. 

     " 'Are you okay?' the warrior asked the girl after he beat up the bad guys."  

Asad smirked. There was a lot missing from this mixed-up story but some details were spot on.

     He couldn't resist adding to her narration. " 'Allah miyan, what's wrong with you! I can fight my own fights,' the young woman replied. 'I can take care of myself. I'm a strong girl,' " Asad butted in with his own version of the story. Thank god he didn't brand her a helpless princess in his story or he'd have gotten a sharp elbow in his ribs. 

It was Zoya's turn to laugh at her husband's returning humor. 

     " 'Maybe you should go back to New York,' this warrior told her." Zoya continued the double-edged chronicle: as a lullaby for her son, and a deeper message wrapped in repartee for his father. " 'Maybe this is not the right place for you,' he added." 

A soft gasp escaped Asad's lips. His hand at her waist moved to hold hers tight. He took up the narrative now, voice dropping to a husky murmur. 

     Asad: " 'Oh really? Who are you to tell me where to go or stay?' the girl sassed at the man. 'I'll choose what I do because I'm here on a secret mission!' "

Zoya giggled. A secret mission? Wait, was he making fun of her mistaking him for a secret agent? Jahanpanah Bond, you better not!   
It was Zoya's turn to tease him for his Jahanpanah episodes.

     Zoya: " 'Girls shouldn't go on secret missions,' the man breathed fire like a big Akdu dragon!" 

This was fun. She loved how naturally they were role-playing each others' angry words from their first few meetings. No, scratch that. Their first few collisions. 

     Asad: " 'Girls can do whatever they want to do without any one telling them what to do,' she yelled."  

Zoya elbowed him. She did NOT yell, thank you very much. Asad chuckled. He remembered thinking differently on their second meeting. "Apni hifazat ke liye apko pepper spray ki zaroorat nahin hai," he had snarked that day about her screeching.

     Zoya: " 'New York has made you strong but badtameez,' the Akdu dragon dared to say."

     Asad: " 'You betcha!' the ziddi girl said, nose high in the air." 

     "Please, I do NOT talk like that!" Zoya protested through giggles. 

Zaid didn't understand why his parents were grinning and why Ammi was slapping at Abbu's chest. But he was getting drowsy and this story was not as interesting as his parents thought it was. He watched their eyes snag and hands still. They leaned into one another. This was all too familiar. 

     "India makes me strong too, you know," Ammi whispered. "And incandescently happy."  

     Abbu stroked her cheek. "How?" he asked. 

     "India gave me you. And Zaid."  

     They both looked down at their son. But he'd fallen asleep by then. Asad played with her fingers. "I was arrogant to not consider that you might have regrets about settling down in India."

     She shifted sideways with Zaid still clutched in her arms. "No, you're a sweetheart for feeling all this guilt. But it's unnecessary. Give it up, Mr. Khan, I'm not going to let you paint yourself as the bad guy--the super Akdu husband who forced his wife into exile. You're not that guy. And I'm not that girl. Besides, if you keep this up I'm going to think that you don't think I'm capable of making my own decisions and choices!"  

     "You're sure you made the right choice?" 

     "How can you even ask me that!"  

     "Because I don't want to be the reason for tying you down or holding you back. You studied and worked here, were independent. You're brilliant! God knows what you might have gone on to do, how high you might risen in the corporate world of technology or finance--"

     "Asad! And finance? Ugh. I wouldn't last a day there!" 

Taking a slumbering Zaid in his arms Asad rose to deposit him in his pillowed nest on the bed. God knows why he felt weighed down by these silvery cobwebs of doubt and what ifs. In a more playful mood Zoya would have teased him: "you're PMSing again Mr. Khan!" 

But Zoya knew this weird thing sizzling within him. It was indescribable but still cast a concrete shadow on his heart. She didn't want to make fun of him; she wanted to reassure him. Sometimes he needed this assurance like he needed oxygen. Sometimes the fear of losing a good thing, or being undeserving of fortune seemed to claw him hollow. Even Ammi had told her about this early on. "He's scared that everything good might be ripped away from him. And then he begins to doubt himself, ask if he's good or deserving enough." 

Pushing him to sit and lean back against the headboard Zoya climbed into his lap. Asad's arms came around her. She turned out the bedside lamp and burrowed into the familiar nooks and crannies of his warmth. Zoya dragged his mouth down to hers for a deep kiss. Streetlight splashed in from the window painting dark gold swatches on the floor and walls. Shadows elongated and snuggled. She kissed his palm before placing it on her heart.  

     "I love, love, absolutely love that you can even think this way. Jahanpanah, you sure have come a long way and I'm so proud of you. Every girl should have such a husband and champion!" 

He stirred, embarrassed. Asad tried pulling his hand away.

     "But seriously though, I wish you wouldn't think like that." Her voice got all papery and quavery.  "You know that first time in the Thai restaurant when you said I love you, Zoya? I thought to myself: I'm finally home. This is where I belong. With you. There was no New York then, no nothing else. Just you. And us." And an unknown ache that only he could fill. The raging emotions of that fateful day flashed through her--from morning to evening that day had dragged, but the looming get-together at the restaurant had come too soon and, Bam! it had slammed her flat in the chest. How many times has she cried that day! She'd fought with him and yelled at him and with a final, "you're not worth it," she'd run out of the house crying. How hard it had been to step out of her room that day to face a whole evening of chitchat about engagements, nikaahs and waleemas. But then by night that day turned into the best day of her life. Thank you, Allah Miyan! Zoya hugged him to her.  

Asad dropped a kiss on her head but still remained unconvinced. His continued silence craved comfort. So she pulled out her trump card. She saved it for special times. And these were desperate times. Asad hadn't decended the black hole in a long time.

     "Remember I told you long ago about the vow I'd made to myself when I came to India? 'Jo chahat hai, usko paane ki taqat dena. Jo kismat hai, usse qubool karne ki himmat dena.' It was more like a pact with God, I guess. But I'm so blessed that Allah made you my chahat and kismat. Don't you see how right this is? How right we are?" 

     "Of course I do. But--"

     "Shh," she pressed a finger to his lips. Instinctively he kissed it. "Two things, Mr. Khan: one, what corporate high-flying job? I would never have joined the corporate world. Seriously, can you see me being a part of that universe? A non-profit, may be. A start-up, definitely! But I see myself more as a freelancer who would pick and choose projects based on my specs. And two, do you think I'm not doing anything worthwhile or productive right now? That I'm somehow wasting my potential?" 

     "No way! I didn't mean that at all. You're doing great stuff, on your terms, and making a huge difference...I'm so proud of all your projects and dreams. I love that you hold yourself and me to a high standard."  

     "Exactly," she smiled smugly. She was reeling him back in from the abyss. "That's what I've been trying to tell you--sure, had I stayed on in New York I would have been doing some cool stuff. Who knows! But I chose to settle in India the day I chose to say qubool hai to you. Do you think I could have survived knowing about Abbu and Tanveer conning him without you? Don't forget, you've been my rock through it all. My North Star!"  

Asad breathed in her scent. The bands of skepticism were loosening their hold on him. He loved it when she tried to reason with him as he wrangled with occasional uncertainties--Professor Zoya mode, he called it afterwards. On some days she was philosopher Zoya too. "Baba Zoya ka gyaan-pedia," Ayaan would roll his eyes and tease. But these were short bursts of reflection on her part. Most days she was the same crazyass Zoya who had disrupted his life by being the brash and careless New Yorker who forever interrupted his stony isolation.

     "Jo chahat hai, usko paane ki taqat dena. Jo kismat hai, usse qubool karne ki himmat, hmm?" Asad repeated softly in her ear. 

     "Exactly. And by the way, I said settle IN India--that doesn't mean that I 'settled' or compromised any of my life choices!" She waved mad air quotes for added emphasis. "Got it?" 

     "Got it."  

     "Aal iz well?"  

     Asad grinned. "Aal iz well."  

     "Do you know how much I love you?" he asked after a few minutes of reflective silence.  

     "No, I'm sorry I don't. How 'bout you show me how much, Mr. Khan?"  

He did. And a long and satisfying show it was because hadn't she worked really hard to steer him back to the light? She'd lifted him up once again like she had on their Mehendi night--another night when he hadn't felt worthy of her love. The night when she'd returned his ring... When he had feared that she could never love him because he may be the son of her mother's murderer. 

     "Asad, just hold me, please," she'd said making everything right again. "You make those nightmares go away and make me feel beautiful despite my scar," she'd soothed away his fears then too. "Can't you see, we're even!" she'd cried with full conviction in their made-for-each-otherness. 

Yes, we're even. We're right for each other.

     "Because you are here, in my arms, crying for me and loving me. Why would I turn away from the best thing that happened to me?"  

Amen.

 

It was probably 4 in the morning when Asad tapped her shoulder and gently shook her awake. 

     "Hunh?" Zoya rubbed sleep from her eyes. What was with him? If he wanted a quickie he'd never bothered to ask permission before. Ususally he just flipped her over and entered without so much as an if-I-may, or by-your-leave. Allah miyan, what's wro--?  

     "By the way, if I'm your chahat and kismat you're my taqat and himmat, got it?" He risked telling her this even though he was about 78% sure that she would call him Tubelight Ahmed Khan for this belated epiphany. Mission accomplished Asad turned his back on her to resettle into a morning nap.

     Zoya blinked. Twice. "Gee, it's so nice to know that Jahanpanah. After all my hard work I stayed up the whole night worried that you would never realize that!" 

A shocked laugh burbled up through his diaphragm. Trust her to have a comeback even half-asleep. He fell silent though when he felt her finger trace words on his bare back.  

His eyes widened and erection mounted the next instant. 

"F-u-c-k m-e," she scrawled across his skin and added three violent exclamation points stabbing him with a French-tipped nail.   
His flip and her being pinned on her back was just as violent. And instantaneous.  

     "With pleasure, babe," he breathed in her ear as he entered her. "And here I thought you'd never ask for a demo of my taqat and himmat!"  

She was too far gone for a smartass comeback. His hands...his mouth made her mute as her nerves danced and screamed. Zoya may have lost this round pinned flat on her New Yorker back, but damn she'd missed his weight on her all those days. Him, sliding hot and hard between her legs as he made her insides clench and toes curl. Him, just fire-starting a whisker burn on her neck and cheek and setting her aflame. A sleeping bag on a New York floor, or a plush and wide bed in Bhopal--what the hell did any of that matter?   
What mattered was only this.   
This.   
Oh yeah baby, right there. Aanh--  
This incendiary rhythm and this grindin--  
YES

  
   
Asad had new worries the next day. But these were legitimate. He wanted to pace the floor, but held himself rigid and away from Zoya and Zaid. 

     Dr. Rodriguez smiled at him. "He'll be fine," she said.  

They didn't want Asad to be anywhere near when they tried to give Zaid a dollop of organic peanut butter for his allergy test. In fact Zoya had wanted him to stay outside, but he'd bulldozed over that suggestion. Asad had been so sure of himself when they'd discussed this test a few weeks ago. But now he felt cold sweat coat his back. Zoya was nearly in tears, and he couldn't hold her. Each feared the worst knowing they wouldn't be able to see Zaid's tiny body seize up if he got an attack. Thank god Zaid didn't sense their anxiety! He lapped up the thick paste as his tongue dislodged this new taste from the roof of his mouth.   
His arms flapped. 

     "Mmm naaa yaaam," he babbled. There was a colorful play set on the floor. Why wasn't Ammi letting him reach it? Wait, why was she not giving him more of this interesting treat? And why was everyone watching him like that?  
He thrashed his legs and tired to reach out to his Abbu. But Abbu wouldn't come closer to hold him. Abbu looked like he wanted to smash something and Ammi's fingers were digging into his sides. Zaid wailed in frustration.   
Lemme down! 

     "Zoya, hon put him down on the floor," Dr. Rodriguez said gently. She sat on the floor next to the toys herself. Zaid's eyes followed her. "Come here, peanut," she cooed. 

Zaid squirmed more. Zoya released him after a quick kiss to his curls and he crawled over to lay his hands on the big yellow dump truck that was begging to be test-driven. Up on his knees he wheeled it around making car sounds.

     "This is good," the doctor said looking up at both of them. "So far, he's fine. No difficulty in breathing. His color's good and I don't see anything to be alarmed about. We'll give it a little more time and then do some blood work after this to be absolutely sure. Keep a close eye on him the rest of the day and call me if you notice anything irregular." 

Asad hadn't realized that he'd been holding his breath. It whooshed out just as Zoya started to cry softly. He leaped to sit by her side. 

     "Shh," he slid his fingers through hers. "He did it! I told you he's a tiger!"  

     "I was so scared," she sobbed. 

     "Me too."  

Together they watched Zaid playing with Dr. Rodriguez. They watched him clap and squeal as she pressed on a toy keyboard and it made the sound of a fire engine. He pressed down on other buttons. A car honked and then a train whistled. Zaid whooped.  

They watched him for another fifteen minutes. After the other tests were completed Dr. Rodriguez sat them down as Zaid continued to play on the floor.  

     "This is promising. I'll call you as soon as I get the blood report but I don't anticipate anything alarming. I know you're relieved. Congratulations, there's nothing to worry about. Some kids beat the gene and I guess Zaid is one of those outliers. Yay, right Mr. Zaid Ahmed Khan?" She turned to the little tyke who eagerly high-fived her. He had never been called such a long name and that too in an American accent. And he didn't know that he was one of her youngest graduates who didn't get to be called peanut anymore. Yay, indeed. 

     She gave them some tips as Zoya and Asad beamed in relieved delight. She tried to answer all thousand of Asad's worried questions. No, there was no harm in trying to administer this test for an infant under the age of one. The sooner kids were exposed to allergens the better their immune systems fought them. And no, she laughed, they didn't need to redo the test all over again tomorrow. "It's pretty conclusive. No do-overs needed."  

     "But should we carry an EpiPen, just in case...?" Zoya ventured. 

     "Sure, there's no harm in that. But do educate yourself on the correct symptoms and use. I don't want you pumping him full of epinephrine just because he showed some discomfort or difficulty in breathing." She handed out a glossy leaflet.  

They nodded and expressed their heartfelt gratitude. Zoya hugged the doctor and insisted that she think of coming to India for her next vacation. Asad seconded that. Just as they were packing up to leave her office Dr. Rodriguez detained them.  

     "Mr. Khan, Zoya told me about your symptoms and last attack. Looks like you have a high sensitivity to peanuts. While I advise Zoya to keep exposing Zaid to all kinds of nuts regularly, you will have to be especially careful of what you come in contact with. People who are highly allergic to nuts can have fatal reactions if they aren't injected with an EpiPen immediately." She didn't want to alarm them by discussing a recent case in Canada where a girl died because her new boyfriend didn't know about her allergies when he kissed her after consuming a peanut-based snack. But looking at Zoya's pinched face Dr. Rodriguez knew that Zoya probably had heard of this case. 

Asad nodded as he strapped Zaid into his stroller. He knew all this already. Why was she--? 

     The doctor smiled. "I know you must be thinking why I'm telling you something you already know. First, to caution you--don't come too close to Zaid when he's ingested peanuts. Always keep your auto-injector close just in case. And no, Zoya, you shouldn't ban peanuts for Zaid--he needs the exposure to build a healthy immune system. Just make sure that you've brushed his teeth and washed his hands thoroughly before his father holds or kisses him. But more importantly, I brought this up because there've been some medical breakthroughs. These days you can wear a patch that reduces your risk of an anaphylactic reaction when you come in contact with nuts. You should talk to your doctor and look into this. If you want, I can give you some names and send you the research. Think about it. It could be life-saving." 

Zoya sagged with final relief.

She'd walk to the ends of the earth if somehow she could protect both her guys from evil peanuts. Even if Asad resisted or dithered she'd look into these anti-allergic patches herself, and make him wear one each time Zaid experimented with anything peanut-related. Hell, she would even buy stock in the company that made this magic product. Because yes, she had read that news story about the Canadian couple. It was after reading that story that she'd thanked her instincts which had made her impose a self-ban on peanuts. Imagine if kissing someone you loved could kill them! No way would she let that happen on her watch. She huffed at Asad who had read her mind and was rolling his eyes.

He could just see himself now--knowing her paranoia about his allergies, she would probably cover him head to toe in these patches. 

Asad snorted.

Oh she heard that all right. 

They glared at each other.  
Fists to her hips Zoya frowned at him. Her pout got moodier.   
No Mr. Khan, don't! You will wear that patch even if I have to handcuff you and that will be the end of it. Bas!  

Dr. Rodriguez looked a bit alarmed at these freshly-drawn battle lines.  

But what did she know? Only Dilshad could figure this familiar scene out. She was an old interpreter and referee of her son and daughter-in-law's fight club.   
And only Dilshad could smile serenely at this scene and raise her hands in prayer to give thanks. 

 

 

Song in Title:  
Aaja Nach Le (2007): "O Re Piya"


	130. Hai Saath Tu, Kya Hai Fikar

  
  
   
     "Look Ayaan, I'd love to go, seriously. But don't you think Jeeju might have a heart attack if he saw us dancing in a club with women dressed in revealing clothes? Drinking! Shouldn't we try to respect his feelings on this?" 

They'd discussed this enough and Humaira was getting worried that Jeeju might blow a fuse with all this non-stop badgering.  

 

Ayaan harrumphed at his wife trying to reason with him about letting go of the nightclub fantasy. Please, did she not know how persuasive Ayaan Ahmed Khan could be? Omar and Faiz were already egging him on to talk to Asad.  

     "You have only two days left, dude," they threatened him. "Or, extend your stay like we did when we were in India!" Ayaan had tried to show them his own Mukka Ahmed Khan then--he knew exactly why these losers had extended their stay in India. The Khan girls had turned out to be excellent excuses after all. 

Keeping their end of the bargain Omar and Faiz had bullied Feroze into saying yes--though Feroze had agreed to go only if Asad was OK with this adventure. Nikhat had already told him tales about her Bhaijaan's conservatism and he wasn't up for ruffling his brother-in-law's feathers. Besides, he wasn't such a club enthusiast himself. He was the kind of guy to sit it out in a corner busy on his phone instead of grinding and twerking away. But only because taking a book with him to the club would really not be okay. Could bouncers throw you out for disrupting the noise? A big part of him hoped that Asad would say no and end this nonsense once and for all. He'd be up for a live comedy show or a jazz club, but the idea of a nightclub just made him twitch a bit.

     "Are you sure it's only Bhaijaan you're worried about? You're not saying no because you'd feel shy and awkward?" Ayaan teased Humaira. No way was he giving up on this--this ultimate lifetime opportunity.   
He pulled her hair and she slapped his hand away.

     "Maybe," Humaira said. "I would feel a bit weird. I'm sure Nikhat might too even if Najma and Nuzzhat are on board."

     "I think you're forgetting the most important person here who could make all the difference. I'm certain Mona darling can make your General Jeeju relent--he'll fold like a pack of cards." 

     Humaira giggled. "Oh really? You may be underestimating my General Jeeju and overestimating your Mona darling!" 

     "Hah! As if," Ayaan brushed a confident finger under his nose. If he had one of those maharaja-type mustaches he'd have given the tip a swaggerlicious twirl.  

     "Bhaijaan will be toast. Just watch!"

     "Probably," Humaira shrugged. Right now Jeeju was on top of the world. Day before yesterday he'd seemed a bit off. He'd gone super-silent and reminded her of that old pre-Aapi days wala Jeeju who was stern and made you fidget because you thought you'd somehow done something wrong. But today? Today he was ecstatic after getting Zaid's results. He wouldn't stop beaming. 

     "No allergies!" Aapi had squealed when they returned from the doctor's even though she'd already texted them the good news. Aapi'd hugged her and together the girls had done a quick hop and dance. They'd FaceTimed with Ammi and Abbu back in India and of course Ammi had sobbed in relief. The whole family was in a mood to celebrate. And maybe, just maybe, Ayaan might get his wish if he was wise to strike when the iron was still hot. Maybe Jeeju wouldn't be able to say no after all.

 

 

  
     "Asad?"

     "Hmm," he answered, distracted. Zaid was napping on his chest, and they'd darkened the room to sneak in a post-lunch nap themselves. Only a few more days of such luxury. Once he was back home, work would consume him again. Naptime would officially be over.

     "Ayaan's bugging me again." 

Asad exhaled. He rolled over carefully to deposit Zaid by his side and thumped the tiny chest that rose and fell. 

     "Damn." 

Zoya giggled. Damn was right. She knew Asad felt trapped by his brother's demands to step out of his comfort zone. Everyone knew that 2-3 years ago Ayaan wouldn't even have asked. He'd have sneaked behind his brother's back to have all the fun in the world. "What Bhai doesn't know won't hurt him," used to be his life-saving mantra. In fact, in those early-early days, didn't it used to be her mantra too? She too had snuck behind Asad's back to drag Najma to a cricket match--despite his warning to not go. Allah miyan, the Mr. Khan of those days!   
Gusse ki factory. 

The old Godzilla-Asad would've crushed heads for even entertaining nightclub thoughts. But Asad 2.0 allowed himself to be bulldozed... In fact, he had pretty much lost the power to say no to anything fun. This new Asad had been forged in the fires of betrayal and vengeance to grasp love's fierce and loyal embrace. And with some cheeky arm-twisting, he'd been persuaded that good, clean fun was pretty close to being a fundamental right. 

Zoya crossed her fingers.

And if Asad had changed so had Ayaan. Ayaan had become the guy who no longer snuck behind his brother's back like a rebellious teen. He asked permission now. He begged for Bhai to join in the fun.   
How could Asad possibly resist? Even in the old days he always gave in to Ayaan's demands. 

Asad clicked his tongue in impatience. But how could he say yes to...this new demand? This was really asking too much of him. A nightclub?  
There'd be scantily clad women there, he was dead sure of it. A lot of dirty dancing and ... he would just die of embarrassment. The drinking...the drunkenness...and the body shotting nonsense he'd heard of and seen in films... His face twisted.

Zoya sighed. There he went, gritting his teeth again. 

     "I've ignored him so far but he's really getting desperate," she said. "Raaburt's decided that this will be his goodbye to New York." 

     A reluctant chuckle broke from him. "He actually said that?" 

     "No, that's my spin on it. He hasn't figured out the wording just yet." 

     "Please don't give him any more ideas," Asad said. "I don't get what the big deal is. Why is it so important for him to have this experience! I've said they can go on their own. Why does he want me to tag along?"

     Zoya grinned. Poor Jahanpanah, he'd be so uncomfortable in one of these places. "Aww, he wants his Bhaijaan to go with him, that's why! He thinks he won't have fun without you."

    "Even though he knows I'm not a big fan of such activities or places?" Asad turned to stare at the ceiling and crossed his arms under his head. A few years ago he would have taken this infernal pestering as a sign of disrespect. Why couldn't Ayaan understand and respect his views? But Zoya had managed to dismantle some of these high-horsey, prickly ideas of his: "Isn't it more disrespectful when he does something behind your back and you find out about it months later from a third party?"

Zoya had been folding Zaid's clothes. She pushed the little piles of tees and onesies and pants and miniature socks to sit by Asad's side. 

     "Maybe that's exactly why," she said as she rubbed his chest in circles. "I think in his own bumbling way he's just begging you to share what he loves. He wants your approval, I guess. He looks up to you and doesn't want you to hate or be judgemental about the things he loves!" 

     "Hmm." Asad really hadn't thought of it that way. So Ayaan really wasn't being a disrespectful pest, just an insecure one who craved brotherly blessing? "But I'm not being judgmental! I've said yes, they can go. They have my permission and blessing!"

He shuddered a minute later. He may as well fess up to what was really bugging him. 

     "I don't know how comfortable I'd feel...in such a place." Garish visions of a jam-packed room with half-naked bodies grinding to some unholy noise swam in his eyes. He got a headache just thinking about it. 

     Zoya rested her chin on his chest and he scooted to make room for her on the bed. "What're you really afraid of, Mr. Khan? Tell me."

He grunted, suddenly embarrassed to share his insecurities. 

    "Is it that you'll find the women's skimpy clothes offensive, or see public displays of affection?"

     He squeezed his eyes shut and she smiled. Yup, hit the nail on the head. "The music will be awful...and loud..." he muttered. 

     "Yes, the music will be loud. Probably as loud as the music we play at our Indian wedding functions--remember, like the one you came to attend all the way from Bhopal." 

     "Hmmph. I don't know why Indians have become so mental about dancing all the time! Why must every occasion or event have DJs and dancing Incredibly foolish." 

She laughed. If her husband were the prime minister he would ban all incredibly foolish activities for sure. Dancing would be first on the list. 

     "It's really the women's clothes and the PDA that bothers you, right?" 

And the drinking.

Asad covered his eyes and nodded. Might as well own up to the diagnosis. She'd probably give him a big feminist lecture now for being the 17th Century blah, blah, blah.

     She pushed his hands away and framed his face in her hands. "Look at me."

He did. 

     "You've been so good so far and I'm really proud of you! You haven't thrown a tehzeeb-fit or had a single heart attack even though wherever we went there were dozens of women in slinky tank tops or short shorts, camis or cut-offs." 

Everywhere. New York was enjoying a rare hot spring after a wicked winter. You couldn't stop New Yorkers from busting out their shorts and tank tops in 60-degree weather--and these days the temp. had been well into the mid-70s. 

And Zoya had definitely noticed his reaction. Her poor husband had kept his eyes at eye level not daring to look below women's chins. Not a single peek. She knew also because that's how he used to look at her before they got together. Eyes right! Left, right, left. Eyes front! General Jeeju was extremely particular of tameez sightlines indeed. 

Asad blushed. It had been surprisingly easy to navigate the streets in New York and not once did his tightass tameez-meter go haywire because of glimpses of partial nudity.   
Because he got it now. 

He'd heard his sisters and Zoya and Humaira discussing how no one stares at women in America and how free it felt. He'd come to an abrupt halt hearing that. The one reason he was so 17th Century Jahanpanah with the girls in India was precisely because men in India stared. They'd leer at women in burqas, let alone shorts. But here you just didn't stare. Here, you accepted the fact that women had the right to make choices about what they wore without being judged for it. And if you didn't stare at men for what they wore then why subject women to that? Once you figured that out the rest was easy. Women didn't need covering up; men needed to get over themselves.

     Zoya leaned in to nibble at his jaw. "You Jahanpanah, are a new 21st Century man now. Why let old worries pull you back? And who cares about PDA when we can indulge in some of our own?" 

     He flashed his eyes at her. "Really, I'm a 21st century Jahanpanah? Because I'm OK with women and their...umm, short clothes?"

     "Umm-hmm," she nodded enthusiastically. "Because you're OK with them choosing to wear and do whatever. For not judging them anymore." 

His breath caught. He had judged her once. More than once. Even though her clothes covered her neck to wrist to toe, he'd judged her as "badtameez and unIndian"--someone who'd lacked proper upbringing. 

     "Ye mere kapde hain, character nahin!" Her bitter words spoken through unshed tears still tore at him... 

He remembered that day as if it had been only yesterday...a mini skirt. He'd actually erupted and gone apeshit, as she liked to remind him, over a mini skirt. How had he thought he even had the right? They weren't together then. He was still battling his attraction to her and she hadn't yet told him yet about her feelings for him. So how could he have even thought that he had any right to say those things to her?

     "Dekhiye Mr. Khan, stop giving me these judgemental looks," she had often said in those days. 

Asad ground the heels of his hands to his eyes, still ashamed of his behavior in the past. 

     "What?" Zoya asked as she pulled his hands away. 

     He tilted her chin up to look into her eyes. "I hope I've changed enough to understand that woh unke kapde hain, character nahin. A wise person once taught me that." 

Zoya smiled. Ahh, her Janahpanah knew how to melt her in more ways than one. 

     Asad sighed as he playfully dug a finger into her dimple. "So I guess that means we're going to a nightclub?" 

     Zoya giggled. "Only if you think you're up for the challenge. And if you're bored out of your mind or uncomfortable, you can pull out," she wagged her brows at him. He laughed at the innuendo. "Then we can leave early and have our own party back here. Just the two of us."

And Zaid. 

     "Fine. Tell him yes and get him off my back." 

He watched Zoya text Ayaan. She showed him her phone the next instant when Ayaan texted back giddy emojis dancing and clapping and high fiving. "I knew you'd do it, Mona Darling!!! Shabash, mera cheetah!" This pronouncement was followed by a bunch of cheetahs.  
Asad groaned. But now he'd committed himself and there was no turning back. 

     "Zoya?" 

     "Yeah, baby?" 

     "16-17 years from now is this how you'll convince me about going easy on Zaid?" 

     "If at 16 or 17 Zaid is asking to go to a nightclub I'll expect you to come down very hard on him, Mr. Khan!"

     "Really? You'd want me to be strict! But you're the one who got fake IDs made at 19 to sneak into a club!" She'd told him about some of her pre-marital escapades. 

     "Yes really, Mr. Khan. Our son isn't going to pubs or bars or clubs at 16! And even though I did get the fake IDs made my friends and I didn't make it past the door, remember? I had to call Jeeju to come get us. It was humiliating!" 

Anwar had laughed at her and her friends who were mortified at being caught and thrown out. The girls had lied at home saying that they were going to be spending the night at a friend's. They were stuck and only Jeeju could be trusted to not yell at them. He'd treated them to ice cream that night and then said mildly, "girls, the next time you want to pull this stunt keep me in the loop, OK?" They'd nodded, solemnly. "In fact keep me posted even when you're legal," he'd added. He went on to repeat the talk about boys--never trust them, watch your back. And your drink. Have a buddy system. Go to the restroom in pairs.   
Blah, blah, blah. 

They'd all trooped back to the Farooqui house that night. And Aapi had been livid enough for the both of them. She had given them the expected lecture making up for Jeeju's bindas-ness in a hurry. Thank god though, she agreed to not tell the other parents! But she'd exacted punishment from them--the girls had to give up the next few weekends helping to clean out the garage and hold a yard sale. And that night she'd made them cut up the fake IDs.

     "So you're going to be the cool and fun mom and I'll be the bad cop to the kids?" Asad asked in mock-outrage.  

     "On some days I do want you to be the bad cop. But on some days I hope you'll go rescue the kids like JeejuMan when they do something stupid--which you know they will!" 

Asad had heard all the stories about JeejuMan. Yes, he hoped he could be a good dad like Jeeju. Funny, how he now envied Zoya her upbringing.

     "Zoya, Jeeju told me that the trick to parenting was to be a parent first and then a friend. Make sure that you remind me of that when I'm being the bad cop. Remind me to be the friend too."

He feared he'd been too strict with Najma. That's why she'd lied about getting her hair cut short, the fashion show, and Zoya's involvement in protecting her from the college gundas. And Ms. Farooqui had landed up in an Indian jail. Asad didn't want to make the same mistake twice. 

     "Done," she kissed his nose and lips. "Now get some rest, Mr. Khan cos. you'll have to do double duty as our bodyguard at the club!"

     "Aw, hell." For a second there he had almost forgotten what he'd said yes to.

     "You'll survive. Now hush!"

     "So you really never made it to a nightclub?" He asked after a few minutes of hushing.

     "I did, but it wasn't as cool as we'd imagined. We went to celebrate Jackie's 21st birthday. She's the youngest among us. But we were so self-conscious and so highly-strung that we couldn't relax. The dancing was fun though!"

     "So you're not too keen on this nightclub idea either? I thought you'd be straight up as excited as Ayaan!" 

     "Now that I have you going with me, I'm more than super-excited." Zoya clapped her hands. Being single and young got you a lot of unwanted attention at a club. That's why they had been so awkward that first time! But with a husband in tow? That changed everything! Aapi used to always say: "For many Indian women real freedom often comes after marriage." Because hyper Indian parents kept their daughters on a tight leash.   
     "Don't do this." 

     "Don't go there!"

     "Stay home."

     "What will neighbors say?" 

     "Who will marry you?" 

     Jeeju used to make fun of Aapi when she went out with friends for movies, on cruises, women-only get-togethers, birthday celebrations and what not. "Now in middle age, they're getting to be the teenagers that their parents wouldn't let them be," he would tell Zoya. 

So yes, having Asad around would, in fact, be more fun at a club--no worries about anxious parents or a late night, being hit on or having to guard their drinks. She could really get to be an irresponsible American teenager with no consequences of being grounded or yelled at.   
It would be M.A.

 

   
Asad's lukewarm thumbs up led to the guys racing to research clubs across town. Marquee or the Output? The ballroom at Jane Hotel or Cielo? The super-exclusive ones that celebrities favored might be inaccessible at short notice. When to get there--not too early ... but not too late that they'd be refused entry. Reservations?

When the girls learned of the Jahanpanah seal of approval they squealed and scampered to get their clothes ready. What would they wear?

     "Zoya, what'll you wear tonight?" Asad wanted to know too. 

She had her closet door wide open and was staring at the racks of clothing. She had been standing in front of it like this for the past twenty minutes. 

     "You guys are so lucky," she mumbled. "A shirt and slacks and you're done. We, on the other hand..."

     He watched her from the bed. "What did you wear the last time you went clubbing on a fake ID?"

     She turned to him with an impish grin. "You really want to know?"

The narrowed eyes and raised eyebrow sent her burrowing into the depths of the closet. He watched her butt sway and wave and that familiar lick of desire started a firetrail... 

     "This!" Her face was flushed from the exertions. As flushed when he had her pinned and arching under him--

Eyes hooded he looked up at the dress she held. It was simple enough--a grey-black, slinky-shimmery thing, full-sleeved with shoulder cut-offs, almost knee-length.

Asad grabbed the pillows, punched them before sliding them behind his back and sat up against the headboard. 

     "Show me."

     "Asad, we don't have tim--!"

     "Shh. And Zoya? Since it's for my eyes only..." he left the words unsaid. 

She blushed. As if he even needed to say that much. Didn't she already know the way his badtameez mind worked by now?

Later--after she had shown him the dress without anything on under it and he'd just as quickly whipped it off her body and shown his lusty appreciation of the curves underneath--he had cocked a lazy eyebrow and suggested:

     "Why not wear this tonight?" 

     "Really? In front of everyone?" 

     "Sure," he drawled. "With the proper underclothing and those boots--definitely those black boots..." He winked at her. 

She gasped. Oh hello, where had her tehzeeb-e-afta husband gone and who was this guy?

     "You're serious? You won't have a meltdown? You won't explode into a fullblown tameez tantrum?"

     He'd grinned a satisfied Cheshire cat grin and pulled her naked body against his. "Babe, the meltdown _and_ explosion already happened a few minutes ago, remember?" Another wink. "I'm good to go for now. Wear what you want."  
  

  
She didn't wear the dress. 

Because somehow now it was just their thing. Their secret. Their love costume and armor. For his eyes only. And for her to see herself reflected in his eyes. She wore her skinny jeans and that white zari kurti that she'd worn the night of their confession in that Thai restaurant. They still smiled their secret smile at one another each time Asad recognized it. His fingers had memorized each zari paisley on it. His thumb had trailed familiar paths along its neckline and his lips had branded her at its timeless cuffs. 

Asad's eyes lit up with pleasure when she came out of the room ready to leave for the night. How well she knew him. How well she intuited that even though he'd have loved to see her in the dress he may not yet be ready to share her in that dress in public. This kurti and jeans were the perfect choice indeed. They were the uniform of the girl he'd fallen in love with despite his Akdu Jahanpanahness. The mini skirt episode popped into his head again. 

     "I've tried to wear sarees kyunki apko achcha lagta hai." She was still doing it for him. "Kyunki apko achcha lagta hai."

And wasn't she already telling him how she really felt about him even then?  
His grateful fingers itched to tuck her hair behind her ear but the parents were here. What if he couldn't look away from her eyes? The parents would laugh and clear their throats like they always did to remind them that they were being behaya as usual. 

     But in the taxi he raised her hand to his lips and whispered against her ear, "you look beautiful. But then you always do when you wear this."

She smiled. This playful, romantic side of his meant that he wasn't anxious about the nightclub. That he was going with the flow--knowing that relaxed her too.

     Asad cleared his throat. "Is there a mini skirt you can wear for me tomorrow?"

     "Jo hukum, Jahanpanah," she laughed softly. "I have a white denim one. With buttons down the front."

     "How many buttons?"

     She swallowed. "Umm...four, I think." 

     He groaned. He could just imagine it--four buttons meant that it wouldn't be too--"Perfect," he growled against her lobe and she shuddered. "Then wear just that. Nothing else."

Her breath caught. He'd done it again. Now all evening she'd have only one thing on her mind. All evening she'd be in a state of misty, smoky arousal--at the horny edge of a milksilk orgasm.   
And he knew it too. Damn you, Mr. Khan. She dug her nails into his thigh and he sniggered.

     Asad scraped a thumbnail across her palm and felt her buck next to him. "Don't worry, Mrs. Khan. It'll be hell for me too."  
   

  
And Zaid? What about him?

Zaid had an exclusive invite to the grandparents' club. After feasting on his favorite new American meal--Mac and cheese--he FaceTimed with Dobby and told him about the girl who needed Zaid Miyan and Dobby Miya-oon's help. Chhoti Nani and Nanu showed him the toys that were waiting for him when he came back home to Bopa. There was a rocking horse!   
Dinner and kheer were extra khaas.   
And story time was extra long. 

Dadi told him his favorite Abbustory and then Nanu told him a brand new Ammistory. He had looked around for his Ammi and Abbu but Dadu made him forget about them by blowing on his stomach. He had laughed till he couldn't breathe.

Shireen Dadi reminded everyone about Ayaan Chachu's favorite game as a four-year-old. The famous pee-line game! 

Dilshad groaned--she remembered it only too well. Because Ayaan had tried to rope his Bhaijaan into playing that game too. Badi Bi went, "Ya Allah," and smacked her head.

     "Yaaa yayaa laaa," Zaid smacked his head too.

     "What's a pee-line game?" Zee Nani asked innocently.

     "You don't want to know," Rashid muttered. But he was sure that the Chachu would teach his Bhatija one day and pretty soon Zaid would be playing this game too. And teaching the younger siblings and cousins whenever they came along.

     "Ayaan decided he was going to be the peeing champion of Bhopal. So he would practice by drawing chalk lines on the bathroom floor in front of the pot."

     Zeenat was still confused. "Chalk lines? Kis liye?" 

     "To measure the longest distance he could aim and pee from!" 

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with boys!" Zeenat moaned as she covered her face. "They're just wired different, right?"

     "Bilkul! Then he graduated to peeing in the potted plants around the house," Badi Bi added. "Ammi, I watered all your flowers, he would come and tell Shireen!" 

They all laughed. And then everyone looked at Zaid. Oh yes, history would be repeating itself.

     "Peee yaaa," he clapped his hands. 

     Dadi scooped him up in her arms and planted a tight smooch on his resisting cheek. "Zaid bhi Ammi and Dadi ko gift dega? Plants water karega?"

He grinned. Definitely.

     "Bechara Asad, kya beetegi uss par," Shireen mused. "Isn't it great how kids change you?" She tickled Zaid's foot and he gurgled; his curls bounced.

Later Chhoti Dadi and Badi Dadi helped him to finish the Empire State Building. 

He'd fussed only a little when he missed Ammi and Abbu. He wanted to stay up till they got home. But his eyes wouldn't cooperate. Indedly fooliss. Then Dadi carried him to Ammi's darkened room and hummed Abbu's song to him as she walked him to sleep in her arms. 

     "Sweet dreams mera bachcha," he heard her whisper. 

He dreamt of a warrior kicking monsters off the Bookin Bij. He saw Jhassi kRani pepper spray a beast that howled and fled. He saw himself riding on Jhassi kRani's back. 

     "Zaaf!" he mumbled in his sleep. 

And he waved when he saw Dobby sitting on Stachoo of Wibetty's shoulder.   
Zaid smiled in his sleep.

Dilshad dropped a kiss on his forehead and hugged him just a little bit tighter before tucking him into his spot on the bed. He didn't know that she had prayed over his silken head. Prayed that he got to be as naughty and have all the fun that Ayaan Chachu had had and none of the heartache of his parents' childhood. "Khoob shararat karna, humein hasana, aur Insh'allah, khud bhi hanste rehna." How she wished she could have warranted the same for his father.  
  

  
Asad wasn't having too bad a time. 

So far he hadn't exhibited any signs of a heart attack or a tameez rage. And come to think of it he was tickled to see the girls' excitement. It was non-stop. They squealed and giggled and bounced and talked over each other in sheer glee, even more excited than Ayaan. It started the minute they espied each other in the club's parking lot and gushed over being dressed similarly--jeans and kurtis or tunics--even though they had planned this in advance. Everyone oohed and ahhed over everyone's shoes and earrings and clutches. That took about 20 minutes if not more.

     Asad pulled Najma to his side and dropped a kiss on her head. "You're looking beautiful, Tamatar."

     She blushed with pleasure. "You don't mind me in jeans, Bhaijaan?" 

     "Nah, why should I mind? You're happy, that's all I care about." He'd wasted so much time in being angry and overprotective all these years. He should have spent more time chatting with her and spoiling her. Asad touched her hair remembering the fiasco of the haircut from a couple of years ago. It had become yet another excuse for him and Ms. Farooqui to squabble over in their I'm attracted-to-you-but-still-hate-you days.

     "You're growing your hair out?" 

     "You noticed? Yeah, I told Omar that I used to have to really long hair and now he insists he wants to see how long!" 

     "I always think of you in long hair," he told her. "We miss you so much," he added.

     "I know, Bhaijaan! Me too!" Her arm around his waist tightened.

     "OK, go now, the girls are waiting for you. And I don't want you to see me cry." She laughed at his attempt to cheer her up. 

     Najma skipped ahead a few steps and then returned to give him a tight squeeze. "Bhaijaan, I'm really happy that Zaid doesn't have allergies. Can't you leave him with us for a few years? He's sooo cute!" 

     "You already have your hands full with a bigger baby," Asad jerked his chin at Omar who was fake-wrestling with Ayaan over some imagined insult. 

    "True," Najma giggled. 

     "Tamatar, hurry!" Zoya called her. 

     Najma patted her brother's arm. "Don't worry about tonight, Bhaijaan. We'll behave and won't let anything bad happen to you!" 

Asad rolled his eyes. They were all trying to protect him like guilty parents who try to cover their kids' eyes and ears when a love scene interrupts a Hindi movie. First Zoya. Now Najma.

     "Bhai!" Ayaan appeared next to him beaming his toothy grin. The hair was even messier because of Omar's recent high jinks. "You OK?" he asked Asad as he ran a hand through his mane. 

     Asad laughed. He couldn't resist. How could he? "Yes, I'm OK. So far. But you better behave Ayaan, or you'll be meeting Mukka--" He raised his fist to drive the point home. 

     "I know, I know Bhai! I promise. Best behavior!" He held his ears. "Thanks for saying yes, by the way. I'm sorry for being a pest." 

      Asad looked at him in surprise. Never had he ever heard his brother apologize for being a pest. He wrapped an arm around Ayaan's neck in a headlock. "That's OK. It's your birthright to be a pest! Har family mein ek pest hona chahiye." And he dragged his younger brother to where the others were waiting by the entrance. 

     "Bhai!" Ayaan protested. "When did you become so mean? Zaroor Mona darling ka kaam hai!" 

 

  
Once inside they'd all tried to sneak guilty looks at Asad's face. The music had hit them like a crashing wave. Zoya saw everyone looking and squeezed his hand. 

     When he looked down at her she asked softly, "you OK, baby?" 

     "I will be once everyone stops asking me that!" he growled. Or staring at me like I suddenly grew horns.

And he was. OK, that is. Yes, there were all the things that he'd feared but then his family was right there next to him shielding him from any unsavory or X-rated sights. They surrounded him, distracted him, took extra care to get him settled down with a drink and eventually he did let his guard down. He even agreed to dance and join the gyrating, pulsating crush of people dimly lit by flashing strobe lights. Once again everyone else formed a rough and intimate circle around him. Ayaan and Omar and Faiz took turns to jump and jive and jig in his face. The girls had their own cluster going. He watched their animated faces as the dancing lights skimmed over them. Instinct and habit made him squint to see if anyone was staring at or dangerously close to groping them. No. Every other person on the floor was lost in their own frenzy. It was nuts. He didn't get why they had to do this to have fun but he'd decided that he wouldn't be Akdu tonight and rain on anyone's parade.

Once he felt that he'd done his part, spent a customary 15-20 minutes of hazri, Asad left them to join Feroze at their table. Thank god it was tucked in far away enough from the deafening racket. At least they didn't have to shout too much to hear each other. Feroze had already completed his rounds and earned himself at least a half hour of sitting time. Between them, they figured that the girls would be fine with Ayaan, Omar, and Faiz--tonight's designated bulldogs.

Nikhat was the first one to break away from the madness and return to their table to check on her husband and Bhaijaan. She smiled shyly at Asad and he smiled back happy to see her relaxed and being spoiled by Feroze who got her to drink water to stay hydrated. 

     "Your heels not bothering you?" he heard Feroze ask his sister and grinned. Soon he'd be asking Zoya that too. Why did girls insist on wearing shoes that killed their feet? He remembered Zoya's heels though and shut up his mental judgmental commentary--those heels had made him think of things he'd do to her when he got her alone with him...  

Soon the others rolled in too, exhilarated. The girls were fanning themselves, their faces shone, their eyes sparkled.

     "That was so much fun!" Asad heard one of their breathless voices. 

     "Oh my god, the best! We have to do that again!"

He resisted rolling his eyes. This was all good. They were happy. That's all that really mattered.

They ordered drinks. Virgin Mojitos and Pina Coladas and Margaritas all around. In all fruit flavors. The girls couldn't believe what they were getting away with just under their Bhaijaan's and Jeeju's noses. Asad still seemed mellow so they ordered another round. With appetizers.

Life was good. This was serious fun.  
  

  
     "Did you just see that?" Asad whipped his head around at Zoya's raised voice. He'd been talking to Omar.

     "Zoya, what happened?" he asked. "Are you OK?" 

     She was in an agitated discussion with Nikhat. "You saw that, right? I didn't imagine it?" 

     "No Zoya Bhabhi, you didn't imagine it. I saw it too!"

     "Zoya?" Asad gripped her arm not caring if the others saw. She looked mad and incredulous.

     "Mr. Khan," she pointed at the table diagonally across from theirs. "See that guy? Nikhat and I are pretty sure we saw him slip something into that girl's drink." 

     "No way! What girl?" Najma asked spinning her head like crazy.

     "Shh, I just saw her leave their table," said Nikhat. "She must've gone to the restroom!" 

Zoya knocked her chair back. "Mr. Khan, keep an eye on that guy. We'll be right back." 

And the girls went trooping to the restroom. Only Nikhat had seen the girl's face so they had to rely on her to ID her among the many women. 

They waited impatiently for the stalls to empty.   
Finally, that girl stepped out and moved toward the sinks. 

     "Hi, excuse me?" Zoya called out to the young woman when Nikhat elbowed her to confirm the girl's identity. 

     "Yes?" the blonde turned and looked at them curiously before reaching for the faucet.

     Zoya stepped forward to look at her reflection in the mirror. "This is going to sound really dumb or weird, but how well do you know the guy you're with?"

     "Pretty well," she laughed, "he's a good friend. I've known him for over a year. Why?"

     "Umm..." the girls looked at each other uneasily. 

     "We just saw him dump something in your drink," Zoya blurted. 

     "What? You're kidding me!" 

     "Sadly, no. I wish I was kidding. I saw it and my sister-in-law here," Zoya pulled Nikhat forward, "she saw it too. It was right after you left to use the restroom." Nikhat nodded.

     The girl's face reddened and she sagged against the counter. "Are you sure? It can't be! There's no way you could've been mistaken?" 

Zoya and Nikhat shook their heads no.   
The girl crumpled.   
They moved closer to pat her shoulder when a few tears leaked out from under her lashes.

     "How could he? I trusted him! I can't believe this--!" 

Zoya was the first to recover from the outrage that burned inside her. They had always heard stories of date rape drugs on the news but never thought that they'd come face to face with the crime in action. How dare he! That lecherous, ass-wiping piece of--

Nikhat stroked the girl's back. She felt terrible for what this girl must be feeling right now.

     The girl was crying softly, "I shouldn't've come. I didn't even want to," she rambled. Maybe the betrayal still hadn't sunk in. "I just broke up with my boyfriend and was feeling low. Jake suggested coming here would take my mind off--Oh god, I'm so dumb!"

     "No, you're not!" Najma couldn't bear to stay silent and hear this girl start to blame herself. "He's the one to blame. How dare he think he could take advantage of you when you're so vulnerable!" Her face got redder and redder. Humaira rubbed her arm in comfort.

     "Look, let's be sure about this first," Zoya said. "Our table overlooks yours. Do you want to go back and make your excuses? We can make sure that he doesn't try to bully you. We have a big group. We'll make sure you get home OK."

     Nuzzhat handed the girl some tissues. "Make sure you don't drink anything at the table. Maybe you can pretend to feel sick?"

     "Or you could pretend to know us and join us if you want?" Humaira suggested.

     The girl sniffed. "Thank you," she breathed deeply as she looked from one helpful face to another. "Thank you all. I still can't believe it's happening to me. Would he really--?" 

     "We don't want to wait and find out," Nikhat spoke with quiet firmness. "I'm Nikhat," she stuck out her hand. "What's your name?"

     "Amy," she said tearfully.

     "Amy, go back to your table and we'll take care of the rest," Zoya patted her arm. "I'm Zoya by the way. You can call me Zo. Remember that when we show up at your table."

They oversaw her wash her face and fix her make-up and soon followed her out of the restroom to join the guys.  
   

  
The guys hadn't been idle all this while. While Omar, Faiz, and Ayaan kept a close eye on Mr. Date Rape, Asad and Feroze went in search of the manager. It took some time to convince him but they were able to get him to believe their story: their group had seen this guy pop something in a girl's drink.   
The manager didn't want trouble on his hands. If what they said turned out to be true--

He offered to go check the CCTV footage. In the meanwhile could they distract the girl and keep her away from her drink? 

     "That's already been taken care of," Asad told him with full confidence in his wife and their sisters. 

When they joined everyone at the table the girls had returned. Good ole Faiz was even recording the couple at the other table. They watched Amy say something to her partner. The guy frowned. They watched the guy push the drink under Amy's nose. They couldn't hear what they were saying because of the noise but his body language spoke volumes: Just a little bit, he urged. Relax, they saw him mouth the words. 

They saw Amy get more and more upset. 

She was becoming teary-eyed and probably pleading illness. I want to go, they saw her say. He moved the drink closer to her. This will relax you, he seemed to say. Zoya wanted to march up to them and punch him in the face. What a sleazebucket!

She couldn't bear it a second longer. Zoya jumped up ready to have a go at him but Asad grabbed her arm to calm her down.

     "You have a plan?" he leaned in to whisper. 

     "Oh boy, do I have a plan!" she muttered. 

     "OK, game on, but just take a couple of deep breaths, OK? For me."

He led her over to the other table with a rough idea of what her plan might be. If it failed they could improvise on the spot. He just needed to make sure she didn't have a stroke from the rage that poured off her.

     "Amy! Is that you?" Zoya shrieked loud enough for everyone's heads to turn. 

     Amy turned too and broke into a relieved smile. "Zo? You? Here? How are you!" She rose to hug Zoya. "It's so good to see you," she said with genuine warmth. 

     "I haven't seen you in ages! This is my husband," Zoya turned to point to Asad and watched them shake hands. Jake looked more and more annoyed by the minute but managed to paste a plastic smile on his face. "Why don't you join us for a drink?" Zoya said. 

     "I would love to but I was just leaving. I'm feeling sick. That's what I was telling Jake right now." She waved toward the guy who did not look pleased at being interrupted. 

     "Hi," Zoya extended her hand to the guy and gritted her teeth as he shook it. She felt Asad's hand on her waist and stood taller. "I'm Amy's neighbor. From the same street." She hoped this guy didn't know too much about Amy's neighborhood and that the lie would work. She crossed her fingers behind her back. Jake the snake!

     Casually she turned to Amy and slipped an arm around her shoulder. "Aww, I'm so sorry to hear you're not well."

     Asad jumped right in seizing the moment. "You know what, we can get that drink some other time. We should probably leave too, right, honey?" He asked Zoya and she gave him a deep, deep smile--it must have killed him to call her honey in public but she was so damn grateful for that. 

     "We could give you a ride home," Asad said to Amy. 

     "That would be great," Amy breathed.

     "Hey, that's OK, you don't have to. I can drop you, Amy," a panicked Jake spoke. "It's no problem."

     "No Jake, that's fine. It's out of your way and it's way too late. This would be best." 

     "No, please! Just one drink and then I'll take you home. Promise! See, I ordered your favorite." He gestured frantically at the table. 

     "Thanks for being there for me, Jake." Amy almost choked on her words and Zoya squeezed her shoulder in support. "But I'm really tired. I'll see you later. Bye," she said with a degree of firmness he didn't expect.

     "But--" he tried to follow her as Zoya led Amy away. 

     "Nice to meet you, Jake," Asad stepped in front to block his path and view of the girls. He held out his hand to put an end to the discussion. Asad too had to control himself to not crush the jerk's hand when he shook it. He would have loved to smash the smug bas*tard's face in but getting Amy away from him was more important.

They walked Amy over to their table and the family converged to shield her from Jake's sightline. A few minutes later they watched the manager and a bouncer come over to Jake's table and haul him away. Amy sobbed while Ayaan and Omar followed them out to see what they would do to Jake the snake. They saw him get thrown into the back of a police car. Wow, that was fast! 

     Fifteen minutes later the manager came over to thank them. "We checked the footage and saw him clearly slip something in her drink. We'll be getting the drink tested for drugs. They did find more pills on him so it's an open and shut case most likely. He won't be forgetting this any time soon. Thank you for being alert. I guess the NYPD slogan about say something if you see something is already working. Next round of drinks and dessert are on the house. Enjoy!" 

They whooped as cheers and applause broke out around them.*  
   

  
Asad and Zoya put a distraught though grateful Amy in a taxi. They brushed her thanks aside. 

     "We're just glad to help," they assured her. She decided to not go to her apartment for the night but to her sister's instead. 

As they watched the taxi pull away from the curb and merge into traffic Asad heard Zoya sniff.

     "Zoya, are you OK?" He pulled her into his arms as she began to cry. "It's OK, baby. You saved her--you did the right thing. I'm so proud of you." He rocked her to him. He knew she was feeling the adrenaline come crashing down. 

     "I just happened to be looking in that direction at the right time. What if we hadn't seen him spike the drink? She could already be drunk or passed out right now!"

     "Shh," he soothed her. 

     "Why are people so ugly, Asad? So sick! All over the world. Remember Tanveer did the same to you. It doesn't matter if it's India, America...why do these people think they can take advantage of someone who trusts--?" She felt so beaten. Why did bad things happen to good people?

     Asad wiped her tears away with his handkerchief. "They're jerks, that's all I can say. They don't care what damage they do to people around them. Forget about them. I think the world goes around only because there are more good people in it than bad."  

     "But still! That was so horrible--her whole life could've--!" 

     Asad framed her indignant face in his hands. "He was just one. We were eleven of us--we took him down, Zoya. Focus on that! He's probably somewhere in a jail cell right now. And with the security camera footage and Faiz's recording they only have more evidence against him about his intentions to get her to drink that co*cktail. Think about it--we did good today!"

     "We did, didn't we?" she sniffed and finally smiled. 

     "We sure did."

     "That was pure genius to get the manager to check out the CCTV, Mr. Khan! You are becoming more and more Jahanpanah Bond. I love it!"

     "Good. Now let's go in." He grabbed her hand to lead her back in. The parking lot was practically deserted. A few people lounged about in a distant alley.

     "Asad?" She held back.

     "Hmm?"

     "I don't want to go back in. I'm kinda done with all this. I just want to go home."

     He grinned. "Thank god! Let's say our byes then, grab a cab and get out of here. Suddenly I just want to hold Zaid in my arms to feel clean again. Besides, you have promises to keep... "

She blushed. Yes, she had made some wild promises in the backseat of the taxi on their way over. 

     "And miles to go before we sleep..." he breathed against her ear. 

     "You betcha!" 

She gave him a puzzled look when he laughed in her face. 

What?

 

 

 

* I have fictionalized a real incident that happened in a Santa Monica restaurant in Los Angeles earlier this year. In that case, it was three women who saw a man slip drugs into his friend's drink when she went to the restroom. Everything else happened the same way: them talking to her in the washroom, the manager checking the CCTV, the guy getting arrested and being charged with a felony (the worst of it was that she said the guy was her best friend).

Jai ho, Jhansi ki Ranis of the world! 

Song in Title:  
Heropanti (2014): "Raat Bhar" 

  
 


	131. Tere Bin Jeena Kaisa, Haan Khudgarzi Hai

 

  


 

     "Who is Nani's babyjaan?"

     "Zaaf!" Zaid was trying to break free but Zee Nani had no intentions of letting go. She had only a couple more days with him after all. When she held him in her arms next he'd be bigger, walking, and possibly running away from her. She held on with dear life.

     "Who is Nanu's cheetah?"

     "ZAAF!" he crowed as he tugged and chewed on Nani's dupatta.

     "No," Zoya hollered and wagged a finger at her son. "Ammi is Nanu's cheetah!"

     "Naananananana!" he countered his mama, very conveniently mashing "Nana" and "no" together. He loved it when everyone laughed at his smartypantness. He knew how to work an audience. Zaid clapped for himself. If Anwar Nanu had been here he'd have been fat with pride. But Anwar was at work. He hated being away from his epicenter of wellness but kya karein, kaam to kaam hai he'd say, karna hai--more to console himself than the others.

     "Aapi, show Mr. Khan how you do liptan time-chiptan time!" Zoya called out from the kitchen.

     "What liptan-chiptan thing?" Asad asked.

     "Watch," Zoya said smugly, pointing at the tableau before them with her chin. She leaned in closer as they watched Zaid with Zeenat. "Aapi tells me that she made up this hugging rhyme when she used to rock me to sleep as a kid." And also when she soothed a child racked by pain, but Zoya didn't want to remind Asad about her scar or what caused it. "Learn to wear your scars as armor, not chains," she'd read somewhere, and boy, was she ever going to follow that! It was her stronger arm after all, as Asad often teased her, especially when she tried hitting him before he grabbed her hands in his. "Your battle scars are my pride," he'd rush to add when her pout deepened. 

 Now Asad laughed as he watched, rapt, his son being squeezed and rocked by a doting Aapi. 

     In a song-song voice she crooned: "liptan TIME, chiptan TIME! Nani needs some hugging TIME!" 

     "Waaa mmmbaaah aafff taaaiii," Zaid protested. She had disrupted his drumming on the pots and pans. There was so much kana to be made--Zee Nani just didn't understand how much work he had to do. She sang on, "liptan-TIME, chiptan-TIME!"

     "I love it!" Asad whispered in Zoya's ear as she made his coffee. "I wish we too had more liptan and chiptan time," he added with a grimace. 

     "Mr. Khan!" Zoya half-scolded him even though she wished the same. He and Ayaan were leaving in the afternoon to fly back to India. The rest of them would follow in a couple of days. 

 

 The bags were mostly packed. Momentoes and souvenirs already wrapped. The Zaid stuff had quadrupled. And a lot of Zoya stuff was going to be making it across the seas to a new forever home. The lock of hair she'd chopped off as a 7 year-old to impersonate Jo March from Little Women? Yes, that was going to Bhopal. 

Some of the Zoya stuff had inspired brand new Zaid stuff. Like the little hands and footprints in clay. Her first grade teacher had sent the kids home for winter break with painted and baked kiddie handprints. Though chipping at the edges it was a cherished momento in the Farooqui household. Asad wanted to take it back to India with them. 

 Jeeju's face said no. 

     So Zeenat came up with a brilliant compromise. "You can take it with you if you let us make a new keepsake with Zaid's hand and footprints!"

     Zoya's eyes shone. "You mean like the ones in Hollywood of movie stars!"

     "Exactly like that!"

     "Deal," said Asad.

 It became a half-day affair. They could've used polymer clay but Zoya researched a dough, salt and water recipe instead. After kneading and rolling it out in an oval they pressed Zaid's tiny hand and foot into it. It took a couple of tries to get it right. Because Zaid wanted to eat his hand and foot prints. They signed Zaid's name on it. With the date. And then it went into the oven to be baked at a low temperature. 

 

The American vacation was drawing to a close. And Zoya didn't know if she was happy or sad about it. 

     "I can't figure it out. I don't even feel like cracking any of my genius shayari," she muttered as she helped Asad with his packing.

 He remembered one of her many useless verses from the past.

>  Ek sher aya hai, zara gaur se suniye,
> 
>  Ek sher aya hai, zara gaur se suniye,
> 
>  Mujhe nahi ata, kisi aur se suniye!

     Asad smirked. She recognized that smirk. A hand bunched up at her indignant waist; a finger waved and stabbed his chest. "Mr. Khan, say it. Say that my shers are perfect and you love them!"

     "Please, your shers are not perfect at all. And I've already told you this a million times!"

     "Mr. Khan, I made the most perfect sher in the whole entire world," Zoya sassed back as she turned to lift up Zaid. "Tell Abbu you're Ammi's best sher in the world!"

     Zaid roared, "raaarghh!"

     Asad laughed. Damn, always right! "You're right. I do love some of your shers!"

     Asad tugged them into his arms and held tight. They swayed together as one. "I'm going to miss you so much. Even if this judai will be much shorter. But I'll miss spending time with both of you like this even in India. I'll be at work. We'll have only Sundays..."

     "Shh, Mr. Khan. Don't think about that right now. Just think of the right here and right now and how perfect this moment is."

 Asad sighed and his lips drooped.

     "What?" Zoya asked. Her skin prickled. She put Zaid back down on his play mat. He scampered off to play with his dump truck.

 Asad turned away to stare out of the window.

     "Asad?"

     "Things might be different when we return--may be even difficult for a while..." he started.

     "Why? What things?"

     "Work. The real estate market is really slowing down. We have a comfortable cushion for now but I don't know how long we'll be able to ride this slump out."

     Zoya exhaled. "We'll mostly be fine ... but you're worried about the workers, right?" And the half-done housing projects that people had paid into...

     "What if--?" He couldn't even imagine the worst let alone utter it. Some of the other smaller businesses were already considering freezing worker pay or at least halving it. 

     Zoya slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, baby. I wish I could help." She didn't know how to convey her trust in him, in his ability to be able to weather even this squall. All she had for now was empty comfort. His worry scared her. In an instant she saw her pillowly cloud nine imploding. Could things really be so bad? Or was this just Asad's typical low-grade worry about the future that reared its head every now and then?

     "Asad, I have full faith in you. You'll think of something. We'll think of something together... I know!" she snapped her fingers. "We'll cut back. Downsize--I mean downsize our own lives, not lay off people. Zaid doesn't need so many toys, I certainly don't need any more sarees and suits..." Her mind raced. Where else could they cut back costs? This trip had turned out to be too expensive, she thought in guilty hindsight. She looked around her room at Zaid's toy and clothes explosion. Did he really need five baseball caps? The miniature leather jacket and baby Doc Martens that Ayaan had insisted on buying for his biker nephew? "Maybe we shouldn't have come on this trip..." She started to mentally tally the costs of the plane tickets, taxis, tours, the private airplane ride to Niagara Falls, the restaurants, theaters, gifts... Initially Asad had wanted to send her, Zaid and Ammi by first class but thank god she'd put her foot down on that one. "It's such a waste." 

 So business class it had been. 

 Zoya worried. Her lips thinned and a monster frown loomed.

 Asad turned to watch her. The clouds parted; a smile broke across his face. He could already hear her mental fix-it gears clicking. This is what he loved about her. Always buoyant. Always planning fixes and solutions. And always thinking about other people. It had taken him too long to see this about her, of course. In the beginning he'd seen her infernal perkiness and optimism as annoying. Frivolous even. 

     He rested his forehead against hers. "So much faith in me?"

     "Always! You always take care of the tough stuff. I know we'll find a way." Zoya touched his cheek. Asad turned his head to kiss her palm. "You've been through much worse, seen leaner times as you grew your business, taken risks, made a name for yourself ..." Zoya breathed.

     "Hmm ..." But back then he never shared his fears of failure with any one. He'd soldiered on, a solitary worrier and warrior. He wouldn't even think of telling Ammi--she would fret for him, tell him to slow down, to not be so single-minded. With Zoya he didn't need to voice his deepest concerns. Because mind-reader that she was, she put his thoughts into words, questions mostly--words so extreme and so simple that he breathed easy. Through her, he heard his unspoken worries aloud--and once said out loud their potency vanished; they didn't seem as unsurmountable.

     "You know what," Zoya said as she stepped back in excitement. "I can arrange free coding workshops for your employees… upgrade skills... diversify ..." Her voice fell to a determined mutter. "I really hope we can save some of our new programs like the kids' savings accounts... " 

Last Republic Day they had announced a new scheme for the employees. If they opened savings accounts in their kids' names for further education, the company would chip in as well. Those were the good days when they were still giddy from celebrating Zaid's monthly anniversaries. The families were closer than ever. All traces of Tanveer had been wiped clear, and they were all starting new chapters of hope. 

 Plans. Plans. Plans. Already Zoya's eyes were sparkling with a dogged glint. Already she was moving to punch into her iPad. Asad's smile widened. And that was the best part about sharing his dread with her: whatever the problem, in the next instant she would rattle off a million solutions--many zany, but some pure gold. Thank god he had learned to not bottle up his worries, not be as emotionally challenged as she used to often accuse him. 

     Asad snagged her arm and pulled her back into him. "We'll be OK. It's not the end times as yet. I might be overthinking this. But... I only wanted you to be prepared. Just in case. And don't tell..."

     "Ammi or any one else as yet?"

     He smiled again. "We may eventually have to discuss things with Ammi..."

     "Yup, because Ammi's going to figure things out pretty quickly! And Asad, I'm sure she'll be supportive."

     "I just don't want her to worry."

     "She's a mom. It's her job to worry. And, she's stronger than you imagine."

     "I know. The thing to remember is that no matter what, we'll be fine. We have each other."

     Zoya hugged him tight. "Good job, Mr. Khan! That's exactly what I've been trying to tell you for the past half hour!" She reached up to kiss him hard on the lips. "You know I'm always right, but it's OK to take your own sweet time to figure that out!" She didn't call him Tubelight Ahmed Khan for nothing.

     "You are too much," Asad said following up with another kiss.

     "And you love me for it?" she asked when they surfaced.

     "Koi shaq?"

     "No shaq, only fuq--!"

He shushed her with a deep kiss.

 

     "Have a safe flight," her text said and Asad knew. He knew because her text was followed up with just one heart emoji not the usual string of hearts, hugs and kisses. She was upset. And hurt. He'd become so used to these symbols that this new text seemed naked... exposed.

 The in-flight announcement to turn off all electronic and mobile devices came on. 

     "Sir, can you please switch your device to airplane mode?" The flight attendant hovered over him. 

 His expectant thumb paused over the keypad. With a sigh Asad sent Zoya a quick couple of heart emojis (something he'd probably never done before--after all he'd turned his Jahanpanah nose up at these fluffy symbols of idiotic flair. He felt that emojis were lazyass substitutes for real emotion. "No, they're not!" His wife would argue. "They're a visual expression of genuine emotion," she'd insist. "They're dumb," Asad would say. "They're cute and super adorbs," she'd end all argument and stop his eyeroll midway by planting the juiciest and realest emoji kiss on him. Of course. That was half the reason why he loved arguing with her. And she knew it too). 

 He thumbed the airplane mode on. He had a long flight to ponder his punishment. 

 

It had all begun harmlessly enough. OK, may be she was PMSing and that's why she was a walking bundle of emotional messiness today. Or the impending goodbyes were taking a toll on her. Zoya really was her anti-shayari self today. Her tears were barely banked as Asad and Ayaan checked in their bags at the curb and put away their passports. And then at the gate just as Asad was handing back Zaid to her after one last cuddle, it happened. The first domino toppled. 

     "Asad Ahmed Khan! Is that you, is that really you?"

 The distinctly girly voice already had Zoya's hackles going up on reflex. But then Zaid started to fuss so she was distracted. Annoyed, and distracted. By the time she collected herself, she saw Asad extracting himself from braceleted arms and a blur of painted acrylic nails.

Zoya saw red.

Redder than the nail paint red. Zaid lifted his head off her shoulder at the low growl that escaped his mom's lips.

     "Aahmmaaama mama amama," he patted her cheek. 

And all of Zoya's itchy rancor seeped away to be replaced with heavy gloom. Her heart fell to her feet. Had she been her usual Zoya self, this wouldn't have pinched as much. She would have even noticed Asad's mild frown. Seen him putting distance between himself and this woman. That clear-eyed Zoya might have even laughed at herself for thinking that some woman was attempting to put a move on her husband.

 But the usual Zoya was on a day off. This was her weepy-senti, green-eyed twin. This Zoya suddenly felt plain-Janey in her ripped jeans, rumpled shirt and ballet flats. The pale yellow linen shirt had felt crisp and cool in the morning. This was late afternoon and she left just as limp. Why had she rolled the sleeves in a fit of reckless abandon? Was her scar showing? And was that a stain of baby food on her shirtfront? The stain-master wasn't much help either. Zaid's mid-afternoon nap had been disrupted by his dad and Chachu's departure, so he was letting them all have it. He squawked; his sticky-drooly fingers tangled in Zoya's hair. 

She winced, mortified.

 All this may well have taken a minute or five. But to Zoya it felt just a little short of eternity. The conversation around her was a cackle of hangry buzzards. 

     "Zoya? ... This is Nilima. Mallik, remember? His sister." Asad started the introductions. 

 She vaguely remembered the friend who couldn't come to the wedding but had sent a beautiful blue Delft ginger jar as a gift. 

     "She was a year younger than us in college," Asad went on.

 Somehow Zoya managed to shake Nilima's hand without making too much of a fool of herself. She even allowed herself to be enveloped in a perfumed hug. Zaid sensed that he needed to rescue his mom so he turned on the boyish charm full blast. And as Nilima and Zaid flirted, somehow Asad figured out exactly what was going on in his wife's head. That tiny frown and plump pout were after all a dead giveaway. But there was no time to reassure her. They were already running late. The long security check line snaked for miles around the pillars. Travel always made him tense, and having to see Zaid fret and Zoya upset made his stomach knot even more. 

     "I'll call from Istanbul," was all he was able to whisper to her as they were swept away in the moving line. "I love you," is what he should have really said.

 Zoya watched the chasm between them stretch. Nilima was chattering away with Ayaan, and Asad nodded distractedly as she asked him something. Her flight to London was 25 minutes after theirs.

     As he turned to look back, Asad saw Zoya's face--no dimple in sight. He waved to her and saw her hug Zaid closer. He pulled out his phone. "Don't look at me like that," he texted. "You're killing me." "I love you," he added. "Already missing you."

 He didn't know why each text felt guilty, or why he wanted to reassure Zoya so bad. He'd done nothing wrong. And Nilima had always been a demonstrative girl. That's how she met and greeted and talked to anybody, male or female--with hugs, backslaps and an arm around the waist or shoulder. If people were bothered by it they were eventually worn down by her innocent appeal. Like a heat-seeking cat, she liked to drape herself over people without the slightest qualm about decorum. She was like that in college, had been scolded often enough by her brother, and had broken many a heart. Apparently she hadn't changed.

      Asad tried calling Zoya's phone but when she answered she sounded harried. He could hear Zaid crying. "Zoya, I--"

     "Mr. Khan, I can't talk. He won't--Zaid, baby... !"

 It was no use. Zaid hollered louder; Asad heard the tears in her voice too.

     "Call me later?" he said.

     " ...I'll try." But she hadn't called. Just texted. That text weighed him down; it became a drip-feed of acid reflux for the rest of the flight. 

  


 By the time they landed in Istanbul he had worked himself into a slow simmer of self-righteous rage--after everything they'd been through together, how could she even get upset at such a small thing? It was just an old friend. Just a hug. She already knew how he felt about that. To be jealous of that? Ayaan turned to look at him as Asad repressed a snort. Had he ever given her a single reason to suspect that he might stray? Did she not trust him? It wasn't even his fault! He didn't even do anything. Then why was Zoya behaving as if he'd done something wrong!

 That's it! She could keep waiting for him to call because he sure as hell wasn't going to. 

  


 They may well have been the longest 96 hours of her life. 

When she saw those twin heart emojis before he switched off, raw guilt burned through Zoya too. There was no doubt that she'd been a complete idiot. A total fool. How could she even--?

In the car she hid her face in her hands and nearly wept. Zaid tried to pluck her hands away. 

     "Beee-a-aaa-buuu!" he scolded, assuming she was not following the rules of the game. He covered his face with chubby fingers and Zoya smiled. 

     "Peek-a-boo," she said softly.

 Zaid giggled and flung his hands away. Finally Ammi had remembered how to play the game. Indedly fooliss to forget! La mya wutz wong wi yuuu!

 And then Asad hadn't called from Istanbul.

When she tried to call his cell, he wasn't available. Or he wasn't talking to her. 

 She felt sick to her stomach. 

     "Bas, one more day and then you'll also go away," Zeenat pouted the next day. 

     "Hmm?"

     "Zoyajaan, so distracted? Not even backchatting your bechari Aapi?" 

     "Aapi, aap bechari nahin ..."

 Zeenat noticed her droop again. 

     "What happened, baby? What's got you so upset? Mat dukhi kiya karo apni Aapi ko! Did you fight with Asad?"

 Zoya sighed. Damn her face that couldn't hide her emotions. It reflected every moody ripple. It was no point hiding things from Aapi--she'd nag till she had her answers. Or jump to absolutely wrong conclusions. 

     "It's just a little something, Aapi. No big deal. Main wahan ja kar sab theek kar doing! Trust me!" And those familiar words brought her confidence roaring back. This really was nothing. She and Mr. Khan had gone through much, much worse. And just as he always said a maddened "woh bechari nahin hain!" about her, Zoya would stop feeling bechari about herself.   

     "Now you think of making things right! Why did you waste the whole day with such a long face then?"

      Zoya hugged Zeenat. "Sorry, Aapi! Your words made me realize it just now." She held her ears in apology, "lijiye, no more long face. Ab nahin dukhi karoongi!"

      Zeenat grinned too at sighting the beloved dimple. "Zaroor you must have done something silly to upset Asad. He loves you so much, aur tum sata rahi hogi usko!"

      Zoya blushed. "This time you're right Aapi. I did do something stupid. But promise, I'll fix it. You know me!"

      "I know, I know Zoya Farooqui kuch bhi kar sakti hai!" Zeenat said as she finished oiling and braiding Zoya's hair. "Come, it's Zaid's turn for maalish!"

 Zaid chuckled and crawled away at a fast clip making his Zee Nani give chase. Zoya tucked her chin over her bent knees as she watched them play. Yes, she would make it right. She grinned to herself. You can be as Akdu as you want Mr. Khan, but Zoya Farooqui's on her way to sweep and swipe all your frowns away. Just you wait, Jahanpanah. Just you wait.

 She had a few days to plot her apology.

  


 Asad hadn't come to pick them up at the airport. 

     "Bhaijaan had an important meeting he couldn't miss," Ayaan said as he greeted them.

     Zoya pasted a smile on her face for Dilshad's sake. "I knew," she said.

And she did know in her heart didn't she? She hadn't been lying. But her heart had still twisted funny at the news. But then she smiled a real smile to greet her Abbu and Aunty. 

 Zaid was swallowed up in hugs and kisses, duas and protections against buri nazars. 

     "You've grown so big," Razia cooed. She had been so worried that Zaid would forget them. "You remember Chhoti Nani? Nanu?" 

 Of course he remembered. He pulled at Nanu's glasses and yanked Razia's dupatta off her head to gnaw at it like he loved to do--it was just as if he'd met them yesterday.

     "Badmash! Bilkul nahin bhula, meri jaan!" Chhoti Nani gushed with pride.

 Happily they all were whisked away to the Siddiqui house for a lavish lunch and a long-awaited reunion with Dobby. And there was a rocking horse that needed to be test-ridden too. They would have brought the cat to the airport with them but he refused the indignity of being forced into a crate. Dobby sulked and hid himself for the rest of the morning. 

 But he came barreling out when he heard Zaid's gurgle. He launched himself at Zoya and complained loudly as she giggled and tried to cuddle him. 

      "Hi kittycat," Zoya called.

      "MEEEERRROOOOWW!"

 Dobby bawled and howled as if he was being torn apart by demons. No amount of kissing or kissing noises would calm him down.

      Razia laughed as she wiped a tear. "He did that to Asad too."

      "Hamari takleef bhi zahir kar raha hai!" Siddiqui Saheb added.

 And then Dobby sighted Zaid in Nuzzhat's arms. Beast and baby lunged at each other. They squabbled and babbled at once. Zaid yanked a furry ear. Dobby yowled. Then Dobby licked Zaid's head to wash him and make sure the boy smelled catright. Zaid dodged and giggled. But there was no keeping Dobby from completing his homecoming ritual. 

 The family trooped inside to freshen up and feast. 

  


 This wasn't going to be a seduction. It would be an offering. 

 Zoya wore the pink saree--his first gift to her.

But now her calm was ebbing; her confidence beating a retreat. Asad hadn't come home for dinner. It was well past 10 pm. She'd even cried a bit as she put Zaid to bed. If he was this angry then how would she be able to break through to him? Asad had Facetimed with Zaid several times on Dilshad's phone and Ayaan's. But he hadn't said a word to her over the phone. Not sent a single text. She'd paced in the backyard. Sat huddled on the bench. Remembered how forlorn this bench had felt on their mehendi night. He'd shut her out that night too. And another night when he'd struck her and-- 

 No, she wouldn't think of those nights. She'd think of the hundreds of nights since then. When he'd surprised her with blueberry cheesecake. Hung the moon for her; put his ring on her. Twice. Once on their mehendi night. 

 And then the night when he had got her new forever ring engraved with Qubool Hai...the two Os looped together. 

 Zoya twisted the ring on her finger.

 Back inside when she heard Asad's key in the door she felt as nervous as a bride. In her mind she had imagined herself running to him. And he would take care of the rest. But now she wasn't so sure. His continued rejection had begun to chafe. Her eyes burned. 

Zoya's fingers dug into the sofa back as she saw him enter and close the door behind him. Her eyes drank him in. He looked exhausted. 

     "Hi..." she croaked.

 Asad nodded.

A faithless tear spilled. She watched him move closer. Hope swelled. But then he walked past her toward their room.  

     "I'm sorry," she whispered to his back. She yearned to hear his voice, crave his reassurance… have him touch her, hold her. Asad paused at their door. "I missed you so much! Please, Mr. Khan, I'm--" 

 Maybe all she should have said was I love you. 

 Zoya didn't know she'd been crying till he took her in his arms. And then she really cried.

     "Shh," he soothed.   

But this once she couldn't bear him holding her. Zoya broke free to run to the bathroom. 

     "Zoya!"

 

 That moment when he'd walked past her was a slap to her face. His rejection writ large on his stiff back broke her. She'd wanted to run to him and hold him from the back. "Don't be mad at me," she wanted to say. But her feet had grown roots; her heart an anchor. 

 When Asad walked through the unlocked bathroom door and lifted her off the floor to carry her into their room she put up a token struggle. But her body wouldn't cooperate. Couldn't. It melted seeking his warmth, his touch. But her chin wouldn't lift off her chest as she wept quietly. He put her on the bed and knelt by her side. Taking her hand in his Asad kissed the top. He'd switched on her bedside lamp and watched her, bewitched. 

 She looked more beautiful than Asad remembered. Her eyes were still downcast. The pearl and diamond choker that he'd given her on their wedding night quivered at her throat.

     "Babe, please don't cry. You know what that does to me."

 When he saw that tiny frown and the emerging pout Asad almost chuckled. Oh yeah, she was back. He was about to get an earful of Allah Miyans and what's wrong with yous. Asad's heart thrilled. All anger and misgivings fled. They were replaced with a glow of familiar wellbeing. His world was right again. Everyone he loved under the same roof--Ammi upstairs, Zaid fast asleep in his crib, Dobby in his bed surrounded with new American toys, and Zoya's breath mingling with his own. What else could he have asked for? Why had he squandered dear moments in passing doubt? 

 His kiss on her hand said it all--apology and forgiveness mingled. When Zoya looked up into his face she saw herself in his eyes. 

 There. What they had surged back. The earth corrected its overtilt. Their eyes drank each other in, erasing eons and abysses.

     "Are you OK?" Asad asked two-three intense seconds later.

     She loved that question. So much. So did her dimple. "Umm hmm, now I am!" she whispered.

     He laughed. Softly. No micro mini smile this time. "Welcome home!"

     She threw her arms around his neck, "it's great to be back. I missed you, us, so much!"

 Asad held her tight and rocked her to him. They wouldn't be any missing any more if he could help it. He felt his tiredness seep away. And Zoya felt his tensed neck muscles relax. Because she knew, when he punished her, he punished himself more. They mended in each other's arms--becoming whole again.

     "I got scared," she murmured when Asad finally asked her. 

Together they worked in the kitchen heating the food, setting the table, lighting the candles and stealing hugs and kisses between breaks.

     "You got jealous?" 

     "Super jealous," Zoya admitted with an embarrassed grin. 

     "Why?" 

 How could she tell him how she felt? She didn't half-understand it herself. They settled down at the table, chairs and arms touching, as they fed each other.

     "Umm... voh..." she hesitated. 

    Asad wrapped her in a tight side-hug. "It's not because you don't trust me, I know that," he said. "Or at least I figured that out by the time I landed in India." He felt embarrassed about his temper too. It had been all so unnecessary. 

     "When Nilima stepped up and hugged you... I felt...drab...completely out of your league in front of her," Zoya finally told him. She'd looked so well put together. 

     "What? Zoya, no!"

     "Yes."

     "But how could you even think that! Have I ever made you feel--?"

     "Never!" she rushed to cover his mouth. She felt at a loss to explain again. "It's just that, sometimes I wonder if you should've married someone beautiful and elegant... not a madcap like me!"

     Asad burst out laughing. "A musibat mohtarma, you mean?"

     "Asad!"

     "Shh! You'll wake up the whole house!" 

     "See, I'm loud too," Zoya wailed.

     "Too loud," Asad teased with a raised eyebrow.

     She blushed and swatted his shoulder, "Mr. Khan!"

     Asad kissed her palm. "Let's get this straight--you're beautiful and elegant, and gorgeous to me. Yes, you're a madcap, but I love that about you. I love everything about you. So no more crazy ideas like this, OK?"

     "But I'm so ... so uncoordinated, she looked so dignified--"

     "I wasn't meant to fall in love with dignified. I was meant to fall in love with a badtameez ladki." She frowned. "OK, a badass ladki."

    "Asad, you don't understand!"

     "Then make me understand because you're right, I don't. I don't understand why you'd feel that way after all that we have, all that we've been together."

     She grew quiet. "It's hard to explain. When I was young, I thought that once true love was declared and shared there would be no problems, no jealousy, no resentment between couples. But..."

     "Go on."

     "But that day nothing mattered except my sudden fear that I wasn't good enough for you. I felt shabby in my clothes in front of Nilima. My scar was showing--that made me feel worse."

     "Aww babe, come on! You know that none of that is true. Not good enough for me? You know how often I've thought I wasn't good enough for you? The terrible things I said... and did..."

     "No Asad! What I'm trying to say is that I didn't realize that it's normal to feel jealous inspite of a happily-ever-after marriage."

     "But I don't even want you to think that way! There's no way that any of that could be true. And Nilima? I think of her like Najma, she's like a sister to me."

     "I know that," Zoya tried to calm him down. "It's just that at that moment this zombie thing flared inside me and took over. All logic evaporated and I could only compare myself to her and find myself lacking."

     "But you're not! There's nothing to compare." He saw her shaking her head. 

     "OK fine, what could I have done differently to not make you feel that way?"

     "Nothing! Because this wasn't even about you. It's something that could happen now and then. A simple chemical reaction. Just don't be mad at me for feeling this way." 

      Asad put his arm around her and gathered her closer. "So I'm supposed to put up with jealous tantrums whenever they strike?"

      "Yup, it's in the nikahnama's fine print."

      "Am I allowed to be jealous if someone hugs you?" His teasing smile dipped. Asad flashed back to that moment when Omar had given Zoya a bear hug when he first came to Bhopal, and how he'd died a little on the inside. His fist had ached from wanting to smash something. Then a few days later at the Thai restaurant he'd fantasized about removing every single bone from Omar's body, because he'd been over-attentive to Zoya--holding her hand, kissing the top of her head, hugging her.

Oh boy, jealousy was a stinger. If Zoya felt even an ounce of what he'd felt on those two miserable days...

     He gripped her hand tight. "Fine, be jealous if you have to. But remember this: I fell in love with you at first sight, not with any other woman. I said Qubool Hai to you, and no other woman. You're the mother of my son, my soulmate." 

     "Really?"

     "Really. Remember, even high on bhaang, I told you how much I was attracted to you. And no one's better than you at being Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan."

     "Tell me more about how I'm the perfect Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan," Zoya said dreamily, dropping her chin in hand.

     "I said nothing about being perfect. You need your hearing checked, Mrs. Khan!"

     "Asad!"

     "I love you, and all your perfect imperfections," he breathed. "You make me look forward to every waking moment, and I sleep with a grateful heart every night." He kissed her. "I'm sorry I got mad at you."

     "If this is how you make up for it, I command you to get mad every week from now!" She so loved how he wooed her back--reeled her in, more like it. But she'd take the bait any time if she always found him at the other end. 

     "I love you, Mr. Khan."

     "Good, because I need you to… I'm _aching_ from needing you to show me how much." 

 She giggled. How much he'd missed that sound! Why did he have to be a grumpy ass for so long? Over nothing? A quicker make-up "sesh" (as his wife often called it) would have burned less blood.

     They rushed to put the dishes away and clear the table. He continued to tease her as they worked. "I'm allowed to be jealous of Dhoni? Your Ranveers and Ranbirs ... Fawad Khan and that Benito Batch--"

     "Benedict CUMBERBATCH!" Zoya clasped her hands to her heart, face glowing.

     "Shh," he rushed to cover her mouth yet again. 

     "But yes, Mr. Khan, you have my full blessing to be as jealous as you want--see, what a great attitude I have about it? You could learn a thing or two from me, and not be an Akdu the next time I'm jealous!"

 He splashed her with water from the faucet because he didn't have a comeback. Zoya giggled as she backed away from him. Asad caught her hand to pull her close. 

     "Forget all jealousy," he said, voice lowering an octave. "I want to make love to you, feel your skin against mine... I need you. I need to be inside you." Her dilating eyes made him harder.

 She loved how he could make her laugh and then have her moaning with want the next second. 

    Zoya gripped his collar, "now, Asad please," she begged.

 Asad scooped her up in his arms and marched to their room but they had to come back to switch off the lights and blow out the candles. They couldn't resist soft kisses and nicks on the way. Long kisses and quick unsnapping of buttons and hooks followed. Good thing she hadn't pinned her saree or it would've ripped. His mouth at her throat had her hissing. His hands at her breasts had her raw with need. They fell into bed, a tangle of heated limbs, their bodies golden in the lamplight.

     "Asad," she moaned. "I love you so much."

     "I love you more," he said between deep mouth-tugs at her nipple as his hand dipped lower. She was wet, and wild with need and nearly keened. He had to cover her mouth but she shook off his hand and cried out in delight when he entered her, head thrashing to the side. 

    "Oh god, Zoya you don't know what you do to me"!" Those sounds she made made him thick with desire.

Her hands clawed the sheets as she savored that familiar weight, that new and age-old sensation. Her hips had started dancing, her knees--

     "Oh my god," Zoya whispered as she tried to cover them with the sheet.

     "What?" Asad asked, distracted.

     "He's watching us."

     "Let him." Dobby had seen them having sex a million times before.

     "No, Zaid!" she hissed.

     Asad half-turned towards the crib but saw nothing. "You're imagining things."

     "No, wait. Watch."

 Biting off cursewords, a dissatisfied Asad pulled out of her, and with the sheet to their chins they watched. Soon they spied a tiny pair of hands gripping the crib rails. They climbed higher, and bam! a tousled head and gleaming eyes appeared over the headrail.

     "Oh my god Asad, he's standing!"

 Zaid smiled at them. 

     "Baaa bbaaa mmmaaa," he babbled.

     "Hey Champ!" Asad crowed. "You're standing!" 

 Zoya jumped out of bed trying her best to cover herself with the discarded saree. She was also trying to clap for this crowning achievement. Zaid tried to clap for himself too, but he let the rail go and plonk! He fell back down on his bottom. 

This time when he wobbled as he stood, Zoya swept him into her arms to kiss and hug him. She handed him to Asad and dashed to pull his shirt on. Asad kissed his son and they high-fived. Zoya got into bed with them. Zaid started climbing over them.

     "Zaid, time for bed," Asad said as he tried to hand him off to Zoya.

     "Unnn nnanaaannaa." 

Dobby had jumped up on the bed too. He circled his family and meowed in pleasure. Finally! Everything was back to being right. 

Dobby and Zaid wrestled. Zaid rolled on the bed happy and content. He tried to grab his toes in his footie pajamas. He gurgled and burbled some more. Asad looked at Zoya in dismay. 

     Zoya giggled again. "It's play time," she said.

     "It's bloody midnight!" he hissed.

     "It's called jet lag, Mr. Khan. He'll be up for at least 2-3 hours."

     Asad flopped back on his pillow and squeezed his forehead. "No!"

     "Yes." 

If he'd been more coherent she'd have heard him say: "Incredibly foolish!" 

 

  


Song in Title: 

Kailash Kher: "Teri Diwani"


	132. Mera Gajra, Tumko Bhanvra, Na Bana De Toh Kehna

 

 

Well over an hour into Zaid's jet lag and Asad remained taut with unslaked desire. At first he marveled at Zoya's infinite patience as she played with Zaid, baby-talked with him, read to him his favorite Poky Little Puppy story. She even unpacked his dump truck--this was his latest joy. Sitting on his haunches Zaid drove the truck all over his Ammi Abbu's bed making engine sounds with great concentration.  

     "Drrrooo-drrr... " he hummed loudly to himself.

Dobby made up the rest of the cavalcade as he marched behind--he had important side-kick duties to fulfill after all. But Asad's patience began to snap--for the past half hour he'd been eyeing Zoya hungrily. Initially she had giggled but now she blushed each time she caught his gaze. 

His eyes ate her up. 

He never understood how she could look that sexy in his shirt. She had been about to roll up the sleeves but he wouldn't have it.

     "Leave it!"

     "But they get in the way," she whined.

     "Deal with it," he'd growled. He loved to see the cuffs swallow her hands as she did both her husband's and son's bidding. Now, for over an hour he'd been watching that shirt ride over her creamy thighs ... He wanted to walk his fingers on those thighs ... lick their insides ... leave a firetrail of bite marks that wouldn't fade for days. ... Now the shirt exposed her cleavage as she bent over to play with their son. He could see the shadowy outline of her nipples ... He wished he could take the weight of her breasts in both his palms ... bend his head to take a pert nipple in his mouth ... 

Asad groaned with each impatient push-back of the sleeves ... and hissed each time her legs parted hoping to catch a mouth-watering glimpse of waiting treasures and pleasures. Damned shirt! It teased him more by hiding her body parts than revealing them.

     "Unbutton the shirt," he said, tone low, gravelly with barely restrained desire. 

     "Asad!" 

     "Do it." His eyes slitted as he saw her nipples peak under the shirt. He had already sucked on them but they begged another laving--not so tender this time around.  

     "But the kids--"

     "Now."

Zoya undid one button.

     "All of them."

     "Asad, no!" 

     "Zoya ..." 

She bit off a moan at that roughened tone--it promised musky delights, slowed-down and long-drawn-out foreplay.

     "Drruuu rrruuuhhh," Zaid chanted.

Zoya undid the second button and heard Asad suck his breath. 

     "Next one too..." 

     "No," she smiled when she saw his face. "Come and undo them for me," she teased arching her back just enough to drive him crazier still. 

     "I would but I don't want my son to see his dad in such a state of arousal. It might scar him for life."

Zoya's smile evaporated. She didn't dare look in her husband's lap even though he'd been covered up with the sheet. She undid the rest of the buttons and heard Asad exhale. 

     "Duuurrruuummm!" 

Dobby lay down on the bed to wash himself. All this exercise had tired him out. Parades were fun but exhausting.

Zoya was sitting diagonally opposite Asad as he leaned against the headboard, coiled, hard. To stop Zaid from going too close to the bed's edge, she leaned to her side. The shirtfront gaped open exposing her bre@st. She rushed to cover up. 

    "Don't!" 

     "But--"

     "Dhhhuuurrr... rrr."

    "You are so beautiful ... I could watch you all night."

     "Won't Zaid be scarred by this nudity?"

     "No, because this is natural for him. He's seen you like this a million times. And for me ... this sight is magic. Open the other side too."

She did and Asad groaned out loud. He would insist that she sleep only in his shirts from now on. ... And leave them unbuttoned. He'd fu*ck her hard in it and then wear it to work the next day ...

     He cleared his throat. "Later ... I want you to ride me." Her eyes widened. "And then when I'm fully inside you I want you to dip your nipple into my waiting mouth."

     "Oh god Asad, you're killing me." 

     "Good. Because you already slayed me ages ago. When I'm with you I can think of only one thing. When I'm away I think of nothing else. Zoya ... you've ruined me!" 

She couldn't wait for Zaid to call it a day. She was just as impatient as her husband and wanted nothing else but to make sweet, rough love ... right now. And as if Zaid read his mother's mind he crawled over to her and settled into her lap for his bedtime feed. Zoya wrapped him in her arms and looked at Asad.

     "Good boy," he said softly. He patted Dobby and nudged him off the bed. The cat was quite content to assume that he was being called a good boy.

Asad watched Zoya rise and pad over to the crib when Zaid fell asleep at her breast. As she gently lowered the baby in Asad watched his shirt ride up her butt. Oh god, he bit off another groan, that ass was so fine. He flung the sheet aside and rose to hold Zoya by her waist. Together they watched Zaid's half-moon lashes quiver and feather shut. Their hands joined over the tiny chest that rose and fell with each angel breath. 

     "Goodnight baby, sleep tight," Zoya whispered.

     "Sleep long," Asad added.  

And then he could wait no more. As she turned to face him and nudged his erection Asad grabbed her ass with both hands to lift her up in his arms. He carried her to the closet and pressed her against the full-length mirror. 

     Zoya gripped his hair as she rested her elbows on his shoulders. "Oh god yes Asad, take me, take me now, please!"

     "Not so fast," he teased. He plunged in; she was so wet for him. He pumped a couple of times and pulled out.  

Anticipating a delicious orga*sm Zoya had tried to fling her head back but she was trapped against the glass.  

     "Asad!" she squeaked in protest now as he withdrew.

But he was in the mood for tormenting her just as she had done him for the last hour and a half. 

     "What?" he asked innocently. He loved hearing her say it. 

     "Fu*ck me, hard!" 

     "You're a mind reader," Asad pressed hard against her swollen bud, rigid and barely in control himself. "Like this?"

     "Ohmygod yes, yes, like this," she moaned in surrender. "Do it again," she begged.

     Asad twisted his hips to spear and rub her cli*t. She clenched her thighs in anticipation of an ecstatic release. As she grew used to the rhythmic friction, he stopped again. She dug her nails into his shoulders. "Mr Khan, you're killing me on purpose."

     "That's what you get for killing me, Mrs. Khan. For playing with your son for an eternity and not caring about your husband's needs!"

She squeezed his hips between her thighs trying to suction him in. But no, Asad was not going to play this game. He had other games planned. She swooped to lick his neck tasting the remnants of his cologne and nipped at the hollow of his throat. He jerked and groaned but remained undeterred. Asad carried her back and laid her down at the foot of the bed. Her knees bent and feet arched at the edge of the bed. The shirtfront flopped open revealing her to his hot gaze once again. Unable to help himself, Asad dipped his head to suck her nipple long and hard. Zoya jerked and gasped as that trademark tug zinged south.

     She reached out waiting for him to take her but he stepped back and ordered, "not so fast. Touch yourself."

     She hissed in frustration. "Asad!" 

     "Do it! You promised you'd do it for me when you were in New York." 

She did remember her promise. On the plane ride over she'd even vowed to do anything ... everything to please him. Even this. But right now she felt shy. Horny and shy.  

     Asad took her hand in his, sucked her index and middle fingers and ordered, "now." 

And as she widened her knees and stroked her wet and swollen flesh Asad's eyes followed her fingers as if hypnotized. He watched her press her nub and swirl her fingertips over it. Her ring flashed for a second catching the light. Up and down and round and round, she went. Clockwise. Then anti-clockwise. He must've died a thousand deaths. She had begun to sigh and moan as she watched his face. Her pulse raced when he stilled her hand. This time he did reward her waiting. Asad bent his head between her legs to swirl his tongue over her heated skin. Gripping her thighs with both hands he ran his tongue over the inside of one. She flailed. And slowly he started to retrace the wet trail. He stopped midway and sucked hard. So hard that she bucked. Her fingers spasmed in his hair.

     "Asad ... Asad, please ... Don't torment me." 

Her breathlessness inflamed him ... Her beseeching skin, dewy, invited a million balmy caresses. He ran his tongue up and down her entrance. As her moans grew louder he inserted two fingers to feather her g-spot and tilted his head to lick her into a frenzied release. He felt the rushing tremors and knew she was ready. As she was about to climax he withdrew his fingers and rammed inside her to pump furiously, finally home. 

Shock and pleasure mingled. 

Hands braced on each side of her face Asad bent over her to stare into her eyes.  

     "Milk me, babe," he said through gritted teeth. She did and he nearly went cross-eyed. Her fingernails dug into his slick shoulders as she crested.  

She careened. And crashed.  

     "Are you safe?" 

     "Yes, come inside me." 

     "Sure?"

     "Yes, Asad please!" She felt him shudder and his satisfied grunt warmed her from the inside out. 

     "I love you."

His harsh breaths fanned the damp hair at her temple.

 

     "I'm meeting an investor tonight." Asad called her from work a week later. " I want you you to meet her." 

     "Her?" Zoya asked, surprised. She managed to cover up her irritation quite well, she thought.  

     "Un-hunh. I've known her for a few years now, we've become good friends ... she insists that she wants to meet my wife."

Zoya was not liking a single word coming out of his mouth. A her? So soon after the Nilima episode! How was she ever going to stop feeling jealous of all the hers in Asad's life? 

     "What's her name?" she asked.

     "You'll find out soon enough. Tonight. 7:30. Ask the driver to drop you and take the car back. We'll come back together."  

We'll come back together only if I'm feeling charitable, Mr. Khan, Zoya fumed as she ended the call. Dang, and he'd refused to tell her the woman's name so now Zoya couldn't even google this "her" person. 

     She tried to worm the information out of Prasad. "Who is the guest Mr. Khan is meeting tonight? I want to buy a gift for her so I need to know some things about her." Like her name, age, weight, pedigree, skin tone, nail color, shoe size, hairstyle etc.

     "Sorry Ma'am, I don't know. Sir hasn't given me any details."

Hmmphff!

Damn you, Asad. It's like he was taunting her on purpose.

He refused to answer any of her texts as she fished for information tidbits. 

Unnhhh!

Fine, she thought. You asked for war, you'll get one. Get your engines ready, Mr. Khan.

 

Asad hid another grin behind his hand as the meeting ended. He'd just read yet another of his rattled wife's sabre-rattling texts. Since his cryptic phone call to her this morning, he'd been inundated with questions, moody ramblings and grave rumblings. A few of them had made him laugh out loud enough for Prasad to peek in and ask if Sir was okay.

You bet he was. Little did Prasad know that Sir was enjoying tormenting his wife. 

     "Remember Mr. Khan," she said in one of her initial texts, "you weren't meant to fall in love with dignified. You were meant to fall in love with a badtameez ladki, a musibat mohtarma!"

     "And that's me!!!" she added with a line of huffing and snorting emojis--and the cutest pouty-face selfie. 

     When he didn't respond he got another dose of Zoya dramarama: "I remember someone distinctly telling me a few days ago: I fell in love with you at first sight, not with any other woman. I said Qubool Hai to you, and no other woman. You're the mother of my son, my soulmate.' "  

Asad still didn't respond even though he was helpless with longing.

     "And that no one's better at being Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan!"

Wow, his wife had quite a memory, Asad thought. He wondered what else she'd throw at him from her memory bank. He didn't have to wait long. At this rate her thumbs must be getting a serious work out. 

She was now writing mini novellas: 

      "Once on a stormy night, Mr. Khan, high on bhaang told Ms. Farooqui: Agar aap itni badtameez hain toh mujhe aap itni achchi kyun lagti hain? Aap mein itni kashish kyun? Mere khwabon par aapke saaye kyun hain? Kyun meri tanhayiyon mein khalal dalti hain aap? Kyun mere andheron mein roshni ban ke aati hain?' " 

Asad smiled. Fully, deeply. The fog from that night had cleared a bit over the years. He didn't remember his exact words from bhaang raat. But he did remember the tightness in his chest and the passionate roller-coasterness of that night sprinkled with stardust ... and rain, pakoras and distant music; there'd been a deep pink saree ... the flash of an impish dimple (of that he was dead sure) ... and hadn't there also been a glimpse of the barest back that he'd wanted to touch ... to kiss and suck? 

Did she know that one reminder would trigger a hundred other memories for him?

     "Jab main smile karti hoon, toh dimple padta hai, yahan."  

How did he remember that so clearly? 

     "... aur iss dimple se main kisi ka bhi katl kar sakti hoon."

     "Iss dimple se dilwalon ka katl hota hoga. Patthar dil walon par iska koi assar nahin hota hai!" he'd lied that day taunting her for always calling him patthar dil.  

Crazy woman! She'd tried to recreate the bhaang raat another time to remind him of his reluctant confession ... She'd made pakoras for him. And then worn her Ammi's saree to dance at his window.

     "Mr. Khan, you better not be toying with me," Zoya yelled through yet another ALL CAPS text a half hour later. Violent emojis of knives, guns and bombs followed. He was dying to call her but didn't. Let her roast a little more.

     And a selfie followed that had him beaming in pleasure at the caption below: "Here I am, breast-feeding YOUR son! Remember, flesh and blood of your loins ... and MINE??!!"

     Indeed. Asad was loving this angry recreation of their best moments. Trust his wife to fall for the oldest trick in the world. But her snit fit was filling up half his workday. He better get his ass in gear. He did. But only for about 45 minutes. He was barely able to answer some emails before she went off again: "On confession raat at the Thai restaurant, someone told me: Ab aap mujhe chhod kar kabhi nahin jayengi! No one will ever come between us again." 

Pictures of his ring on her finger came too. 

     "I don't want to take the ring off," she whined in a new text. "But I love the Qubool Hai inscription you got made for me."

Exactly my point, babe. Today Mrs. Khan was on an emotional blackmail rampage. She was going through the stages of anger, manipulation and now coaxing. Good, he had her exactly where he wanted. Asad was beginning to look forward to the evening. Even though it might take him away from Zaid for a few hours longer. 

 

These days Asad had been returning home sooner than usual. The family was thrilled to hear that Zaid had been spotted standing by his parents. Everyone gathered to watch the live show waiting for the kid to stand up. But looks like Zaid didn't get the memo; he had apparently forgotten that he could stand.  

     "Come baby, stand," his Dadi encouraged first. He looked at her and gave her a toothy grin as if to say, hi, I'm good. What's up with you?

He went back to playing with his dump truck after a hearty breakfast of mashed bananas and his dad's cereal on Monday. He even stole a bite of Dadi's paratha and Ammi's pizza on Wednesday. 

But he didn't stand.

The family gathered to watch Zaid on the first three days. Camera phones were ready in America too. 

     "Khada hoja, mera raja," Zeenat called out from New York. 

     "Mera cheetah, shabash! He'll stand any second now," Anwar boasted. 

     "Zaidu, up, up munna," Raziya whispered in his ear.

But Zaid didn't stand.  

By the fourth day Omar and Ayaan were starting to tease Zoya and Asad for imagining things. 

     "Mona darling, you should get your eyes checked," Ayaan sniggered on day five. "Tomorrow you'll tell us, you saw him fly." 

     "Yeah, pretty soon Americans will start seeing a UFO," Omar guffawed. "And we'll have to tell them, don't panic, it's only our Zaid come to say hi!" Najma swatted him and Omar coughed. 

     "Guys, stoppp!" Zoya complained. "I swear, he's stood up every night in his crib since we've returned!"

     "Hmm, you guys must be up to some magic tricks at that special time then," Omar said much to Asad's embarrassment. 

     "Omar!!!" Everyone rushed to shush him. Thank god the parents were out of earshot. 

Zaid continued to enjoy himself at these Zaid show parties. He was still the center of everyone's universe. Who knows why they kept looking at him like that with their eyes shining? Indedly folliss. And what did they keep saying to him? Lla mya, who is Stan? Dint they know that his name was Zaaf, not Stan? Why didn't they clap for him when he crawled really long distances? 

He picked and pulled at the kneecap that Chhoti Nani had knitted for him. 

      "He moves so fast and goes so far. Dard hota hoga. These will keep his knees from hurting," Razia had explained the first time she showed up with these inventions. Zoya and Humaira had snickered. 

     "He looks like such a dork," Zoya said. 

     "Shh Aapi, that's so mean. He's a total sweetheart!" Humaira scolded. 

It had taken many pairs of hands to get the kneecaps on to the squirming bundle of limbs.  

     When on the sixth day too Zaid still didn't stand Rashid declared that it was all for the best. "His legs need more strength. When kids stand up too soon they get leg pain later in life." 

     "Yes," Shireen was quick to add. "Remember Rahil's son stood up when he was just eight months, right Ammi? Now he's knock-kneed. Or is it bow-legged?" She waved her arms in an arc to show how sad Rahil's son's legs looked.

     "No, he's pigeon-toed," Badi Dadi corrected. "Tauba, tauba, Rashid is right. It's too soon. Stop encouraging him to stand." 

Raziya nodded. From tomorrow she would double the massage time for Zaid's knees. 

So there, it was decided. This was the current theory embraced by the parents to excuse their grandson's belated efforts at standing. Asad and Zoya's claims and sightings were brushed aside. Let him crawl more, was the edict.  

Because somehow Zaid only stood in his crib, and only put on his special show for his parents. But by the time Zoya got her phone camera working she could only capture him falling down on his butt. Hence, no photographic evidence of his standing. The one time she did get her camera to work on time Dobby had leapt in front of Zaid. There went that.

No record of a standing Zaid. 

Had his parents really just imagined it?

  

She didn't want to be late. But she didn't want to arrive too early either. Zoya had decided on one of their Jhansi ki Rani Special Edition dolls as a fitting gift for this mystery guest. This one was in full armor with a sword and shield--removable replicas of the historical relics. A resplendent Laxmi Bai rode her steed, and was armed with her child on her back--the tiniest of hat tips to Zaid (Zoya loved the poetic justice of that!) If she liked the woman, the gift would be a genuine present, a tribute to powerful women in fact. If she didn't, then that woman would forever have a reminder of who she'd be dealing with: A real, 21st century Jhansi ki Rani who was not to be messed with--one who'd be armed and dangerous if any one made eyes at her Jahanpanah.

Asad braced for the impact. Ahh ... He should've known. She'd come ready to slay ... and take no prisoners. She must know that he wouldn't be able to look away. Her revenge was golden. 

Zoya swanned in. He needn't have looked up. He knew she had entered the restaurant when eyes turned to the entrance. The driver followed in her glorious wake with a gaily-wrapped present which he carefully placed by Asad's elbow. He bowed and left.

     "Umm, Hi!" Zoya said.

Asad cleared his throat, mentally thanking her for the reminder. She must've known he'd get tongue-tied at the vision. Vixen! 

     "Uhh ... Ms. Dutt, meet my wife, Zoya," Asad croaked out barely able to take his eyes off said wife.  

Finally Zoya got to meet this "her" face to face and she giggled. A woman in her 50s, with glasses and a dusting of grey at her temples, rose to fold her in a bear hug.  

     "Oh I'm so pleased to meet the famous Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan!" Pulling back she cupped Zoya's face in her hands. "You're more beautiful than I imagined. Asad won't stop talking about you! Remind me to get a picture of you two before I leave. I've become so forgetful, yaar!" 

Zoya loved this Ms. Dutt. First, because obviously she wasn't here to put doras on her Jahanpanah. But second because she seemed so real. And fun! And even better was Jahanpanah's expression. Got you good, Mr. Khan!

Asad reeled from the onslaught. He couldn't pay attention to the conversation as hard as he tried. It was a good thing that Zoya was doing most of the talking. She was already on a first name basis with their guest.

     "Call me Sonika, I hate this Ma'am business." 

     "Yeah, aren't Indians too over-formal?" Zoya chimed in. In America they called their professors and peers and seniors by first names.

     "We are. You're right. I prefer it casual too. Or may be I'm more informal with people I really click with."

And finally Zoya got her chance to ask all her questions. It was a good thing that Sonika was equally chatty.  

How did Asad know her?  

He interned in her office a long time ago.  

Where had she been all these years? 

Moved to Chandigarh when her husband passed away. 

So, was she moving back to Bhopal?

     "I don't know. Maybe. Still undecided. I happened to be here and thought I'd look up Asad to see what he was up to. I'm so proud of all he's done! He was telling me about the Lakeview project." 

Asad's mind was drifting. She had worn that suit deliberately. He just knew it. She was wearing a gift from him yet again, that full-sleeved white kurta with straight sharara pants and a magenta dupatta. Of course it was her subtle reminder of their honeymoon on the Palace on Wheels!

     Those heady days ... And nights. While slow-dancing in each other's arms he had bent to whisper in her ear, "am I imagining it, or are you commando under there?" 

     She had fused her hips to his and rotated them reveling in his immediate response. Arms around his neck, she had c*ocked her head to the side to tease him, "that Mr. Khan, is for me to know and you to find out."  

Jeez, if she was commando under there right now he would surely combust into a fine powder of horny frustration! She couldn't be, could she? 

Zoya looked at him then and smiled a secret smile.

He raised an eyebrow; she blushed. 

Oh god Zoya, don't do this to me! 

     That night he'd lifted her in a fireman's throw over his shoulder and carried her to their room when she'd become too sassy for her own good. He'd let her down and pinned her against their cabin door. "Oh god, Zoya, I can't get enough of you. I want to eat you up." 

Yes. He wanted to eat her up right now too. Asad gripped the fork in his hand with undue force.

     "Are you OK, Mr. Khan?" she had the gall to ask with twinkling eyes. 

     "Umm ... yes."

He didn't know what he was eating. Or drinking. His eyes glazed over. 

     "Undress for me!" He'd ordered her to perform a strip-tease for him that night. She'd obeyed and burned him up raw. Asad shifted in his seat to peek at her feet. Of course. She was wearing the same heels that she'd stripped in.

     "Breathe, Mr. Khan," she'd said softly that night.

She should have said it tonight too.

He'd taken her roughly that night. From behind. Still fully clothed. And she'd mewled--her scream outdone only by the train's shrill whistle. He could still hear it ringing in his ears.

Asad squeezed his eyes shut. This was a bad idea. He shouldn't have challenged the woman. Now he was paying dearly. He just hoped he wouldn't make a giant fool of himself in front of Ms. Dutt. 

     "Mr. Khan what do you think?" Zoya asked him.

     "... What? Sorry I didn't catch the question." 

     "Sonika was talking about her son, Amit. Poor thing she's worried that his grandparents are spoiling him rotten."

     "I'm sure he's a great kid," Asad added vaguely. "There's no need to worry."

     "No," Sonika made a face. "That's why I'm here. I'm hoping he can stay with my aunt. I don't know what to do with him. He's been moody, acting up ..."

     "So I said why doesn't he intern at your office!" Zoya beamed at Asad.

     "Hunh?"

     "Wouldn't that be great?"

     "Really? Asad do you think that's possible?" Hope flashed on Sonika's face.

     "Errm ... I ..."

     "I'm sure Mr. Khan will be a great influence on Amit. He'll be a strong role model. We can surely try it out for a month, can't we?" Zoya's puppy-dog pout was getting plumper. And Asad nearly fell off his chair imagining biting into it. She licked her lips and his eyes widened.

     " ... Sure ... why not. It's no problem." 

The only problem now was to wrap up this dinner and get home. Home, where he could punish his wife appropriately for not just torturing him but also getting him to perform babysitting duties. Incredibly foolish. 

     "If that's so then I accept on his behalf. But please, it'll be an unpaid internship. I insist. I don't want you to go out of your way for me. As is it I'm worried he'll be a major pain in the ass."

     Zoya gasped at her candidness and Sonika laughed. "I love him, but seriously sometimes kids can drive you nuts. Do you have any?"

Did she have to ask, Asad groaned inwardly. Because it gave his wife the perfect excuse to pull out her phone and show all twenty thousand photos of Zaid. 

They'd be here forever. 

He watched their heads bent over the phone screen and rolled his eyes. 

     "Zoya, I think Ms. Dutt gets the idea. Why don't we order dessert?" He stared at her hoping she'd get the message. His chin jerked just a fraction. 

     "Aww, and Zaid must be waiting for his mom and dad too," Sonika added. Thank god she understood, Asad sighed, even if his wife didn't.

Sonika decided to skip dessert--she was cutting down on sweets. Asad breathed a sigh of relief. But not Mrs. Khan. Zoya wanted kulfi and falooda. And Asad was this close to flaming out into falooda himself. 

How he sat through her slurping and licking and moaning he didn't know. But finally she finished; he'd already signaled for the check. He'd leave the guy a hefty tip for being so swift. Or was the dumbsh*it just ogling his wife? 

The goodbyes lasted forever as Asad gritted his teeth. And of course Zoya's great memory had to prove itself yet again.  

     "Oohh remember, Sonika wanted to take a picture of us!"

Damned woman. Mischief maker and executioner par excellence!

And it wasn't just one picture. Sonika wanted a whole bunch. Zoya made them pose this way and that. Could she not hear the rumbly growl coming from her husband? 

Asad gripped Zoya's arm tight trying to signal his desperation.  

     "Ouch!" she squeaked and he nearly died of embarrassment. This woman would get him killed for sure. 

 

It was raining. They dashed to get into the car. 

     "You are so evil--" 

Asad grabbed the back of her neck and silenced her with a harsh kiss after they buckled in. The kiss deepened, then softened. He ran his tongue over her parted lips and sucked on her upper lip. 

     "Asad ..." 

But he'd promised himself a bite of that pout so he helped himself to a nip and taste.

     "You were saying?" Asad asked as he tucked her hair behind her ear once they came up for air.

     "I love you." 

He kissed her again. 

     "I love you, Mr. Khan even if you pulled such a dirty, rotten trick on me."

     "I did?" His hands were already busy inspecting under her kurta. Thank god she had a bra on. But when he undid the side zipper of her pants he encountered bare flesh. Asad groaned out loud. 

     "You are wicked, Mrs. Khan to drive a man to such insanity."

     "Serves you right for trying to pull a fast one on me!" 

     "I'll serve you right," he drawled as his hand peeled her waistband away to part her thighs.

     "Asa--"

She squawked as she felt his finger spread and spear her. She'd been wet all evening hoping for exactly this. Zoya's head rolled back against the headrest. She climaxed hard and fast as he knew she would. She'd been ready for him all evening. He'd seen it in her dilating eyes.

     "You'll be the end of me," she heard him whisper when her eyes refocused.  

Zoya took his hand in hers and sucked his fingers. His head fell back. 

     "I could return the favor," she offered.

     "No. At home." 

They watched the rain patter on the windshield for a long time letting the silence cocoon them. Finally Asad started the car and reversed out of the parking space to head home.

     "It's early yet. Ammi and Zaid will be up. And what if everyone else is there to to watch Zaid stand?"

Asad hung a U-turn.  

     "The office, then."

 

  


     "Why did you do it? Why did you make me so miserable all day long?" Zoya asked much later when they were returning home.

     "You were miserable? Jealous, Mrs. Khan?"

     "You know damn right I was jealous! Weren't those texts proof enough?"

     "They were indeed. Good," Asad said, smug as a full-bellied bug.

     "Why?" Zoya snapped her head around to face him. 

     "Because whenever you're jealous next, I want you to be sassy, angry and spitting fire like you were today. I don't want you mousy and sad like that time with Nilima." 

     "Mousy! Me? Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan! All this heart-burn and drama for this?"

     "Yes. Because I love it when you're a jealous Jhansi ki Rani! I love to see you on a rampage tearing into me and trying to remind me of all the things we have together."

     "You're so mental!" 

     "And whose fault is that?" 

Zoya sighed happily and leaned back against the seat. What a day! She giggled suddenly.  

     "What?"

     "Do you remember once when I was pregnant I got mad at you ...?"

     "Which time? There were so many."

She gave his shoulder a light punch. She felt so drugged. Mellow and high at the same time.

     "You were teasing me ... about matching up Feroze and Nikhat. And then when I wouldn't talk to you ..." 

     "I asked: 'Who is your biggest fan?' " 

     "Yes, you do remember!" 

     "And what did you say?"

     "That _you_ are my biggest fan!' " 

     "See my point?"

     She flashed her eyes at him and sassed, "no!" 

     "Who writes her name on my heart every night?"

     "I do."

     "Who do I kiss goodnight?"

     "Me." 

     "Who's the mother of my son?"

      "I am."

     "Who gets your pizza order just right?"

She had frowned then too. 

     "OK, on most days?" he teased.

     "You do. But do you remember our deal that day, Mr. Khan?"

Asad groaned.

     "Who's the one woman in the world I'd do a strip tease for?" he'd asked her then.

      "Me!"

     "Which dimple did I fall for?"

     "This one." 

     "So, Mr. Khan, strip tease pakka tonight, hai na?" 

     "In front of Zaid?" 

     "Hmmm ... you know Ammi's been saying that may be Zaid can sleep with her once a week. Should we start today?" 

     "Zoya--"

     "Please, Asad! It's been ages. And after what you've put me through today, you owe me!" 

To seal the deal she recited one of her former shers, slightly amended of course to suit the occasion:

>           Meter se lamba kilometer, kilometer se lamba meel,
> 
>           Meter se lamba kilometer, kilometer se lamba meel,
> 
>           Please don't break it Asad, you agreed on a deal.

He knew he was trapped. But Asad was more surprised that he was looking forward to this deal and his punishment.

Mrs. Khan really had ruined him.

 

 

Song in Title:

Lamhe (1991): "Meri Bindiya"


	133. Meri Subah Ho Tumhi Aur Tumhi Shaam Ho

 

 

Zoya shot up in bed in the dead of night. Her heart pounded and breath sawed. The moonlight streaming in through the picture window did nothing to cool her indignation. She turned to look at Asad and glowered at his sleeping form tangled in the sheet. Even the sight of the feather boa draped around his neck or the multiple lipstick stains over his face, chest, and lower ... failed to impress or appease her. She glared at the hundred rupee note still tucked behind his ear. 

A dangerous huff and a puff was building inside her ... 

Asad slept on unware of the coming tumult.

When he still slept on without alerting to her distress like any good husband would, Zoya boxed him hard across the chest--those few practices at his punching bag had given her a good hook. 

     "Uunmmph!" Asad yelped. "What? Who--?" He massaged his chest wondering if the sky had fallen. Was it an earthquake? Oh my god, Zo-- 

Even before he could turn to check on her, Zoya pressed her angry face against his. His eyes widened. 

     "What the hell did you mean by, the 'next time' I get jealous'?" Her fingers drew ominous air quotes. Asad blinked to clear the haze from his eyes. She ranted on: "What are you planning Mr. Khan? Who am I going to be jealous of next time?" Her finger jabbed him in his recently-punched chest.

     "Zoya--" He tried to hold her back but between the stabbing and the air quoting it was hard to get her to be still.

     "Don't you dare 'Zoya' me! 'Next time?' Really? I want answers and I want them now!"

Ya Allah, this girl! The next time he decided to pull a trick on her he'd better think twice. He gave himself a mental slap for even thinking about a next time. She would seriously maim him. Good lord, keeping up with her mad mood swings and emotional gymnastics was getting to be exhausting. 

And her nocturnal hissy fits were always a doozy. He knew that from the last time she was ... 

Wait. 

Nocturnal hissy fi--?

Panic slammed his already-bruised chest. 

     Asad spluttered and gripped her hard by her forearms. "Zoya, are you pregnant?"

     "What?" Where did that even come from? She shook his hands off and stuck him with a finger again. "Stop changing the subject Mr. Khan, and give me some straight answers. Who am I going to be jealous of next?"

     He shook her. "Zoya, focus! What if you're pregnant?"

     "What nonsense!" she flipped her hair off her shoulder and then gulped. His words had just registered. "Oh my god! Could I be?" Her eyes glittered for a second. "Nah!" she decided with a careless wave of her hand. 

     "How do you feel? Any changes in appetite or ..." Dang, after reading up so much about the subject when she was pregnant with Zaid, Asad suddenly couldn't remember a single thing about early pregnany signs. 

     "Umm ... do you feel queasy in the mornings? Tired?"

     "What? Why would you even say that?"

     "Because this is how you'd always wake me up in the middle of the night when you were pregnant with Zaid!" Her hormonal outbursts during those months meant that he had to add a third cup of coffee the next morning to function normally.

     "No! Oh god, this can't be happening! Mr. Khan, this is all your fault--" The finger started to wave in his face again.

     "What did I do?" He shut up when he saw the look on her face. "I mean, OK fine ... we can fight about that later. For now, we need to confirm if you really are."

     "How? It's too late to go get a pregnancy test kit."

     "You don't have any left over from the last time we suspected?" Over two months ago they'd had a similar scare. 

     "No," she wailed. "We used up all of them to make sure!" He'd bought several different brands just in case ...

     "Jeez, at this rate we'll need to keep a steady supply of standbys ..." Asad muttered.

     "Oh really Mr. Khan, you plan on us going through this anxety again? Your plan is to keep me eternally pregnant AND jealous!"

     There she went again trying to pin this on him. She was doing the double-slapping thing against his chest now. Asad took her hands in his and gripped them tight. "Babe, focus this once! You're the one who must've calculated the safe dates wrong. We've been extra careful since the last time we went through this."

     "That, Mr. Khan, is impossible," Zoya said with faux-sweetness. "There's no way I could be wrong. I have an app to keep track of my periods. It's foolproof!"

Fool woman. Believed more in technology than her own husband. 

The discussion would've continued and he would've been gouged even more, but just then they heard a sharp cry followed by the sound of Zaid bawling. 

Uh-oh. 

Looks like the Dadi-Zaid sleepover had hit the skids. Zoya leapt out of bed and would've run out of the room stark naked, if Asad hadn't hooked her wrist. He threw the robe at her. Zoya slapped her head before slipping into it. Thank god for husbands! Cinching it tightly at her waist she ran out to see why her son was crying and mother-in-law sobbing. Asad was quick to don his kurta and pajama too.  

Lights blazed in the living room.

     "Ammi! What happened?" Zoya asked as her mother-in-law desceneded the stairs with a squalling baby. It was hard to get Dilshad to calm down too. Zaid leapt to be in his Ammi's arms. Zoya rocked him and made soft kissing sounds. Eyes squinched tight, big tears splashed onto his reddened cheeks. 

     "It's OK baby, mama's here," Zoya tried to hush him even as she checked for blood or cuts. "What happened to my chhota baby?" she asked as she nuzzled him.

     "I think he was trying to stand and hit the headboard," Dilshad wailed louder than her grandson. "Mera bachcha, I'm so sorry. Dadi is so bad!" She took Zaid's little hand in hers. "Here, hit your careless Dadi. Khoob maro! Bad Dadi!" 

Asad had come out by now and heard the details. He put his arm around his mother to soothe her as Zoya took Zaid away to feed and settle him down for the night. Thankfully there was no real damage done. And if all went well the munchkin would be too sleepy to remember the accident in the morning.

     "Ammi, it's OK," Asad soothed Dilshad. "It's nothing--he'll be fine."

     "Are you sure?" Dilshad hiccupped. "He'll be fine?" She tried to wipe her tears but more fell in sympathy for her grandson's. Those big wrenching sobs broke her heart. What a terrible Dadi she'd been. That too on the first night Zaid had come to sleep with her!

     Asad patted her back and sat her down on the sofa before bringing her a glass of water. "Ammi, I'm sure he's fine. This isn't the first time he's bumped his head and it probably won't be the last. It's not your fault."

     "Really?" Finally she was regaining some of her composure. Dilshad turned to look up at her son and snorted. And then she began to hiccup, or laugh. He couldn't tell.

     "What happened?" Asad frowned. "Ammi, aap theek toh hain?" Was Ammi getting hysterical? No, that couldn't be it. Ammi wasn't the one to break down so easily. May be she really was feeling better now. But he was surprised at the speed at which she'd recovered and forgiven herself. He must have some awesome powers of persuasion. If they only worked as well on his headstrong wife.

     "Nothing," Dilshad smirked. But soon her face grew serious as she re-swiped her cheeks. "I got so worried when I heard him cry. What if I hadn't woken up and he fell off the bed?" Her face crumpled again. "Asad, I'm so sorry!"

     "Ammi, please that's impossible! And there's nothing to be sorry for. You're acting as if you didn't raise me, or Najma. We survived didn't we? Zaid will be fine."

     "But--"

     "No buts. You're worrying about this too much. Here, have some water and now go get a good night's rest."

Dilshad allowed herself to be reassured and herded upstairs. Shukar hai khuda ka, that Zaid wasn't too badly hurt. And thank god for her son and daughter-in-law who were so forgiving! She'd heard from her friend, Sarita, about how her son and bahu didn't allow the grandkids to stay with the grandparents because they worried about the kids' safety. Which reminded her of Zaid again--the poor baby. What if he'd gotten severely hurt? She would never forgive herself. May be she shouldn't have insisted on him sleeping with her ... Tomorrow she would go to the dargah and get a tawiz from the Pir Baba outside ...

 

When Asad closed the bedroom door behind him Zoya was just placing a dozing Zaid back into his crib. 

     "He OK?" Asad asked.

     "Umm-hmm. Just a little bump. He won't even remember it in the morning."

     Zoya turned to reassure her husband and gasped. "Allah Miyan what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan! Is that how you went out in front of Ammi?"

     "What?" Asad's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. 

She took his hand and marched him to the mirror in the closet. 

It was Asad's turn to smack his forehead this time. No wonder Ammi had burst out laughing. And no, she hadn't been hysterical either. Not only was he wearing his kurta inside out but he'd forgotten to remove the lipstick stains from his jaw and neck. Allah miyan, those hickeys ... and wait, was that a pink feather sticking out from his hair?

     "Damn," he muttered, eyes squeezed, forehead pressed to the cool glass. Damn. Damn. Damn.

Zoya began giggling. She removed something from the collar of his kurta, opened his clenched palm--and placed the folded 100-rupee note in it. Asad groaned. By now he was beating his head against the mirror rhythmically.

     "Oh my god, what must Ammi have thought? Mr. Khan, you are so embarrassing!"

     "I'm embarrassing? This is all your fault. Look what you've done to me! I've become a bloody joker in front of my own mother!"

     "Jeez, good job letting Ammi know we were doing the nasty after packing off Zaid to be with her! Mr. Khan, you're so useless!" Zoya doubled over with laughter. 

     "I'm useless? I'm useless! Whose handiwork is this?" He pointed at the lipstick marks and the hickeys.

     "Umm please, that's not my handiwork at all. More like my lipwork!" She squealed in delight. She even did a little dance step to exult over her brilliant wit--after blowing him an air kiss.

     "Whatever," Asad grumbled. He covered his face once again remembering Ammi's expression. So. Damn. Embarrassing. The money rustled against his cheek. In a fit he threw it to the floor. How would he ever face her again? 

     "Not whatever. Whenever! Jahanpanah ki service mein kaneez hamesha hazir hai!" Zoya bowed elaborately waving a saucy palm in front of her face.

     "Jahanpanah's kaneez needs a good spanking for always getting him into trouble," he groused some more.

     "Promise?"

     "Hunh?"

     She turned and stuck her bum out giving it a good wiggle. The silk rustled against her skin. "Promise, you'll give me a good spanking? Should I keep the robe on or off?"

Asad gave her butt a playful whack.

     "OUCH!"

     "Shhh!"

     "Oh really? Kaneez silence mein Jahanpanah ke zulm sahey?"

     "You are so bad!" he chased her to the bed. "And there's more of where that came from, Mrs. Khan!"

Oh, what the hell. Ammi had already seen him at his most incredibly foolish. Might as well put it to some good use to punish his wife. 

 

 

He tugged at the belt at her waist and snaked it out of the silken loops the next second. And before she could gasp he had her hands tied behind her back with it.

     "Ooh Mr. Khan, looks like you have some wicked plans for your kaneez! Deewar main chunvayenge kya, isse?"

     He placed a finger on her lips to shut her up. "Worse," he drawled. Her eyes widened at the threat. The robe spilled away from her shoulders and tangled with her tied hands behind her. 

     "Jeez, great job not taking off the robe first," she said softly going for a playful tone but alerting to the intensity in his eyes. Her mouth went dry. She licked her lips.

Asad outlined her wet lips with his thumb. "I do have a master plan for you, kaneez." He kissed her hard before bunching the robe in his hand to draw its hem over her head and eyes. Zoya's mouth rounded in shock. She felt him tie the two ends behind her head. Zoya heard the lamp click off. Darkness blanketed her; she quivered in anticipation. 

     She felt his hand squeeze her throat. "Jahanpanah is very angry with you for being too saucy for your own good," his voice rumbled near her ear. "And for getting him into trouble."

Ooh, she loved it when he role-played. He refused to do it often but when he did, her husband outdid himself. Zoya wiggled in pleasure even as her heart thundered in her ears. Should she be sassy or submissive tonight? She felt his fingers dig into her scalp as he yanked her head back and bit the shell of her ear. She grinned through the gasp of pain. OK, Jahanpanah was giving her clues about what he wanted from her but when did she ever listen to him! She would be submissive but only after she'd had her fun with him first. 

Zoya wrenched out of his arms. But he seemed to anticipate her disobedience; he roped her right back in slamming her against his chest. Roughly. She struggled against his embrace, against her restraints and felt herself being lifted up. She expected to be dumped on the bed. But no, Jahanpanah had other plans for his errant kaneez. He sat down and laid her face-down across his knees. 

Zoya felt disoriented. She couldn't tell if they were on the bed or the settee. A jolt of awareness scorched through her making her wet. She writhed some more unconsciously grinding her breasts into his thighs but stilled when she felt his finger trail down from her skull to her nape over the gathered silk ... and then langorously over her spine all the way to her lower back. His finger feathered over her butt crack. Zoya shivered. She spread her legs inviting a more intimate touch. But he stopped just short of doing her bidding. His fingers drew lazy circles on her ass cheek before kneading it. And as she wriggled and mewled he spanked her. 

     "Asad," she moaned in surprise.

     He grabbed her hair to pull her head back. "You're a simple kaneez. You don't get to call me by my first name."

Oh really, Jahanpanah! She bit his thigh through the thin cotton of his pajamas. 

Asad snickered as his grip on her hair tightened. The woman was irrepressible and he loved her the more for it. He lifted her up on her knees by her hair to face him and she fell upon him--growling, gnashing her teeth and spitting fire. She was a glorious sight to behold. A writhing, naked Jhansi ki Rani with her head and eyes hidden in a silken turban. The restraints on her hands made her mouth the only weapon she could attack him with. And she did after initially bumping her head into his nose. He grunted as she knew he would. He saw her teeth flash. Homing in like a warrior, Zoya pressed her mouth to his, sinking her teeth into his lower lip. As he groaned she drew his lip into her mouth to suck on it. 

She tasted blood and triumph. 

Asad fell back on the settee taking her down with him. His arms came around her to steady her before he rolled them on her back to drag a ripe nipple into his mouth. She was panting. That harsh tug made her wetter still. And wilder. Her arms were still trapped behind her and her eyes still blindfolded. Zoya swung her legs wide to scissor him between her thighs. She ground her hips against his. Her body wanted release, it craved his touch and thrusts. But she encountered hurdles. 

     "Why are you still dressed," she panted in frustration.

     "Because you are still disobeying me and being badtameez as usual," Asad retorted as he stood back.

     Zoya shivered from the sudden chill. She sat up. "Asad, I need you."

     "Need me to do what?"

     "To rub me, love me. Make me come."

     "Shh." His finger came up to shush her again.

     Zoya's tongue darted out to lick it and draw his finger into her mouth. "Please," she begged. "I'll suck you down. Like this. I'll make it so good."

Asad snorted. Of course, she'd make it good. Did he not know that aready? He peeled the kurta off, nearly ripping the seams. She heard the rustle and sat up straighter to root at him.

     Fingers at her chin he guided her mouth to the drawstring at his waist with his thumb. "Undress me," he ordered.

     "But my hands!"

     "You don't need your hands for this."

It was hard to do without sight or her hands. With her eager tongue she tried to find the string's end. Watching her tongue dance around and nick the goosed flesh at his waist made Asad groan out loud. That groan made her feel powerful. She temporarily forgot her mission. Bolder, she trailed her tongue over his skin above the waistband. She knew exactly where his scar was; circling the bump with her tongue she sucked on it. She heard him inhale sharply and remembered to use her teeth to tug at one end of the drawstring. It caught. Asad felt too impatient. He offered her seeking mouth one of the ends of the string and winced in pain as she bit down on his fingers. 

     "You are so wicked," he murmured. He held her hair again with one hand as he stepped out of the pajamas and kicked them away. Her skull throbbed with the painful tugs so far. But she could only think of one sensation right now. She heard a soft thud on the floor and the next instant she knew what that was.

     "On your knees now," he commanded, and she complied quickly sinking down on the cushion he'd dropped to the floor. 

Still functioning on pure instinct she turned towards the heat and scent of his body. Zoya nibbled the skin at the base of his thigh fully aware of the erection bobbing against her cheek and chin. Then she slowly worked her way up from the root to his tip. Her tongue lingered over each veiny bump under the velvet skin. She drew the beaded moisture at the bulbous head into her mouth. 

     "Zoya!" he bucked hard when she took him in deep in her mouth to graze her throat. His hand came to cradle the back of her head--to guide and control, to slow her down and speed her up. She hollowed her cheeks to suck him off; with a growl he threw his head back and reared.

He couldn't take too much of her hot mouth on him. He would explode. Pulling out Asad lifted her off the ground and carried her to the console table by the window. It was only then that Zoya realized they'd been on the settee and not the bed. Spinning her around her bent her at the waist and pressed her face against the table. The cool wood against her breaasts made her shiver. He kicked her feet apart to widen her stance. 

Zoya waited for him to take her. She squirmed restlessly. Why was he taking so long? She felt his breath puff between her thighs and nearly came apart as she felt his tongue lick her with firm strokes. Arms helpless behind her, cheek and torso plastered to the console table she could only pitch her hips greedily to steal her pleasure. Her breath grew harsher. She squeezed her thighs even as he spread her legs wider. 

And just when she thought she was close to exploding he withdrew. 

     Zoya hissed in fury. "Mr. Khan, you are killing me on purpose."

     "That's exactly the point, Mrs. Khan." He pressed a hand to her upper back and nudged her with his tip; Zoya moaned.

     "I want you moving inside me. Right. Now. I want it hard. I want it deep." She bounced on her toes in frustration. Her hips writhed in need.

     "Babe," he sighed in surrender. "Jo hukum." And he thrust into her waiting softness, hard, lifting her clean off her toes. Feeling that he still wasn't deep enough he grabbed her thighs to straighten them and bury himself deeper. Fingers digging into her flesh he hammered and plowed his way through till they both came calling out each other's names.  

 

Asad nearly yelped out loud when he saw Zoya's text the next afternoon at the office. By now he always made sure to never open her texts in company--god knows what her texts would say and only god knows what his reactions to her daily insanities would be. 

Today was no different. 

"My breasts feel so sore. Do you think I could really be preg ..." Multiple question marks followed. Then emojis with confused faces. Red and green faces. Cringing faces. Good god, trying to decode those emojis was giving him a mini stroke.

Yes, the soreness was one of the surer signs--he remembered it clearly now from the time she was pregnant with Zaid. She wouldn't let him near her breasts in those early days. The night when she'd been so sure she was pregnant, they'd made love. And Zoya had trapped his hands. Sucked and bitten his fingers as she rode him. But she wouldn't let him touch her. Or lick her. Or suckle. It had been frustrating and se*xy as hell.

     "But the tests were negative," he texted back in mild exasperation. Why were they still having this discussion? This morning he'd dashed to the nearest pharmacy to stock up on a few pregnancy kits. The woman would kill him one of these days with the weekly heart attacks. 

Or the nightly capers. 

Asad blushed. He still didn't know what had come over him last night. He'd been a beast trying to tame its mate. But the way their bodies combusted together and reacted to each other, reversing sub and dom roles, reveling in pain and pleasure, tenderness and torture ... meeting and mating as the equals they were ... it made him hard just thinking about it even now. Things were never straightforward, or by the book with his wife. She was hardwired to defy rules. It drove him insane; it made his blood sing.

     "The tests were kinda negative, but what if they're wrong?" Her text brought him back to the current discussion. "Pick up another kit when you come home," she ordered. His wife was hardly the one to be subordinate for too long--he remembered in the nick of time.

Asad sighed. At this rate he'd need frequent flyer status at the chemist's. Or one of those punch cards--buy 10 pregnancy test kits and get the 11th free. 

     "Fine. Or you could just go to the doctor," Asad offered. But he knew why Zoya was dithering on that step. So was he. Because going to the doctor would confirm it. Set it in stone. 

     A second baby. Could it really happen? Were they ready for it? He remembered Zoya's words from a few months ago. She didn't want another baby for another couple of years. "I want to enjoy Zaid," she'd said. "Focus all our attention on him." Would Zaid get jealous of the new baby? 

He's just a baby! Babies don't get jealous.

But then he remembered something. They used to laugh at how during the saas-bahu yoga sessions Zaid would not just mimic his Dadi and Ammi but also try to displace Dobby from Zoya's stomach during the shav aasan pose. Both of them fought for the same seat in the house. Just this morning in fact, there had been a minor tussle and then Dobby had put his nose in the air and marched off to sulk at the Bhaijaan-bullying. Zaid had climbed up on his Ammi and lay down on her chest babbling sounds of triumph.

This morning. 

Asad covered his face in embarrassment. Good god, this morning had been rough. First, he kept avoiding Ammi's glance. He hid behind the newspaper most of breakfast. The hickeys were tucked out of sight under the collar and tie and the lipstick stains had been scrubbed off, but still. He was still mortified by what Ammi had seen last night. And then there was his swollen lip where his feisty wife had bitten him later last night. He should probably leave town for a while so he wouldn't have to face Ammi and have her burst out laughing at her se*x-addled son. To top all that humiliation, he'd spied the bruises on Zoya's wrists and blushed as scarlet as her shirt. He'd been careful not to tie her hands too tight last night. But the squirmy and impatient little diva that she was, her constant resistance had resulted in some bruising. Asad had been extra tender with her later, massaging her back and arms, spooning her against him, dropping gentle kisses and caresses till she fell asleep. But the guilt stayed put. 

He glanced down at the phone in his hands. Zoya's words "pick up another kit," preoccupied him. Asad was in a fog of conflicted longing most of the day.

A second baby. What if it was a little girl this time? Amna. His heart surged. Tiny, delicate little hands and feet. He'd paint her mini nails now that he was such an expert. Tie up her hair in a neat pony tail. He wouldn't let any one talk him into getting her ears pierced too soon--she could do it when she wanted ... As more experienced parents they would certainly be better at changing diapers this time round. But Zaid. What about Zaid? Would it be fair to him?

Asad bumped into Ayaan in the afternoon. He stared at his younger brother for the longest time. Did he resent Ayaan or Najma as an older brother? Certainly not. Zoya loved Humaira just as much. Did these sibling-loving genes pass down to Zaid? But Zaid was just a baby himself! To expect him to be noble and welcoming to a brand new sibling was terribly unfair to him.

Back at his desk his eyes were dragged to the slideshow on his digital frame. Every other picture had Zaid in it. Zaid as a new born in the hospital--closed eyes, tiny fists curled. That little rooting, rosebud mouth ... 

Pictures of a one day-old Zaid snoozing at his daddy's birthday celebration. The khajur-tasting. 

Growing older, weeks by months. 

Eid celebration--tiny kurta-pajama set and topee that Ammi had bought him. Zoya's birthday portraits with the whole family. Pictures of Ayaan and Zaid. Zaid with Abbu, Siddiqui Saheb and Aunty. Zaid in New York waving to the Statue of Liberty ... With Aapi and Jeeju. With his Phuphis. A picture of him with his guitar and toy truck. Another one capturing him mid-sneeze.

Asad couldn't focus. The last meeting had been a blur. Thank god Ayaan had taken the lead. By 4 that afternoon, he'd had it. 

     "Be ready. I'm coming to pick you up," he texted Zoya.

     "Why," came her usual sass. 

     "We're going to Dr. Sharma to confirm once and for all if you're pregnant or not." Asad slapped his laptop shut, neatened the already neat table and was about to push his chair back, slip into his coat when--

     "Oh. I forgot to tell you. False alarm. Just started my period."

Asad's head fell back against the chair with a dull thud. He wished it was concrete he'd slammed his head against. At least that way he would have a legitimate excuse to get his head examined. 

He squeezed his forehead. Deep breaths, take deep breaths he told himself.

His wife must take a special kind of pleasure in driving him mad. She had a doctorate in tormenting him. A Ph.D. He should start calling her Dr. Zoya from now on. 

He remembered her posing as a doctor and ambulance driver once, a long time ago ...

It was confirmed. She was the doctor of meddling, infuriating, crackpotted, havoc-wreaking, ball-bustin--

His phone pinged. Did he dare look at it without smashing his phone against the nearest wall? And how many phones had she helped destroy--

     This time it was emojis with sunglasses. Five. He counted five of them. Then came the dancing girls. Three of them. "We're safe! Isn't that awesome? Especially given how we've been going at it like bunnies!!!" Winky faces. "Aren't you relieved? When're you coming home? I love you!"

Gaaahhh!

She was lucky she was cute and that he was madly in love with her. 

     "But all that soreness ...?" he asked in his next message feeling surprisingly mellow for someone whose blood pressure had just spiked to off-the-charts, ambulance-necessitating levels.

     "I get it once in a while when I'm PMSing. Don't you remember?"

Don't I remember? I'm supposed to remember? Mrs. Khan, you are a total head case. And I'm one too. For letting you get away with murder.

Another ping. Now what?

     "Why? Were you hoping I was pregnant?" 

Asad looked at the screen for a long time. He had no way of knowing that she was looking expectantly at her phone too a few miles away. Zoya held her breath as she saw the bubble hover on her screen. He was typing. But what was taking so long for him to finish?

     "Let's just say I was looking forward ..." He erased it. What? Looking forward to meeting Amna?

     "I'll miss Amna ... and Zaid being bhaijaan for now." He typed. "But we can wait. Because I won't miss the morning sickness. Or the soreness in your breasts." But he would miss the rounding belly. Feeling the baby kick.

     "In that case Mr. Khan, you may want to stock up on more pregnancy test kits. For the future."

Asad smiled. Always keeping him on his toes this woman. No rest for the weary. Or for the horny--as she always liked to add. 

He leaned back in his chair and spun to look out of the plate glass window. He never could explain it but a tenderness overcame him whenever he found out she was on her period. She didn't have the terribly achy and back-breaking kind of severe periods that many other girls had. Only recently he'd found out about endometriosis. My god, the pain from that could be equivalent to pain from a heart attack! Thank god, Zoya didn't have it! "Just once in a while I get sore. I'm so lucky!" She'd say breezily. But he would notice her wincing or clutching her back. He was extra careful to touch her during those days. Soft cuddles, back rubs was all he allowed himself even though he wanted to suck hard on her oversensitive, dusky nipples that were off-limits at this time. 

Well, mostly he tried to be strict about touching. 

Because sometimes she was at her horniest during her periods and that got him hard enough to drill to Alaska.

     "Are you OK?" he asked calling her. 

He needed to hear her voice. He needed to hear the million giggles in that voice.

     Zoya's breath caught at his tone. "Um-hmm," she answered softly. "Why?"

     "No back-ache?" 

     "Not today." 

     "Good," he said because he knew about the second days being worse than the first. 

     "Craving something?"

On some of these days she craved American fried chicken with a passion. He detested KFC but obliged her. Once they'd even tried to make some at home on a Sunday and it had turned out pretty decent. Even after the fights they had about the ingredients.

     "You cannot be serious about using whole wheat bread crumbs for fried chicken, Mr. Khan! That's just nuts. It's not even legal."

Or she craved loads of Nestle cookie dough. She would eat spoonfuls of it--kachcha. 

     "Zoya stop it, you'll get salmonella poisoning if you eat it raw!" Did she listen to him though? No.

     "Why do all your cravings have to be for junk or fast food? Why not crave fruits or carrots?" he had asked earlier on.

     "Allah Miyan, what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan! I'm not a rabbit or a hamster! I'm a full-blooded woman."

Didn't he know it. 

     Zoya had shrugged another time, "I don't know why I have these weird cravings. May be I need extra sodium or something during this time."

Asad had tried to research sodium deficiency and the effects of junk food on menstruating women. He'd even rattled off the results to her. And she'd predictably rolled her eyes even as she dug into her tub of dark chocolate ice cream alternated with over-salty potato chips. By now he'd given up. When had he ever been able to change her mind anyways? 

     "Want me to pick something besides the kits? And please don't say pizza or diet Coke. You just had some yesterday." Sometimes the cravings came even without the periods.

     "Hmm. You know today I'm craving pasta! Something spicy, cheesy and garlicky." He heard her smack her lips. "Soft, and gooey, and melty ..." 

     "Umm babe, stop, or I'm not going to be able to get out of my office."

     She giggled. "I could 'come' to your office, Mr. Khan, to keep you decent as the 'upstanding' 'member' of society that you are!"

There she went being bad again. Each emphasis in that sentence, charged the simplest words with se*xual frisson and made him harder still.

 

Barely two weeks, and this new kid Amit was getting on his nerves. Asad sighed. It was bad enough that he'd taken to Ayaan like a duck to water. Of course, all the slackers and fun-lovers had to gang up on him. It had taken Asad months, may be even over a year, to nudge Ayaan into some form of respectability and decorum in the office. And here came a kid who was close to foiling all that hard work. Now instead of one, two voices would quip: "aapka dil dariya and dash samandar hai," or "dash mein bumboo." 

Once again deadlines were being ditched, memos ignored. Laughter, loud backslaps and hearty guffaws echoed way past lunch-time. Asad had to often leave his office to glare them and other hangers-on into silence. Weird hand-shakes, fist bumps and swooshes ... What nonsense had suddenly sprouted in his office?

     "Bhai!" Ayaan would smirk and brush a careless hand through that untamed mane whenever Asad showed up in the doorway of the break room. No one, not even Asad had been able to talk Ayaan into cutting his hair short or gelling it down or doing anything that could restrain it. On some days he deigned to tie it back into a ponytail but that was it. "My hair is my shaan, my signature," he'd tell Humaira. To his brother he'd say, "aap naam se sher hain, main baal se!"  

The commotion was the same today. Asad's forced class-monitor visits were becoming a major dash mein bumboo.

     "Sir!" Amit jumped up, straight as an arrow mimicking Ayaan's tics. 

     "Amit, Gupta and Sons called. Did you drop off the updated blueprints and brochures?"

     "Umm ... ahh ... Sir ... I ..."

Asad crossed his arms and waited. 

     Ayaan saw the gathering scowl and steel. He knew Bhai had mellowed a lot these days but incompetence or compromising work was still not acceptable. If Amit didn't watch it, he'd get his ass handed to him. "Bhai, my bad. I stalled him. He was just about to leave."

Asad said nothing but waited for Amit to gather his backback and the roll of prints. He turned back to raise an eyebrow at Ayaan when a shame-faced Amit disappeared from sight. 

     "Ayaan, my office," he nodded and was gone.

Ayaan's head fell back. Sh*it. Bhai was in that Akdu mood of his. He'd seen that familiar nerve ticking in his forehead--he hadn't seen that in ages. Ayaan slouched into Asad's office and hung his legs over the arm of the easy chair he'd just settled in.

     "Ayaan, you're letting him get away with not doing much around here. If this continues I'll have to separate you two like kindergarteners." 

     "Bhai, no--"

     Asad held up a hand to forestall any interruption. "Either you'll be spending the whole day on one of the sites. Or he will. You can decide who goes with a coin-toss. Or rock-papers-scissors, or whatever." Americanese had slyly crept into his vocabulary too. Zoya used this game all the time especially when she disagreed with him over something and tricked him into caving in. Zaid was in formal rock-paper-scissors training these days. 

     "Come on Bhai, that's not fair. I agree I've been too relaxed with him but he's just a kid." Ayaan saw too much of himself in Amit even though Amit wasn't the flirt or daredevil that he'd been in the good old days. The kid was shy and tended to space out now and then. 

     "I was a kid too when I interned. I worked my butt off. If Amit doesn't shape up, I'll let Ms. Dutt know and he can go intern somewhere else. This is not a babysitting service. Now, can you handle delegating him work or will I have to be the bad guy?"

     "Look Bhaijaan, I understand your frustration. But not everyone is as driven as you. I wasn't either. We're all different. We all have different strengths."

     Asad grimaced. "I can't bear to see people waste their potential. Look at Shikha who joined last year. Fresh out of college, takes initiative, puts herself out there to learn and grow her skillset ..."

     "Bhaijaan, Amit's not an employee like her. She has a strong personality, knows what she wants. She's a go-getter, a self-starter--" just like you, Ayaan thought to himself feeling glum all of a sudden. 

     "That's what I like. I can see her getting a promotion by next year."

Ayaan was getting worked up too. He didn't know whether he was defending his own old ways or Amit's. But he did know that he didn't agree with Bhai on this.

     "Bhai, you and I are related by blood and yet we're complete opposites in so many ways. I love you, respect you, but even I don't do things the way you'd do them. But I get them done, right? I had to find my way and you were a great mentor. So be a mentor to Amit. But don't expect him to be exactly like you."

     "Hmm." 

Ayaan sagged further in the chair. He wasn't sure about the "hmm." Was it a "fine, let's try it your way," or was it a "shut up and leave," wala hmm? Yikes. A firm and no-nonsense Bhaijaan was a total killjoy. If he played the bad cop to Amit, the poor guy would probably kill himself. Why couldn't Bhai see that Amit wasn't a bad kid? That he was in complete awe of Bhaijaan and tended to freeze up whenever Bhai was around. He had already asked a million questions about Mr. Khan this and Mr. Khan that. How did he start out? Where did he go to college? Where was his first office located? When did they move to this building? Which were some of his first projects? Can we go see them? 

If Ayaan didn't know any better he'd have thought Amit had a man-crush on Bhai. But then Amit had seen Zoya when everyone was invited to the Khan house to meet the new intern. 

It's not that Amit had fallen in love with Zoya. No, it was more complicated than that. Amit had fallen in love with both Mr. and Mrs. Khan. As much as he admired him, Sir seemed remote and unapproachable. Often testy. But Ma'am was the exact opposite. In Zoya he found a lot of answers to so many of his questions about Sir. Zoya too had loved a new fan who listened to her sagas about Mr. Khan. 

And then Amit had asked that question which delighted her most of all: "how did you two meet?" It endeared him to her forever.

     "We didn't meet." Zoya answered, eyes dancing. "We collided. Three ... no four times. And we hated each other for the longest time!" 

Amit's mouth fell open. No!

     "Yes," Zoya nodded, dimple blinding him. "I was the shooting star. Mr. Khan, dark matter. In fact, a black hole." She'd glanced at her husband then and Amit caught Sir looking at her with a micro-smile. 

Zoya stroked the shooting-star charm on her bracelet--a present from her husband to commemorate the second anniversary of the meteor shower night. 

     "I was sugar and spice and everything nice, and he was black and bitter coffee!" Zoya continued. They all turned to look at Asad who was holding his black mug.

As Ayaan slapped the table in glee, Sir's smile deepened as if he'd remembered a fond detail from the past. 

     Ahh. The rest of the evening Amit sat saucer-eyed in front of Zoya and lapped up the entire prem kahani and its many mushkils. Humaira and Ayaan filled in gaps and blanks making each detail juicier. This storytelling lasted so long that Asad started to scowl at them from the living room. Once he even came over, a wiggly Zaid in his arms, to tower over them at the dining table and ask in a tight voice: "does everyone and their mother need to know this story?"

     "YES!" Zoya and Humaira had chirped loud and clear and high-fived each other. Amit and Ayaan grinned too and Zaid felt left out of the racket. He stretched to be in Chachu's arms. Ayaan sat him on the table where Zaid began to grab the salt and pepper shakers.

Asad walked away muttering "incredibly foolish" under his breath. His own son conspiring against him was the final straw. 

And if Amit had fallen in love with Mr. and Mrs. Khan could he resist Zaid? He was smitten with the tiny hands and feet. For someone who hadn't even glanced at babies all his life he seemed enthralled by this miniature human being who was simply perfect--down to each toenail. Because only when he played with Zaid or lifted him high in his arms to fly like an airplane, did Sir look at him with a smile. 

 

Asad had stewed that evening. 

Amit making googly eyes at Zoya had made his fist twitch. Good god, he could see the exact moment the kid had fallen in love with his wife. Would he have to ban Amit from the house? Probably. 

No, definitely, Asad decided when he saw Amit lean in to peer at Zoya's bracelet with its infinite charms. If the kid actually touched any of those charms he'd get punched. And good god, please don't let her go into detail about the handcuff charm! 

Asad pressed his hands against his eyes. Why had he ever given it to her in the first place? Because it represents Mangalpur, that's why, the alien voice in his head piped. Mangalpur was the beginning of them as "us." 

If he couldn't ban Amit from the house at least he could impose a ban on his wife telling tales about how they met and fell in love. Yeah, good luck with that Mr. Khan, the alien voice retorted. Surprisingly the alien voice sounded more and more like Zoya. He was going nuts, that must be it, Asad told himself for the third time that night. 

But he smirked when he heard his wife skitter and skate around Mangalpur secrets. It's a wonder Ayaan or Humaira hadn't picked up on some iceberg-sized white lies by now. Asad smiled more broadly. His wife was the queen of white lies. Now she was telling Amit and company about the coin-toss. And she'd made him a liar too. Oh god. He hid his face in his hands again. 

     As usual she was mixing up the time line. "The bhaang pakoras and Operation Pyaasi Atma was before the coin-toss not after," Asad felt compelled to butt in. They all looked at him and laughed. 

     "What?" he asked.

     "See," Zoya said, dimples deep and sure. "I told you he'd jump in to correct me. He can't ever resist." She exteneded a hand toward Ayaan and waggled her fingers. "Come on then, pay up!"

     "What Bhaijaan, you just proved me wrong and Mona darling right all over again! I was so sure that you'd continue to be Akdu Ahmed Khan for the rest of the evening."

Zoya took the hundred-Rupee note from her brother-in-law and stretched it between both hands as she made eyes at her husband. He almost blushed. And Amit nearly died and went to heaven when he saw Sir's finger stroke Ma'am's jawline. Their eyes snagged and it was almost as if they'd forgotten about anyone else being in the room. 

     "Bbbuuubbuuu ... mmaaammaaa," Zaid gurgled and only then did his parents' eyes break away guiltily. Zaid scooted toward Zoya and flung his arms around her neck. "Mumm mumm mum mum."

     "You want water, baby?" Zoya asked. He nodded, curls bouncing.

     "I'll get it." Asad pressed his hand down on Zoya's shoulder and turned to get Zaid's sippy cup. When he returned with it Zaid raised his arms to be in Abbu's godi. 

     Amit watched the scene mesmerized by Sir's softer side. He watched Zoya and Asad exchange the baby. He watched Zoya wince in pain. "Let go of Ammi's hair," Asad told Zaid gently. "Good boy." He watched Asad hand him the sippy cup and brush his son's hair back on his forehead. He watched Zoya looking at both of them. 

     Ayaan nudged Humaira's leg under the table. "See," he whispered in her ear. "I told you he's completely bewitched by your General Jeeju and his family."

She grinned. Yeah, she saw it too. But then she frowned. If her mother were here there would be so many kala teekas to apply. She brushed a finger under an eye and rose to swipe that finger behind Zaid's ear. 

     "Laa keekaa," he cooed as he tried to grab her hand. 

     "Yes, kala teeka for Chhoti Nani's jaan! She sent it especially for you!" 

He looked around the room. Chhoti Nani was here? Where? Zaid struggled to be let down. He needed to go find her. 

Humaira went to stand behind Zoya and swiped the remaining kajal behind her sister's ear. 

     "Humaira, what's up?"

     "Nothing, Appi. Just something I needed to do."

     Asad saw and understood. His wife might not believe in nazars or evil eyes. But his sister-in-law was still conventional in many ways. Sometimes they all remembered the past and gave silent thanks for surviving the terrors of a lifetime. May be that's what Humaira was doing too. He patted her head and smiled when she looked up at him. "Good girl," he murmured. 

She beamed.

     He leaned in closer. "Tell your Aapi to shut up about this love story business."

     Humaira giggled. "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, Jeeju! Me tell Aapi to shut up about something? Impossible! Besides, I love hearing this story too. It's so incredibly foolish!"

Asad rolled his eyes. But his irritation didn't last for long. Because soon Ayaan brought out the guitar from its hibernation. Zaid was given his. And everyone sang their song as father and son strummed for them. 

If Amit had been a writer this would be the moment when he'd decide to write a fan fiction. But Amit wasn't a writer. No, he was a musician of sorts too. He wrote songs--many, many of them in his secret red diary. It was his dream to be a lyricist in Bollywood. To work with big name music composers. To write songs that heroes and heroines would sing and dance to. And in his head he was already writing one right now. Because he'd found his muse. 

Muses, rather.  

  
  
  
  


Title in Song:

Dilwale (2016): "Janam Janam"


	134. Itti Si Hansi, Itti Si Khushi, Itta Sa Tukda Chand Ka

 

 

 

It was Asad's turn to wake up with a start this night. Zoya would have continued sleeping had she not had her palm on his chest.

     "Asad?" she whispered shaking a strand of hair off her face. "Are you OK? What happened?"

His tense silence made her shiver and she gathered the comforter more securely around them. Asad shook it off.

     She sat up too massaging his chest. "Asad?"

     "Hmm?" He seemed disoriented. 

     "What is it, baby?"

     He looked at her then. But in the dark he could only make out her silhouette. Asad took her hand and squeezed it tight. "Nothing. Everything's OK. Go back to sleep."

     When he'd spent a good ten minutes tossing and turning she placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Enough, already! Spill it. Tell me what's bothering you."

     "It's silly."

     "That's OK. Nothing wrong with being silly. I'm queen of silly, but catch me hiding anything from you!"

She detected a half-smile in his, "hmm."

     "Asaadd," she coaxed.

He exhaled. He may as well tell her. She wouldn't back off from any mystery; Asad was sure her spidey senses were already dancing.

     "I hate the idea that when Amna or Nilofer grow older they'll have periods. What if they are really painful? Or they get sick? What if I can't do anything to protect them from that?" 

An explosive giggle rumbled through her. Before he could duck his head in embarrassment Zoya scooted up next to him and pinched his cheek, hard. "You are so cute!" 

Asad grunted in protest. He knew she'd laugh at him. 

     Zoya half-rose to smother his face in kisses. "That's the sweetest, most darling thing I've heard from you yet, Mr. Khan! Keep being you, OK? Never EVER change!"

When they'd settled into a somewhat comfortable pose she tired to calm his fears. 

     "Asad?" 

     "Hmm?"

     "I know you want to protect everyone you love but you do know that you can't completely keep them from being hurt, right?" 

He huffed. Of course he knew that. Theoretically, that is. Most of his life he'd grown up being extra vigilant about Ammi and Najma. Zoya knew too. That's why he'd earned the nickname Jahanpanah from her. Most of his adult life he'd spent being a growly warden of the women who doted on him.

     "No matter what you do you won't be able to make the pain or hurt go away entirely," Zoya said softly. 

Asad sighed even more heavily. He knew that now much better than two years ago. He'd tried so hard to keep Abbu from hurting Ammi. But no matter what he did he couldn't stop the hurt. He'd built the strongest walls, the highest fortress but pain seemed to seep through from under the cracks, through ghostly crevices. The air heavy with sighs, remained still and stale. On that one day, the day of her phantom wedding anniversary, Ammi would shatter all over again. He would feel helpless as she wallowed in grief. And even worse when she tried to hide it from him. She'd secretly visit the Dargah, and he would make it a point to take time off from work to escort her, to ensure that she didn't bump into his father "accidentally" ... but more to make sure she had a firm shoulder to cry on.

But all that hard work and unscabbed anger was for nought. 

She still hurt even after all these years. Only acceptance and openness had erased some of that pain. Forgiveness had helped gutting the walls to let the sun and breeze in to breathe new life. "Tum ayee, toh zindagi aa gayee," Ammi had once said to Zoya. Yeah, Zoya--zindagi had more than helped! How many times had she reminded him of the meaning of her name!

Asad knew that now. 

With Najma too he'd tried to be over-protective. But she had tried to sneak behind his back whether it was to go to the mall, or watch films or matches, or to try western clothes or hairstyles. What was the point? She wore western clothes now and the world hadn't ended. What mattered was that she was happy. 

But his daughters would be so tiny and defenseless. How could he not think of dying inside if they felt even a prick of pain?

     Zoya turned his face around. "Remember I told you, you aren't Superman. You're Batman sure, but you can't solve every problem, you can't make every little thing right."

     "But--"  

     "Just trust us," she added. "We're strong. We'll get through it. Whether it's Ammi, or Najma, or me. Or even Amna or Nilofer. Our pain is ours. We'll fix it our own damn selves. You can help by just being there."

Just trust us. 

Well, that's where he'd gone all wrong, hadn't he? He hadn't trusted Ammi or Najma to know or do what was right for them. He'd assumed he knew better. Because he was a man? And just because they let him get away with his alpha male routine didn't mean that they believed he was right. No. They'd let him be an overbearing, obnoxious, pain in the butt because they loved him. Plain and simple. Controlling their lives had allowed him the fantasy of walling out pain. The irony of it all was that they carried the pain around within them. The walls became a gilded tomb ... with them inside, forced to live out some ancient fairytale curse.

Zoya was right to call him Jahahpanah. And Akdu Ahmed Khan.

     "You'll have to let the kids make their own mistakes, you know. Just because you did things one way and they do it another, doesn't mean they'll be wrong," Zoya tried to make him understand the shades of parenting. 

Funny, Ayaan had said something similar to him yesterday. 

     Asad shifted to draw her closer and tuck Zoya's head under his chin. She loved the feel of his stubble against her temple. He ran his fingers down her scarred arm. "You know, for someone who seems so wise about these things, you try to fix things too all the time! I remember a girl who tried to fix me with green tea and dark chocolate once."

Zoya giggled remembering her many misunderstandings of an inscrutable Mr. Khan from the past. She'd thought he was in love and depressed. He wasn't. Instead he'd been livid at her typical "be-akal assumptions."

     "This girl tried to fix my relationship with my father,"Asad went on. "She even fixed an ambulance ride so I could meet my brother. All to make me smile, and be less angry."

     Zoya sighed with pleasure. Now which girl wouldn't like her husband singing her praises? "Be less akdu actually. Umm, Mr. Khan, I'm usually right, remember? No, cross that. I'm always right! Besides you needed a special kind of fixing! You stomped around in an armor of thorns wrapped in poison ivy!"

     Asad snorted at the mixed up gardening metaphors. "So you decided you'd prune away the brush?" Why was he getting the sense that she was spinning some Beauty-and-the-Beast kind of tale here?

     "Um-hmm. It was easy. You were like a pineapple hard and prickly on the outside but sweet and mushy on the inside." 

OK, scratch that. This was no Beauty and the Beast. Mrs. Khan was headed in Spongebob Squarepants territory apparently.

     "Please, I'm no pineapple!"

     "Are too." 

     "Am not!" Asad groaned. "Wait, don't tell me you're craving pineapple now?"

     "Mmm, pineapple milkshake!" She made satisfied slurping sounds.

     "And where in the world am I going to get pineapple milkshake in the middle of the night?" Would his daughters have similar nonsensical cravings? Simple. He'd stock up on every bizarre food combination there was. 

     Zoya pouted meanwhile. "I guess I'll just have to make do with Jahanpanah pineapple for now. But you owe me one later OK, Mr. Khan?"

  

     An hour later and he still couldn't sleep. Something he's read during his research was still bothering him. Zoya ran her fingers through his hair. "Still can't sleep?" she whispered. 

He exhaled.

     She scooted closer to kiss his back. "What's it now?"

     He turned to her. "At what age did you start your periods?"

     Oh god, Jahanpanah's needle was still stuck on one topic. "I think I was around 13 and a half. Why?" 

     "So young? But I read that girls are starting their periods at an earlier age now."

     She nodded. She'd heard about that too. "Yes, I've heard some girls are now getting their periods at 9." 

     "What? But they are still babies at that age!" Asad tried to think of what he was like as a nine-year-old. He was already a Bhaijaan to Ayaan and Najma by then. He tried to act like a little man then but he still liked to play cricket, catch frogs, prank Ayaan ... race on his bike. He'd skinned his knee that year and Ammi had nearly fainted at the sight of blood. A cricket ball had nearly taken a tooth out ... 

     "It's not fair to be a kid and to have adulthood forced on you," he brooded. 

     Zoya nodded. He'd been forced to be all grown-up in his childhood too. "I know. I hate that too." It bothered her even more to think that when girls' periods started within a year they stopped growing in height. The earlier they started, the shorter they'd be. How unfair was that! To be smaller, more petite, and therefore more vulnerable ... But she better not tell her husband. He would never sleep for the rest of his life! 

     Zoya sat up to rub his chest in circles. "Do you want me to get you some hot milk? It'll help you sleep better." 

     "No, I'll be fine."

     "I don't mind. You sure?"

     "Um-hmm." 

     "Hot milk and you--the perfect pineapple milkshake?" She waggled her brows at him.

Asad smiled and shook his head.

     Zoya ran her hand over his stubble. "Asad, we won't be able to protect her completely but I know you'll try your best and that's all that matters, OK? You're the best dad to Zaid, you'll be the same to the girls." She was pretty sure Najma and Ayaan would agree he was a better dad to them than their father. Mr. Khan's daddy instincts were hard won. And spot on.

     "But--"

     She placed a firm finger on his mouth. "Can you stop the sun from rising?" 

     "No." 

     "Would you want to, if you could?" 

     " ... No." He didn't get the point of this discussion. But his wife had some torturous ways of making sense.

     "You're our sun, remember? Mine. Ammi's. Zaid's. Have you forgotten that quote: 'When it was dark, you always carried the sun in your hand for me'?" 

He remained thoughtful.

     "What does the sun and the moon have to do with anything?" Asad asked finally. She was taking too damn long to get to the point.

Zoya huffed. Yup, Ammi was right about Mr. Khan. He needed things spelled out for him every now and then. No emotional shorthand or poetic symbolism for her husband even if it was the freaking middle of the night. And maybe she didn't know where she was going with the analogy but did he have to ruin a sweet moment by being so logical and precise? 

     "It means that things will happen that may be beyond our control. But for things you can control, I know you'll do everything in your power to protect us. So stop doubting yourself. Even if you can't do everything, I know you'll die trying and that is all that matters."

     "Really?" 

     "Really." She couldn't believe how often he'd spin himself into a self-doubting frenzy when it came to the people he loved most. Her husband was terrified of being a terrible father and she couldn't blame him. For a man who had lived more than half his life trying to prove and define himself as the opposite of his father it was hard for him to come to grips with the vulnerabilities of fatherhood. For a young boy who had lived at the sooty edge of sunlight, being a good dad was his biggest challenge. He really would die trying.

     "You know, dads don't have to be perfect to be the best dads in the world." Zoya cupped his face.

     "They don't?" 

     No. And who knows this better than the two of us?" She added after a pause. Zoya rose and padded over to Zaid's crib. 

     "Zoya?" 

     "Shh." 

She brought over a sleeping Zaid and placed him next to Asad. 

     "What're you doing?" Asad asked. 

     "Let him sleep with us tonight. I think he'll be the best therapy for you." 

Asad's palm fluttered over Zaid's chest. He kissed the tiny forehead and breathed in the baby scent. He couldn't resist raising Zaid's foot and kissing it. It was getting warmer so no more footy pajamas. He used to recite Allah's name over his son in the womb and out of it. Yes. This was heaven. How often had his mother and wife reminded him to enjoy the present instead of overplanning or stressing for the future? Give thanks for the small miracles, Zoya would spout some new agey crap as he mentally rolled his eyes. But it made sense right now.

Right now, right here. Cherish this. Take a mental picture, Mr. Khan. Click. 

Asad laughed softly. 

     "What?" Zoya demanded as she re-settled on her side. She hated it when she wasn't included in the fun.

     "You just can't help yourself either! Typical Ms. Fix-it," he said. "You just tried to cure my restlessness by bringing Zaid over," he teased. 

      smiled. "Well, of course! If something can be fixed I'll do it. As will you. But you seem to worry about the unfixable things, Mr. Khan!" 

     "Why did you have to tell Amit the whole story about how we met? Must everyone on the planet know?"

     Typical Mr. Khan! Change the subject when she diagnosed him right and he couldn't shut her up. "Yes Mr. Khan, they must. In fact, there's going to be a test on it." 

     He snorted. "Really? A test?" 

     "Of course! For instance, if I ever stand for election what will my election symbol be?"

     "Easy. Pepper spray!" He was the one who'd teased her about this a long time ago.

     "Ding, ding, ding, ding, correct! OK ... umm ... What color was I wearing on our second collision meeting?"

     "Royal blue." He didn't take even a fraction of a second to blurt out the answer. 

     "Good job, Mr. Khan! You even remembered the shade of blue--so detail-oriented my Jahanpanah is. Now, how many runs did Dhoni make in the match that Najma and I went to see without your permission?" 

     Asad was smiling by now fully aware of what she was up to. "67, not out." 

     "Nice! Do you remember that first night when you sent me flying from the bed to the floor? What did you say later to insult my sense of direction?"

     Asad laughed even as he covered his face in embarrassment. God, how angry had he been at this woman all those days! But she had been totally impossible in those days. "Hmm, I think I said something like: aapko right and wrong mein fark toh pehle se hi nahin pata tha, par ab right aur left mein bhi--' "

     Zoya did little golf claps to applaud him yet not wake up Zaid. "OK, last question for one million dollars! Once, I misplaced my chocolate sauce. Where was it?" 

     She heard the smile in his voice. "It was on the side table in the living room and ended up on my hands."

     "Perfect score! Now tell me Mr. Khan, when you went to wash your hands that day, did you secretly lick the sauce off your fingers?"

     "No." He had dashed to grab a million napkins to wipe the offending sauce instead. "But now I wish I had." 

Their fingers entwined. 

     "I always wondered about that," Zoya's voice dipped.

     "Maybe next time you can lick it off my fingers." 

She had. Many times over. But they could rinse and repeat, couldn't they? 

Zoya said nothing. Because she'd fallen asleep. 

Asad smiled again. She had stayed up with him to fix his fears, soothe his doubts of fatherhood and then teased and tested him into wellbeing. As he drifted off to sleep an old image of hers stuck in his mind: her first few weeks in the house Zoya had wanted to install a security system to protect her precious Phuphi. Her protective instincts were as hardcore as his. He still remembered blundering into the millions of wires that snaked around the living room. He had lost another brand new phone that night thanks to a meddling and irrespressible Ms. Farooqui ...

Tomorrow night it would be his turn to test her. Let's see if Mrs. Khan's memory was as good ... as her other skills. Asad smirked to himself. He'd make it a game of strip poker. With each incorrect answer she'd have to shed a piece of her clothing.

But he needed to ask tough questions, not easy-peasy ones she could--

  

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with me?" Zoya muttered. She was unpacking her tote from the New York trip. It'd been ages since they'd returned and she'd shoved this in the back of the closet intending to tackle it later. Later just never seemed to come soon enough.

She peered in the bag and wrinkled her nose. There was a funky smell and Zoya was afraid of the ecosystem she'd unearth. 

     "I should keep a pair of latex gloves with me like cops at a crime scene," she fantasized, channeling her Olivia Benson-Kate Becket avatar and already distracted from the task at hand. 

Zoya gingerly removed an American orange that Aapi had sneaked into her bag at the last minute as they left for the airport. It was now nothing but a puff of fungal dust. Welcome to India, little orange corpse. Jeez, she better get rid of this offending scrap of compost before Asad came home. 

She wasn't planning on taking the bag but then only this one was big enough to carry her remaining samples and supplies for their meeting with the State Museum Director. They already had a full rolling case. Zoya crossed her fingers and looked to the ceiling.

     "Please, Allah miyan! This contract could really be our chance to make it! It'd be MA. Please, please, please, please, please make it happen!"

     "Who're you talking to?"

Dang, she hadn't heard Asad walk in. She tried to hide the bag behind her as she rose to kiss him. 

Asad's eyes narrowed. 

     "Hmm?" 

     "Hmm what?" 

     "Aap abhi kis se baat kar rahin theen?" 

     "Apne aap se! Don't you already know that, Jahanpanah? I do that sometimes." 

She backed away from him and dashed out of the room before he could detain her with more questions. Zoya was good at voh-main-actually dodge games but right now there wasn't any time for it. She better get the bag cleaned out or he'd have her dip it bleach. Or dump it in the trash. 

Zoya ran to the backyard and emptied the bag upside down on the grass. 

     "Ugh," she screwed up her face again. "Zoya Farooqui, you're such a freakin' mess."

She sorted out a pen, crumpled boarding passes.

     "Aww, so cute"! she gushed when she spied Zaid's boarding pass. Even though he wasn't old enough for a seat by himself he still got a boarding pass. His name in print: KHAN/ZAID made her smile.

Her eyes skimmed the rest of it. PRIORITY BOARDING.

Awwn. 

Zoya wiped the paper on her shirt. This would go in his baby book. With pictures that they'd taken of Zaid on the flight. In Ammi's lap, fast asleep. Arching and crying in Humaira's arms because he wanted to crawl not sleep. Eating his breakfast.

     "Zoya?" 

Oh god, here comes Jahanpanah and she was only half-done. She used the tiny hand sanitizer dispenser from the debris and rubbed it over the boarding pass too. Zoya would joke to Dilshad that in their house they worried less about baby-proofing the house and more about Asad-proofing it.

     "What're you hiding from me?"

Damn, busted.

     "Umm, nothing. I was just-- Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan! Why would I hide something from you?" 

Arms crossed, Asad leaned against the jamb of the sliding door. He'd loosened his tie and undone the top button.

He waited for her fake tirade to end. 

     "So?" he asked when she paused. 

     "I need this bag for the meeting tomorrow. Just looking at the junk that piled up in here."

     "Please tell me you cleaned it out when you got back from New York."

     She ignored him. Brightening up, she ran to him. "Look what I found? How cute is Zaid's boarding pass!" 

Thank god, she'd wiped it already. Asad looked down at it and smiled too. Neither commented on how the boarding pass discovery just proved that she hadn't cleaned out the bag since the trip. 

     "Baby book souvenir?" Asad asked.

     "For sure!" 

Since his broad back hid her from Ammi's view Zoya reached up to run a finger down the vee of his shirt. She let a nail scrape his skin and grinned when he hissed. Asad trapped her errant finger.

     "Mrs. Khan behave, your tricks won't work on me."

     She licked her lips. "They won't?"

     Asad's eyes dragged to that sexy pout. "No," he whispered tapping her nose with a fingertip. "I still remember that you're trying to hide something from me." 

Zoya made a face. Asad laughed softly as he ran a knuckle down her cheek to trial it over her chin. Reflexively her face leaned into his palm. Zoya's eyes drooped. 

     "Fine, I'll let it go. Khush?" he said.

     She clasped her hands to her front, "incandescent!" 

Asad rolled his eyes. Drama queen. 

She grabbed his hand and started to walk inside. 

     "Umm Zoya, aren't you forgetting something?"

     "What?" 

He jerked his chin to the lawn. And that's when she saw the bag lying face down, ass up. 

     "Gadhi," she muttered under her breath as she slapped her head. Zoya ran back to collect the bag and its contents. 

Asad chuckled. He reached down to heft Zaid up into his arms. The little guy had crawled up and pulled himself up by tugging on Abbu's pants.

Yup, this. Asad loved coming home to this. 

Because it wasn't just his son or wife who created happy havoc in his life. Dobby contributed his best too. Like the time he'd got his head stuck in a bottle as he tried to get to the cookie crumbs at the bottom of the jar. Thank god, the jar was plastic and not glass! But it had taken over half an hour trying to cut if off him; petrified the cat had jumped and scratched his rescuers after bumping into various walls. Only Asad had been able to calm him down and patiently extract the little beast from the jaws of death. Dobby had scrambled to hide under the bed--to lick off his wounded dignity.

     "Hey, tiger! Did you have a good day?" Asad asked his son as he buried his face in his piece of heaven tinged with familiar baby scents. 

     "Gud dayyy goo daaa," Zaid babbled, cheeks rosy.

 

Zaid was giggling and squealing as he struggled to break free. Abbu was holding him hostage and chewing his foot; it tickled like mad. 

     "Will you eat Abbu's face now," Asad fake-growled between tiny nicks of the perfect little toes. "Will you?"

Zaid rolled over and sat up. He opened his arms for Asad to pick him up of course he wasn't making any promises just yet.

     "I missed you too, tiger," Asad said planting a kiss on his son's head.

     "Ahhbbuuu bu bu," Zaid patted his face and bent to kiss or eat his dad's face. Same thing.

It was the middle of the week. 

Asad had come home early to hang out with Zaid because Zoya would be out late. She and Humaira had that meeting to go to. They were excited and terrified about it. Thank god, Siddiqui saheb would be with them, Asad told himself for the tenth time.

When they were in New York Siddiqui Saheb and Raziya had stepped in to supervise the factory. Zoya and Humaira didn't want to use their Abbu's influence or contacts to wrangle this meeting but Asad finally managed to convince them to go for it.

     "I know you girls want to strike out on your own. I'm not trying to be patronizing. But think of your bigger mission to create awareness for women's rights, broaden your market. With more money, you can do so much more! Things you've been putting off." He took Zoya's hand in his. "You wanted to do that prom thing for the kids at the orphanage. You could do that."

The gleam in her eyes and the stubborn set to her chin told him he'd scored. With the Museum gift shop order for historical dolls they could really create a niche for themselves.

It wasn't so hard to see Zoya work out of home any more. Though it had taken some getting used to, for sure. His Jahanpanah-mode as she liked to call it, was not easy to switch off. But not for the reasons Zoya would have suspected two years ago. Two years ago Asad expected her to invite trouble with her brazen tehzeeblessness and American chutzpah. Now Asad worried about her facing sexism and harassment from the men she'd encounter. He worried more she would trip, get hurt, not eat, get into a fight, beat up someone, end up in jail--well, pretty much the things that she'd already ended up doing. But you just never knew with Zoya. She was a musibat-magnet after all.

 

     "Oww!"

     "What now?" Asad asked though he shouldn't have bothered. He and Dilshad looked at each other and grinned. Dilsahd was shaking her head.

     "Nuffing," Zoya called out from the kitchen an entire second later. She was munching on some junk food for sure. Well at least she didn't say "negatory," like she often did when he knew she was keeping something from him.

     "Hmm," Asad rumbled from behind the newspaper. Typical. Taking this long to respond she must've have bumped into or dropped something.

Initially when he used to hear Zoya yelp, his heart would stop. Asad would bolt to find out how badly she was hurt. But now? Now he just rolled his eyes. This was Zoya. She ran into things, stubbed her toes, knocked her elbow at least two times a day. How could anyone bump into things that hadn't moved for two years?

Well Zoya could.

In bed he would see mystery bruises on her arms or legs. The ocassional burn marks still freaked him out. If there was a way to burn yourself from an iron or a tava Zoya would find it.

     "What happened here?" he would try to blow on it or massage the bruise.

     "... I don't remember," would be her careless reply.

     Asad would grip his forehead in despair. "How can you not know when or how you got hurt!"

She'd shrug and go about doing her usual thing, which meant munching on potato chips while scrolling on her iPad.

     "Mr. Khan, it's no big deal."

     "No big deal! You get hurt almost every day and it's no big deal?"

     "Asad chill, it's nothing!" She'd show him the inside of her arm or the top of her hand. "See, the skin here is so thin, it's easy to show bruises."

     "My skin is thin too on the arm, then why don't I get hurt as easily?" 

That would piss her off.

     "Are you trying to say I'm a hopeless klutz?"

     "If the shoe fits ..."

     "Mr. Khan!"

     "Do you remember when you dropped the knife in the kitchen and it fell on your foot?" He hadn't seen it happen; she'd told him about it afterward. But each time he thought of that incident he could see it clearly in his mind in slow motion. It made him crazy that she remained nonchalant.

     "Yeah, so?"

     "So Ammi and Najma have never ever had such injuries. Why's it only you?"

Other times he would laugh at her when she put her silly cartoon bandaids on--which was practically every week.

     "For such a tiny thing? You're such a baby."

     "It hurts under water," she'd pout that pout and he'd usually forget what they were fighting about.

But yes, their bandaid consumption had gone up since Zoya had moved in. On their return from New York last month, Aapi had pressed a tin in his hands.

     "Rakh lo. I used to buy them in bulk from Costco but now we have no use for these bandages. Humari Bandaid-queen toh ab aapke ghar me gadar machati hogi!"

True. And wasn't Bandaid-queen the perfect moniker for his Ms. Fit!

     "You are so impossible and so cute, I don't know what to do with you," he had said one day after another injury's mystery remained unsolved.

     "Who said you have to do anything at all," Zoya groused. Trust Mr. Khan trying to make everything perfect. "It drives you crazy right, that you can't control things! Control freak!"

     "I'm not a control freak. You drive me crazy!"

     "You are. And good! Serves you right!"

     "How does it serve me right when you're the one who gets hurt each time?" His exasperation knew no bounds. Why did he insist on arguing with her when he knew it was a lost case?

     Zoya had no comeback for that. "Umm ... voh actually ..."

     "Yes, Ms. Farooqui, tell me, how actually?"

     "Mr. Khan, stop bugging me!"

     "I'm bugging you! I just want you to be more careful, watch where you're going, heaven forbid, even look before you turn so that you don't trip ..."

Would the kids inherit the klutz gene? Asad gripped his forehead. He should probably buy stock in 3M or Johnson and Johnson.

     "Mid-ter Kaa!"

Zaid was scolding him for bugging his Ammi too. He had just finished sharing his buttered toast with Dobby. Crumbs clung to both baby and kitty faces.

     "Ammi ke chamche," Asad growled as he hurried to wipe his son's face with a napkin.

This was a bone of contention too in the Khan house. Why did Zaid insist on sharing his food with Dobby?

     "It's so gross. Think of the germs in Dobby's mouth!"

     "Mr. Khan, as usual you're missing the point!" Zoya corrected him.

     "Oh really? And what's the point, exactly? Diarrhea? E. Coli poisoning! Listeria?"

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong you, Mr. Khan! How can you even say such horrid things! Can't you see how adorable is it that Zaid shares a bite with Dobby before feeding himself? Doesn't it make you proud to see your son be so kind, so gentle? Won't he be an awesome Bhaijaan?"

Asad sighed. On so many things they were still oil and water. Chalk and cheese. Train rails that ran together but never met. So many cliches and yet not a single one to define the 4D wholeness of their relationship. Why would he even want to?

Zaid smirked a toothy grin at him clapping his grubby hands, and Asad felt a zenness flood him.

Right now, right here. Cherish this. Take a mental picture, Mr. Khan.

Click.

Asad looked around the living room. It was no longer pristine as it used to be in the old days. He used to read so much back then. Now a book on the coffee table showed bite marks as Zaid's favorite chew toy. Zaid's books were stacked on the floor. Goodnight Moon, The Poky Little Puppy series, Dr. Seuss books ... Well, thank god, his son liked books too. He liked to eat them too but that was another matter.

A few days ago he'd walked into the bathroom and done a double-take. Paint smudges and splotches on the bathtub had him clutching his heart.

     "Here, Mr. Khan. Hold him," Zoya had dumped a squirmy and freshly-bathed Zaid in his arms as she rolled up her sleeves to scrub the tub.

     "Um ... what happened here?" Asad asked when he regained his voice.

     "Nothing happened here," Zoya called out from the depths of the tub, ass wiggling in the air. "But I wouldn't go into the guest room if I were you," she added, breathless with the exertion.

Asad gulped. And not because Zaid had yanked at his tie. The guest room aka Zoya's former room. They were planning to convert it into Zaid's room. Eventually. When they would feel that being twenty feet away from him wasn't like him being in New York.

 

Together the family was painting a 3D mural on an entire wall. At the bottom, there was even room for Zaid to finger paint and add colorful handprints. There would be a plane that resembled the one Anwar had given him. Elephants and horses, lions and cheetahs. Asad had penciled in most of the outlines. The paints were proving to be a challenge. So many choices. What if he messed up? He'd made his lists and spreadsheets, Zoya had made him sit through countless youtube videos. 

He felt ready enough.

Ayaan wanted to add spaceships, and soccer and basket balls. Humaira had told him he couldn't have them all.

     "Pick one! You can't have everything under the sun."

     "Fine, when we have a baby I'll decide which balls go on the wall!"

He'd frowned when Humaira doubled over with laughter.

     "Humaira begum, what's so funny?"

     "Balls on the walls ... " she couldn't take a breath.

Ayaan guffawed when he thought about what he'd just said. Thank god, Bhaijaan wasn't in the room. Would be total dash mein bumboo. And thank god, Mona darling wasn't there either. She'd be sure to tell Bhai about it.

Only Zaid was there, crawling on the floor getting more paint on himself. All these days he'd been trying to stand up, But he would only last a minute before collapsing in a frustrated heap.

     "Aaann  nnhhh," he'd rage. 

     "Laaa maaa, waaa!" he roared today slapping the toopid wall.

     "Ayaan, I think he's trying to say 'Allah miyan what's wrong with me!' Isn't he adorable, trying to copy Aapi?"

     "Please, it's his usual gibberish. You girls always imagine him smarter than he really is."

     "Ayaan, how can you say that?" Humaira scolded him. "Take that back! Zaid is smart! He's way smarter than you, at least."

Zaid stood up yet again. He raised his hands to clap for himself and tottered. But this time he brought both his hands up to support himself against the wall.

     "Yaaayaaayayayaya!" 

Humaira and Ayaan had stopped mid-fight to watch their nephew. When this time Zaid didn't fall, they cheered.

     "Yaaay!" Ayaan jumped up to scoop and spin Zaid in the air. "Mera sher, mera cheetah! I knew you could do it, champ!"

Zaid beamed. He smeared paint on Chachu's beard.

     "See?" Humaira added, her fists on her hips. "I told you he's smart!"

     "He is! He's my chhota Einstein. My Genius Ahmed Khan!"

     "Oh shit!" Humaira slapped a hand across her mouth.

     "What?"

     "I should've recorded him when he stood on his own."

     "Look who's not so smart," Ayaan said to Zaid. "Hum shero'n se competition?"

     He looked at his wife's crestfallen face. "Arre Humaira begum, don't be so glum. Chhod do saare gham, Zaid miyan dega humein lakho'n re-run!"

     "Ayaan," she couldn't resist laughing at his atrocious shayari. "You're so useless!"

     "I'm super useful!" Ayaan crowed as Zaid bounced in his arms. "Don't forget, it was my shayari that made you fall for me!"

     She blushed. "Never!"

     "Liar!" Ayaan teased. "Remember this one?

          Khamoshi aapke saare raaz kholti hain,

          Khamoshi apke saare raaz kholti hain,

          Suniye, aap khud toh talkative hain hee

          Aapki toh jutti bhi bolti hain."

     "Oh god," she groaned. "Not again." She'd been really annoyed with him that day for being his flirty, arrogant self.

     "Agay, agay ..." Zaid babbled, clapping some more.

     "Again? See, even my chhota sher wants to hear more of his Chachu's sher-o-shayari!"

Humaira really slapped her head this time. Poor kid. Between his mom and Chachu's shayari he didn't stand a chance. Oh my god Allah miyan, would there be a third bad shayar in the family! Incredibly foolish, as Jeeju would say. 

And then there were the ocassional badmash Ayaan moments that often got them both in trouble. The guy really had no censor-sensor! Like when, last Sunday, back at the Siddiqui house, Dadi was playing with Zaid?

     "Mera suraj, mera chanda. Mera sona, mera chandi," she was rocking Zaid for his nap.

     "Ummm mmm," Zaid felt compelled to hum in drowsy answer or agreement.

It was after lunch. Everyone else was in food coma too.

     "Mera chand ka tukda," Dadi cooed.

     "Itti si hansi, itti si khushi, itta sa tukda chand ka," Zoya hummed. She sang that song for Zaid sometimes. 

His eyes widened and he wiggled to stand up. He loved this song and often tried to dance to it.

Humaira couldn't resist. She bent over Dadi to stroke Zaid's cheek. One second he was straining against Badi Dadi the next second he was fast asleep, petal lips slightly parted.

     "My chand ka tukda too. Piece of my moon," she said softly as she kissed her fingers and touched his lips.

     "Humph, moonpiece kahin ka!" Ayaan scoffed. "I could show you a whole full moon, Humaira begum," he added.

     "Ayaan!" Asad had been horrified at this full-on parents-ke-samne besharmi.

But Zoya snorted and laughed and laughed and laughed. Nuzzhat hadn't heard Ayaan.

     "What? What's so funny? Tell meee!"

Asad had tried to quell her with his Jahanpanah glare so she looked at Zoya for help. But Zoya was still rolling on the ground.  

     Nuzzhat was outraged. "I'm no longer a baby, you know! I know things. I'm even engaged." She showed everyone her ring.

     "Kya badmashi kar rahein hain aap log?" Shireen asked. She was rolling paans for everyone.

     "Nothing, Ammi! Nuzzhat is no longer a baby. We all need to call her 'Sabse Badi bi' from now on!"

     "Bhaijaan!"

He bared his paan-stained teeth at her.

     "Uff, gross!" she said making a face.

     "Shh, chup karo tum sab! See, Siddiqui Saheb has fallen asleep," Raziya said.

She was itching to get her hands on Zaid but Badi Bi also had rights after all. And at least she'd had her ghee-badaam maalish fill with her grandson before lunch. Raziya sighed. Now that he was bigger it was harder to keep him in one place. He always wiggled now and tried to sit up or crawl away.

     "So Zoya, tell us more about this prom thing?" Raziya asked. Only recently had she mastered this alien word. When she first heard Zoya say the word, she'd almost fainted. 

Zoya was on her knees, still trying to catch her breath. Asad went over to pull her upright. His hand lingered at her waist; their eyes caught. Dilshad coughed and they broke away.

     "Umm Aunty, it's a kind of a graduation party for the seniors at a high school. There's music, dancing, food, some kind of a theme ... and yes! The crowning of a homecoming king and queen!"

     "But how will you do it at the Children's Center? We have only about 9 or 10 kids in the twelfth grade?" Dilshad asked.

     "That's no problem, Ammi. We'll have the party for all the kids instead. They've just finished their exams. Everyone's graduating into the next class so it's something to celebrate!"  

Asad nodded. Trust his wife to find instant solutions. Ms. Fix-it was patting herself on the back too. 

     "Theme party ... like a costume party?" Ayaan asked.

     "Not really. It's more like them wearing formal clothes and having fun. The theme could be a beach theme, or fantasy. Winter ball or a masquerade ... anything. The kids generally vote on it."

     "But how will you get clothes for so many children?" Raziya asked. "For some girls, depending on size, maybe we all could donate some of our nicer suits which we've only worn once or twice. But The boys ...?"

Everyone looked at Ayaan.

Zoya sniggered.

     "Hey, watch it," Ayaan hissed.

     "We can certainly give away some of Mr. Khan's shirts and ties, but Raabert here ..."

     "Ayaan Bhaijaan ke phate-purane jeans and t-shirts toh dene layak hi nahin hain," Nuzzhat teased.

     "They're one of a kind! Vintage and classic," he said holding up his Che Guevara t-shirt.

     "We do have some money set aside for clothes. And we're hoping for some sponsor donations," said Humaira as she crossed her fingers.

 

All the grown-ups talked of grown-up things and Zaid dreamed of running.

Sprinting, flying and leaping. 

Far, far away from hands that wanted to hold him down and pinch his cheeks. Up, up and away from teekas and grandmotherly arms that restrained him in their doting laps.

La mya, wuts rong wi dem!

He would run and kick and hop and jump ...

But he needed to be free in order to do that. And right now, with so many grown-ups running around him, it was impossible.

Hmm, maybe he needed little pooping, squirting babies to distract the army of Khans and Siddiquis from overprotecting him when he was on a secret mission. Zaid miyan needed little-oo wingmen to divert dadis and nanis, and dadus and nanus from supervising every move of his.

Zaid's eyes popped open. 

He waved his arms about wanting to be let down. 

Immediately.

When Badi Dadi let him go he homed straight for his Chachu.

     Ayaan picked him up and swung him in the air. "Hey, mera champ!"

Zaid squealed. When back at eye level he looked at his Chachu dead in the eye. He pinched his Chachu's cheeks to get the man's attention. The beard tickled his little fingertips. But this was so important!

     "Zaaf! Ba ba ba baaaby!"

     "Yesh, you're our baby Zaaf," Khala came over to croon over her favorite boys.

     "Bay bay bay Zaaf!" Zaid caught hold of Khala's hair to tell her by tugging on it.

Khala pinched his cheeks and Zaid frowned. His expression mirrored his Ammi's: tiny frown on top, pouty lip at bottom.

     "Bay bay bay BAAAY!"

His useless Chachu and Khala were not understanding his command or the urgency.

Zaid looked around for his mom. She would explain to these two: have babies right now, Allah miyan. Get this family off my back!

     "Kya keh raha hai?" Rashid asked everyone. "He looks so serious."

     "I think he's telling his Chachu to have babies like Zaaf," Zoya said before being hit by another giggle attack.

Chachu looked horrified and Khala fled the scene.

Zaid slapped his forehead and pinched his nose like he'd seen Abbu do.

Indedly foolis

 

 

 

Song in Title:

Barfi (2012): "Itti si Hansi"


	135. Ret Hi Ret Thi Mere Dil Mein Bhari, Pyaas Hi Pyaas Thi Zindagi Ye Meri

 

     "Baby ko base pasanda," Badi Dadi sang for Zaid as he danced and clapped his hands in her lap.

Even though Badi Dadi was mangling the lyrics (despite being corrected by her grandchildren a hundred times, "Dadi, it's not pasanda like Paneer Pasanda!"), Zaid loved that song and everyone knew it too. He'd loved it ever since he'd heard it at his Nikhat Phuphi's reception in New York. Omar Phupha had rocked him on his shoulders that night when Abbu had come. Ayaan Chachu had tried to intercept, and it had become a fun game of who would win and hoist Zaid as the trophy. 

When everyone sang, "baby ko bass pasand hai," Zaid was convinced that they were singing about him.

But neither Badi Dadi nor her great-grandson knew why Zaid's parents blushed so hard each time this song came up.

And it was a good thing nobody knew. 

Knowing about their son's love of the song, once, when they were in the throes of their lovemaking, Asad had quirked an eyebrow.

     "Baby ko 'base' pasand hai," he'd teased, hoping to make Zoya blush during her ministrations. His hand had tightened its grip on her head by her hair even as his hips jerked in anticipation of that high.

But Zoya was Zoya--the queen of comebacks: Hansi ki bhi Rani, as she liked to say. 

On her knees, she had looked up into his face. Her curving lips had glistened ... his glistening skin had burned ... and yearned. Eyes locked with his, lips lingering on the veiny underside, she'd sucked and then run her tongue along his length ... slowly, ever so tantalizingly ... from base to tip. 

     "Baby ko 'tip' bhi pasand hai!" Zoya had breathed and made him blush instead. And groan when she licked him. 

He'd arched as her tongue had done that swirly-swallowy thing he loved so much before taking him in her mouth completely. His bucking hips had made him thrust even harder as she deep-throated him.

Oh god, the woman just drove him mad. Crazy, out of his mind, mad. His fingers'd tangled in her hair and clenched.

     "Zoyaaa!"

 

     "Did you talk to them? What did they say?" Zoya asked Humaira. They hadn't yet heard back from the State Museum and she was getting antsy.

Humaira shook her head.

     "Beta, don't worry, ho jayega. yakeen rakho," Raziya told them. "Meanwhile why not follow-up with the Jaipur Doll Museum? I'm sure your dolls will be a big hit at their gift shop too!"

Zoya perked right up. Yes! They had talked about it, even contacted the museum about a month or two ago. But the museum was in the midst of renovations, so that was a bummer. And then the Museum Shop Manager had made some noises about honoring current contracts with vendors. 

The girls were thinking of a trip to Jaipur to meet some of the staff in person. You could send photographs by email and post pictures on your website, but seeing the dolls and being able to touch them physically would have its own appeal. Zoya was that confident of their workmanship--once they saw the delicate handiwork of their artists, felt the texture of the silks and satins, any museum curator or conservator would be smitten. Maybe the dolls could change people's minds. Just as they were changing people's minds at home. Their gallery of products was lucky to get a weekend write-up in one of the city's major newspapers last month. That had boosted sales and orders. The Jhansi ki Rani doll and its diferent accessories were still the most popular. The special orders on that alone had allowed the girls to hire some more workers.

The sports dolls were gaining a wider fan base too. Thanks to recent stars like PV Sindhu, Mithali Raj, Harmanpreet Kaur, Indian women's sports were gaining younger fans. And Zoya was so thrilled to finally greenlight a Dhoni action figure. She had been heartbroken when Dhoni announced his retirement from captaincy earlier in the year. Oh man, she had cried and moped for a whole week. Watching re-runs of his matches had helped a little but not too much.

Humaira was pumped too. She was designing a Pinterest page for their dolls ("Yes, yes, Aapi I'll put the Dhoni doll on there too with 360 degree views." Zoya had spluttered in outrage. "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, he's not a doll. He's an ACTION figure!"). When not mollifying her Aapi, Humaira was also responsible for highlighting the life and work of each dollmaker for their website. She loved photographing the artists at work in the factory--they were shy initially but loved seeing their pictures on the site when they were posted. 

Humaira had some of her usual concerns though. 

     "Aapi, are we doing the right thing? I'm scared of getting too big too soon. What if we can't meet the orders ...?"

Zoya frowned. She had similar fears too now and then. But she didn't share them with Humaira, just with Asad. Zoya didn't want a cautious Humaira to be even more worried.

     "Also, what if people begin to cut down on luxury spending? I can't bear to think of letting our people go because business slowed down ... " Humaira continued.

     "Hmm," Zoya replied. Exactly what she'd fret about and tell Asad every few weeks. Asad would usually talk her off the ledge and push her worries off instead.

Zoya smiled and hugged Humaira sideways. 

     "It's so cool that we work together! I'm the jump-right-in and Que-sera-sera  partner, and you're the more sensible and practical one!" 

Humaira nodded, still pensive. She almost raised her thumb to nibble on its cuticle but stopped when Zoya swatted her arm away. 

Raziya watched them as Zoya gushed about possibilities and promises.

What if there were no barriers, no fetters, no doubts? How high would girls fly, she thought. 

The girls'd had this conversation many times over in the past months. But between themselves they somehow managed to balance out the caution-to-risk ratio. Humaira was the necessary though gentle rein to her Aapi's coltish exuberance. And Zoya managed to convince Humaira to daydream a little bit, spin some fantasies once in a while. So what if things didn't work out, or were imperfect? They'd have fun trying, wouldn't they? Thanks to her mad skills at chiselling away at Mr. Khan's brand of OCD perfectionism, Zoya had become an expert at hawking hopeful imperfection. Even her shers had taken care of knocking Asad down a peg or two: "Aamir ka kehna hai, nahin ho sakti improved perfection. Ab main Mr. Khan ko dikhaungi, unki ASLI REFLECTION!"

 

But by now Raziya too had learned to raise her palms in invisible prayer each time she heard Zoya's "trust me!"

That "trust me" was too much of a wild card. It could open magical doors and paint a million smiles; but it could also lead to duds or disasters and mini-heart attacks. Like the time when Zoya had dragged Humaira to some ratty old building in the middle of nowhere to track down some lace-makers and crochet artists. 

     "It'll be fun! And we can think of incorporating these elements in the doll clothes and accessories. Have you noticed how popular lace chokers and necklaces are these days? Little fringe thingies?" She went on and on about some cute little crochet purses and hats. 

     "We don't have to commit. Imagine if we could have throw pillows in the shape of soccer balls--made of lace and crochet as accessories for sporty girls! Maybe even add leather patches ... Let's just go check it out. It'll be fun. Trust me!" Her eyes had shone, her bouncing feet were a blur. 

Raziya, the referee, held up a yellow flag right then as she pitched a fit at this mania. Too often Zoya's pied-piper charm managed to convince Humaira and Siddiqui saheb far too easily. 

     "Aunty, we'll be fine. The driver will be with us." 

     "No! It's too far and I don't trust that area. Wait for Asad or Ayaan to come at least." 

     "But this is the best time to go. Evening will be too late and even more dangerous. Tomorrow and the next day are national holidays."

OK, it was red flag time. 

Raziya huffed. Once Zoya had made up her mind no one could talk her out of it. Her giggly gusto packed the punch of an army of hathi and ghodey.

     "Fine! I'll come too then." 

Because some days Zoya needed as much baby-sitting as Zaid. 

     "But Zaid?" They were alone at the Siddiqui house. Dilshad was away for a few days to visit relatives. She would return in the late afternoon.

     "We'll bring him too!" Raziya'd hoped this would bring the mad Zoyaness down from a boil to a simmer. The girl would surely see some sense now. 

Tough luck.

     "Yay, that's a great idea! We'll bring Dobby too. It'll be a fun outing. We can have a picnic afterwards!" The bouncing started up again, "by the lake!" 

Raziya smacked her head. Once again her older daughter had turned her parenting masterstroke into an aa-bail-mujhe-maar moment. 

     She nearly growled. "Fine, this way you'll realize how worried mothers get when their kids insist on doing foolish things!" 

     "Incredibly foolish things, as Jeeju would say," Humaira couldn't resist teasing her Aapi. 

Zoya had been ecstatic at getting her way so all the lectures and teasing were ignored. Natch.

Soon they were loaded up in the car with Zaid's paraphernalia; a guard now sat in the front seat. They had to take the SUV now.

     "Just in case," Raziya had said when the girls raised their eyebrows. She also bullied them into texting Asad and Ayaan where they were going, the address and what time they hoped to return. 

     "Pata hona chahiye," Raziya added as she sniffed in disapproval and tucked her dupatta under her chin.

All of this took a good hour if not more as the girls knew it would. Raziya made the driver check the car (twice), double-check the spare tire, top the tank and refill the extra petrol cans. 

Just. In. Case. 

The girls were instructed to carry their phone chargers.

     "Just in case," they mouthed behind her back as their eyes rolled. 

Raziya didn't care they made fun of her. She knew their constant thumbing across their phones to check snap-insta-face-chat-whatsapp nonsense drained the batteries. 

Fast. 

And Raziya was not taking a single chance. The kids might have forgotten about Tanveer and her siege but she would never forget. On some days she imagined a Tanveer lurking in every Bhopal corner.

     "I want it on the record that this is not a good idea," she texted Asad as they started from home. "In fact, it is a very bad idea."

     "You've spoiled her too much and let her get away with everything!" she replied when Asad responded with a flippant, "duly noted." 

     She rested easy only when Asad texted: "Fine, I'll send Amit to join you. Thank you for the heads-up and address, Aunty." Only her older son-in-law got her. 

In the car, the girls laughed when Raziya pressed something in their hands. 

     "Pepper spray!" Zoya squealed. "But Aunty, I already have mine in my purse." 

     "Oh really?" Raziya snorted. "Show me." 

Humaira grinned when her Aapi rummaged in her cross-body purse and hummed in frustration. Ratty tissues fell out. Half-open packs of gum. Movie tickets. Lint. A crumpled receipt or ten ... 

     "Dekha? I knew it," their mother muttered about careless kids who had no sense of danger or being prepared for emergencies. 

     "Found it!" Zoya announced. And then she made a face when she noticed the bottle's cap was off. She shook it. It didn't sound like it had anything in it.

     "Nooo!" Raziya snarled when she saw Zoya's finger on the trigger. "Khuda ke vaste, ab usko test mat karna! If there's any left in it you'll manage to squirt it into your eyes."

Zoya blushed at the sudden memory. She had tried to test the pepper spray once. 

On Mr. Khan, who else? 

And trust her luck. It wouldn't work and that's how she ended up spraying it into her own eyes. Of course everything that happened that day was Mr. Khan's fault, Zoya smirked to herself.

     "Ahh, I'm dying," she'd screamed. "Someone give me water!"

An eye-rolling Asad had handed her his water bottle, which she used to rinse her burning eyes. And then she'd seen the traitorous water bottle in her hand and glared at him. 

     "Aapne kyun diya?"

     "Incredibly foolish!" 

That was the first time she'd heard this ludicrous expression from a guy--a repeat offender who had tried to run her over with his car a second time--with a major stick up his ass. 

Hmm, speaking of which--

Umm mmm mm ... that ass ... those cumgutters ...

Wait, she still had to tell Asad about cumgutters--the new se*x word she'd stumbled upon ... He'd go red in the face and die of embarrassment for sure. Allah miyan, what's wro--

     "Ahemmm!"

Zoya blushed deeper then laughed looking up into Raziya's face.

     "Naya wala spray sambhal kar rakho," Raziya ordered. Don't argue with me, she implied, or try to tell me that I'm wrong to worry about your safety. She snatched the old, useless can from Zoya's hands that were about to dump it back in her purse. 

The message and corrective action, however, were both lost on Zoya who was still coming off her s*exhaze.

     Raziya tsked when handing Zoya the hand sanitizer a second later. "You don't want any pepper remains on Zaid do you?" she frowned when Zoya looked at her quizzically.

     "Haan, Zaidu must not get any pepper spray on him," Zoya winked at Humaira. "Added to all the ghee and badam he'll be too well-seasoned and yummy. We might jussht eat him up!" she pinched her son's cheek as he and his Khala laughed.  

     "Bana lo mazak apni Ammi ka," Raziya huffed. "I won't apologize for being too careful." 

     Zoya tucked her arm into Raziya's. "Aww, that's OK, Aunty. We love you for caring too much. Hai na, Zaidu?" 

     "Ayy wuuv ooo," Zaid crooned. 

     "I love you!" 

     "Ayy wuuv looo!"

     "Who's a good boy?" 

     "Zaaf!"

     "Yesshh he is!"

 

At their destination the girls had been first surprised and then tickled to see Amit. 

     "Sir sent me," he said. 

     "Just in case," the girls chimed as they looked at Raziya. 

     "Humpph!" 

Amit happily put Zaid in his baby carrier and strapped it on. Zaid gurgled with glee. He always liked to have the family estrogen balanced out with some token testosterone. And then Amit (Mamu, as Abbu had taught to call him) recited some of his lyrics or even hummed tunes for him. What else could a little guy want? Zaid kicked up his legs and pumped his arms. 

Baby ko bass pasanda.

 

The dirt ... the squalor embarrassed Raziya. 

She still marveled at Zoya's thoughtfulness. A girl born and raised in New York and she never made faces at the smells and filth. Not once had she heard the girl complain about how gross Indian streets were or how foul. The open drains didn't make her step falter nor did the dog droppings derail her from her high-spirited mission. 

Thank god it was cleaner inside! And that the trip wasn't a total waste. They couldn't resist oohing and aahing over the intricate patterns. 

But for almost a minute there, Humaira and Raziya had lost Zoya. 

Lost her to another se*xual haze, that is, that she'd started to spin when she saw the scraps of lace and crochet--this would make such a delicious bikini ... unashamedly see-through ... soft ... Asad would love to see her in this ivory number before he ripp-- 

     "AAPI! Look at this!"

Sighing, Zoya dragged her eyes ... and mind away.

The girls were able to get samples and promises for future orders. Now even Humaira was excited by the visions of girly glamor painted by her sister--hey, they wanted to appeal to every young girl's dream of realistic dolls, didn't they?

Zaid, meanwhile, was oohed and aahed over too by the local women. Shy, he ducked his head in Amit Mamu's arm.

 

Back in the city, Amit had waved to them from his bike as he went to report back to Sir. Raziya wasn't as panicky anymore--they were much closer to home.

She wanted to go straight home but Zoya hadn't forgetten their picnic plans. 

     "We'll have a snack and then some kulfi and then a walk around the lake with Zaid in his stroller! He'll love it!" 

Now how could Raziya say no to some Zaidu fun? Or to Zoya? 

Once they got to the lakeside, the girls skipped away to get pani puris after setting up Raziya and Zaid comfortably on a blanket under a tree.   

And that's when Raziya's heart really got a workout. 

First, Zoya's phone notifications went crazy. A second later she was squealing and dancing and whooping. 

     "Dhoni is in town! They spotted him at Zaiqa restaurant. Oh my god, oh my god. OH MY GOD, DHONI is in town!!!"

Now everyone in the park knew that Dhoni was in town. Humaira was wheezing because her sister had just squeezed the air out of her lungs with a bear hug.

Raziya gripped her heart when she saw Zoya running toward them. Allah, something bad has happened! But then she saw her daughter's manic face.

     "Aunty, Aunty, Aunty, hurry! We have to go right now!" Zoya began dumping all the stuff into the basket. Zaid was scooped up and strapped into his stroller; Dobby and his leash were rounded up and secured in the crate--they were both lucky it wasn't the other way around. 

     "Kya hua beta? Why this rush? Sambhal ke!"

Raziya was greeted only with a chant:

     "Dhoni is here. Dhoni is here. My Dhoni is here."

     "Where?" Raziya looked around them. Everything was still the same. Normal. 

     "Not here in the park. He's been spotted at a restaurant. We have to go right now!"

And they did. As soon as they could round up the driver and the guard and pile into the SUV, they zoomed off to Zaiqa for some Dhoni-darshan.

But all the way Zoya's butt wouldn't stay still in the car seat. It couldn't. What if he left even before they got to the restaurant? No! Her life would be over. 

It was a good thing Asad wasn't in the vicinity. He would have combusted in a jealous rage at his wife's incredible foolishness.

 

When they reached the restaurant Zoya groaned as she sighted the small crowd outside. Now what? Most likely the restaurant management wasn't letting anyone inside.

Ahh, but babies can clear crowds and open closed doors to get their moms to meet their "unhoni ko honi kar de, honi ko unhoni, handsome and dashing ... Mahendra Singh Dhoni!"

Zaid Miyan was in total secret agent mode today. As they neared the entrance, he decided to start crying loudly in his Khala's arms as his mom pretended to faint at the restaurant door.

     And then Raziya went into supermom mode. She yelled at and bullied the doorman and manager into getting them inside: "Help my daughter! Can't you see she's weak from the heat? Get her some water! Oh my god, she's going to die! Call a doctor! Kya ho gaya meri bacchi ko! Koi kucch karta kyun nahin?"

A squalling baby, a woman in a dead faint, a ranting grandma, and a glowering and armed bodyguard--the manager did the only thing he could think of. He invited them in and seated them at the best table. OK, the second-best because the best was being hogged by Dhoni and his cohorts.

And as if by magic the baby stopped crying, the woman revived to consciousness by a sprinkle of cool water on her face, and the grandma was finally silenced. The manager sighed with relief. They looked like well-to-do people by the looks of their clothes, accessories and bags. No riffraff. They even had a bodyguard with them--of course, the manager couldn't afford to screw things up. 

Minutes later as Zaid gnawed on his butter naan and cucumber slices, his mother took stock. Behind the greenery in their booth was Dhoni! Zoya whipped out her phone and turned the camera to selfie mode. She angled it this way and that as Humaira held the foliage back. His hair! She spotted the cropped hair. Aww, he'd changed his hair again! But she still loved him the same. 

Hmmph! She wasn't getting a good view. She would need to be a better hustler if she was going to make a memorable Dhoni moment that she could tell her grandkids about.

Zoya promptly ignored Humaira's nervous giggles and Aunty's muttered reproofs as she wiggled around trying her best to get a Dhoni-glimpse.

Thank god, the manager had given them this booth! Zoya raised her palms in gratitude. Then she tucked her feet under her, rose up on her knees, and turned around to reconnoiter for a sitrep. If the plants were shifted a bit to the left and right she might just be able to catch sight of her Dhoni.

Zoya peeked after having made a few necessary adjustments.

She couldn't resist a squeal when she saw him less than 10 feet away. Dhoni's head lifted at the sound and Zoya covered her mouth as she sank down in her seat.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my god. She'd seen Dhoni! And Dhoni had almost seen her.

Dhoni. Dhoni. Dhoni, her heart pumped. Stadium-sized applause filled her ears. Zoya hugged her phone. Should she text the world? Post this news on her social media sites?

No, you idiot, just focus on getting another glimpse--a longer one this time. Social media could wait.

Should she walk up to him and say hi? 

Hmm. 

OK, just take one more peek and then decide.

She repeated her maneuver and caught another look. Awww. 

How lucky was she? Zoya wanted to rest her elbow on the ledge and gaze at him forever. She wouldn't blink. No. Not even once. She had to imprint this image in her mind, on her eyeballs. Pictures could come later.

She turned back reluctantly only when Humaira's nervous hands grabbed her to pull her down. 

     "One more look," she whispered to her sister. 

     "Zoya beta, eat something first," Raziya tried to distract her. Also she was worried about the fainting. She hadn't yet confirmed if it was an act, or the real deal. What if Zoya was ill? Or pregnant! 

     "Aunty please, just one look!" 

But this time when Zoya parted the plants she stared right into Dhoni's narrowed eyes. Uhh-oh. That annoyed look he was giving her wasn't going to get her within a ten-foot radius of her handsome and dashing Mahendra Singh Dhoni.

Zoya gulped and ducked her head. 

Sh*it. Sh*it. Sh*it.

Zoya Farooqui, you're such a nut job. She clasped her hands in silent prayer. Please, Dhoni baby, don't be mad at me. 

OK, maybe if she waited for two whole minutes and then tried again? Raziya glared at her from across the booth. 

     "Kafi badmashi ho gayee. You've seen him, no? Now eat your biryani and behave!"

Zaid laughed. Isn't it nice to hear your parents get scolded? He clapped for his Chhoti Nani as she gave him another bite of the paneer. 

Crossing her fingers for luck, Zoya swung around for one last peek after taking two hurried bites to satisfy Aunty. 

This time when she parted the leaves she almost cried out in dismay. Oh no, where did he go? She leaned in further. Ahh, he'd shifted his seat to avoid being pestered by a certain looky-loo. 

A disappointed Zoya shrunk back into her seat. 

     "Aww, poor Aapi. You can't see him?"

Zoya shook her head, too numb to speak.

     "Should I try to get a picture?" Humaira asked wanting to return the smile on her sister's face.

Zoya's face lit up.

     "No! I have a better idea. Switch places with me!" 

     "Ya Allah, yeh sab tamasha karna zaroori hai kya?" an embarrassed Raziya asked when she saw her daughters climb up on the couch to swap seats. She looked around to see if any one was watching. Why was the baby better behaved than her adult girls? Thank god, there weren't many people here at this time. 

The girls ignored her. They were on a once-in-a-lifetime mission. 

At a better vantage point now, Zoya rose up on her knees once again. 

Ahhh there, now she could see him better. And she was so smart. He wouldn't feel so self-conscious now that she was watching him from another angle. She was just too good.

A smug and smitten Zoya leaned in further for a better lo--

And being her true klutzy self, she mangaged to upend a pot of bromeliads on handsome and dashing Mahendra Singh Dhoni's head. 

     "What the hell?!" They heard a growl from the other side. 

Two waiters and the same manager came running. They made bleating sounds of apology to calm down the angry mutters.

If she could have died of mortification Zoya would have. She would have even killed herself for hurting her Dhoni.

     "I'm so sorry!" she croaked through tears of horror and shame.

Someone from the other side came up to their table. The guy didn't look pleased.

     "What is wrong with you people," he hissed. "Why can't you just let a person dine in privacy instead of creating a scene? This always happens when he goes out in public. Why can't you be more respectful and normal?"

Oh no, he didn't. He didn't just make Zoya gasp and make those eyes swim in tears. 

Raziya was livid.

     "How dare you speak to my daughter like that!" she thundered imperially. 

Everyone in the room stilled. Even Zaid.

     "It was an honest mistake. Obviously my daughter didn't mean to do it on purpose. Look, she's so upset that she's crying!"

Zoya covered her face. No, she wasn't crying. She just wanted the earth to open up and swallow her. Where was a Jahanpanah-ordered wall in which to chunwao her, when one needed it the most?

     Humaira jumped in to broker some peace. "We're so sorry. My sister is a big fan of Dhoni Sir ... we got carried away. Please, humein maaf kar dijiye!" 

An angry Dhoni rose from the booth behind them, dusting his head. Flecks of soil went flying as he started to move toward the exit. 

     "Please Mahi ... umm, I mean Mr. Dhoni, please don't be mad at me! I'm so sorry." Zoya jumped up on the seat, hands folded, puppy-dog face begging for forgiveness. 

Raziya hid a smile behind her dupatta. That face always managed to work magic with Siddiqui saheb and her son-in-law. It would do so with Dhoni too. 

     "I'm such a huuuge fan! Your biggest!" She pleaded, arms gesturing wildly. Everyone must say that him. But Zoya pressed on, undeterred. "You stay so cool and calm under pressure. The best captain India's had--of course your record speaks for itself. In fact, you're the best in the history of the game in India!" 

     Zoya clasped her hands in prayer. "Your laser-sharp reflexes, your stumping, they are M.A. I mean, Masha'Allah! Please, please, please play in the next World Cup! You have to! Don't listen to your detractors--they're idiots. You're the best. An absolute LEGEND!"

By the time Zoya was done gushing, her tears had evaporated and her eyes shone. Her cheeks were rosy and her dimples blazed. 

Zoya started to bounce on her toes when she saw her hero halt and turn around. Oh my god, oh my god, it was working!

     "Aapka 2005 match against Sri Lanka--183 not out? It was epic! Historic! I have watched that match at least a hundred times. Your hair then, your shots, 10 sixes! How are you so hand-- I mean awesome?" 

Dhoni had started to smile by now.  The slender woman in jeans was hopping on the booth seat. The nutty and loud enthusiasm was a nice balm to his ego--almost making him forget the blow to his head. And, how could he resist such a delightful recap of his career? 

     Now that the hook was in, Zoya reeled him in. She jumped off the seat and picked up Zaid from his high chair. "Zaid, look baby, it's Dhoni! Remember?" 

Zaid clapped his hands. Of course he knew Dhoni! He had seen the match that his mom was raving about. At least six times. Well, parts of it. A baby doesn't have too much time to sit still. With both hands Zaid swung an imaginary bat in the air, helicopter-style. 

Everyone cheered. 

     "Say hi," his proud mom encouraged.

     Zaid waved at Dhoni. "Oni Mamu!" 

Zoya's face fell as Humaira and Raziya started to laugh. 

     "His dad makes him call you Mamu!" Humaira explained to a baffled though charmed Dhoni. 

     He laughed too. "Now that's a first." He bumped fists with Zaid. "And Mamu is happy to meet his littlest fan."

Zoya was not happy about this self-christening. Her pout intensified.

     "It's my husband's idea of a joke," she glowered. "A bad joke." 

It was Raziya who took charge then. You'd think her girls had no manners or sense.

     "Please join us for some tea, or coffee. Hum aapke bahut shukar-guzaar honge. We're sorry for ruining your meal." She glared at Zoya who lifted her chin in defiance.

Dhoni looked at his wrist. He did have some time till his next appointment and then Zaid leaped to be in his arms. The little face begged for some testosterone company. The bright eyes blinked at him and a dimpled toothy grin followed. Dhoni Mamu was toast.

     "Fine, just for a few minutes."

Even as he jumped when he heard the girls shriek in delight, Dhoni settled down warily on the chair provided by the manager. Zaid was returned to his high chair; he laughed when Dhoni tickled his toes.

Zoya could NOT contain her glee at getting a second chance. Thank you, Allah miyan! And thank you Zaid miyan, too. 

     "Aunty, do you know what an amazing player Mr. Dhoni is? He's played 300 one-days." She rested her face in her palms looking up at him in utter devotion. "And he's the world's best wicket keeper! Remember how I showed you his handiwork, frame by frame? Lightning-fast reflexes! He's a cowboy with a glove--the absolute BEST!" 

     Zoya mimicked Dhoni's signature gesture. "Watch my elbow," she commanded her audience. "Think how much power it must take to not rebound but actually move forward!" 

She stumped the imaginary wicket.

     And both she and Zaid cheered, "OUT!" 

     "Umm, Aapi, I think Mr. Dhoni already knows all these things about himself. Why don't you recite the sher that you made up for him? You recite it at all the matches we see after all." Humaira turned to Dhoni. "It's her superstition. She says if she doesn't recite it at exactly the right moment then you don't--"

Zoya's face turned red. She elbowed her sister. Did she have to embarrass her in front of hot and handsome Mahendra Singh Dhoni?

     "Honi oni, honi oni, oni, ono," Zaid chattered.

     Zoya glowed when Dhoni said with a grin, "sure I'd love to hear a sher in my honor."

Raziya almost wanted to warn him: it's not as genius as you'd think. 

     "Please," he said and Zoya was a goner.

She cleared her throat even as Zaid continued with his refrain. 

     "Umm, it goes a little something like this:

          Unhoni ko honi kar de, honi ko unhoni; 

          Unhoni ko honi kar de, honi ko unhoni;

          Handsome and dashing ... Mahendra Singh Dhoni!"

She waited for applause. But Dhoni was laughing instead. Raziya and Humaira joined in too. Zoya made a face. This was not her day obviously. 

     "You know, I saw your match when you were in Bhopal the last time! You played 67, not out. So cool! I sneaked away with a friend who's now my sister-in-law!" 

     "Sneaked away from home to watch a match? In this day and age? But why?"

     "Ohhh, that's because a certain fire-breathing dragon had forbidden us to go." Zoya was still made at Asad for training their son to call him Mamu. "But then he saw us celebrating your six on TV and that was the end of that. I was chewed out and exiled by the Jahanpanah."

Which century had he blundered into, he must've wondered. 

     "Exile? I didn't know there were dragons in Bhopal," Dhoni teased. 

     "There aren't any left any more," Humaira piped up. "And that dragon is now my Jeeju."

Zoya wanted to know more about Dhoni's family. He was naturally tight-lipped about that. Did Ziva still call him Mahi? Did he name her that because he liked NCIS just like her?

The tea soon arrived. Dhoni waved it away.

     "But please, you have to have some or we'll think you haven't forgiven us!" Zoya coaxed.

     Humaira quirked an eyebrow. " 'Us?' Really, Aapi?"

Zoya ignored the barb. She had such plans! There were still pictures to take with him. News to post on social media.

She knew exactly where she'd put the framed photo on her bedside table. Would Asad mind? Wait till she told Asad about the day they'd had! And wait till she told Jeeju! He would just die--

Zoya pinched herself. This really was Dhoni, right? She wasn't dreaming this, was she? 

     "AAHHH!" Dhoni yelped the next second. 

Zoya recoiled in horror. In her self-test to see if this really was Dhoni in the flesh, she'd reached out to touch his elbow. Just a little touch. He wouldn't even know it. And the teapot just happened to get in the way. It ended up in Dhoni's lap. Yes, she found out, Dhoni was very much real. 

And the sh*itstorm that was going to descend on her would be very real too. 

     "There's something seriously wrong with this woman!" Dhoni muttered as he jumped up and his chair went flying behind him.

     "I'm so sorry, I'msosorryI'msosorryI'msosorry--" Zoya cried as she leaped out of the booth to assist. 

Dhoni raised his arms to ward off another disaster and backed into a waiter with a trayful of sodas and ice cream sundaes. 

Everyone watched them swing high up in the air, arc, and spill over the cricketer's shoulder--and run down his shirt front.

Oh well, at least the scalding from the tea wouldn't lead to blistering.

     "Ya Allah, yeh ladki," Raziya dropped her head in a palm. Wait till she told Zainab about this new drama.

Dhoni was done. 

Running hot and cold he stormed out with his entourage leaving behind a distraught and scarred-for-life fan. 

This match, he didn't mind quitting. This time he was all too eager to flee to the pavilion. Why the hell did he even agree to come to this wretched city? What was he thinking? Life was much safer in Mumbai. He could even relate to the Jahanpanah who had tried to exile this woman. 

Zoya's phone rang and she could have screamed. It was Asad. 

When she ignored the call, a text followed.

     "Where are you? Everything OK? Call me. I have great news." 

Zoya sighed. She could not talk to her husband right now. Nope, not with the state of utter despair that she was in. 

     Raziya patted her back in comfort. "It's OK, beta. It's not the end of the world." 

     "It is the end of the world, Zoya wailed as she buried her face in her hands. "I've lost my Dhoni forever!" 

     "I can't talk right now," she texted Asad when she saw a series of question marks in his next few messages. He'd be hyperventilating soon. "We're fine. What news?"

     "Thank god," Asad texted back. "I was getting worried." Aunty's worries from the morning had begun to prick and niggle. 

Ahh, but if he only knew. If only his bat signal had pinged to let him know he needed to rescue his wife from her dumb self. 

He sent her a long text next. Even he didn't have the time to talk right now. 

     "I was planning to surprise you, but never mind. I've managed to convince MS Dhoni to be our brand ambassador and he's going to be coming over for tea at home. At 6. You can thank me later."

     "NOOO!" 

Worse, it was 4:45 PM.

 

Asad meanwhile, was immensely pleased with himself. This was a major coup. He'd snagged the biggest gift for his wife and that should immunize him from any se*x curfews for the next year or so. 

Maybe they could role play him being a cricketer and her an IPL cheerleader tonight ... 

In fact, Asad smirked to himself, he was better than any of those loser husbands who tried to spring a surprise on their wives. He was thoughtful enough to give his wife enough notice so she could look her best when he brought the grand Dhoni home.

 

Zoya was frantic.

Not only was there Dhoni to worry about, but now her husband would find out about the Dhoni-catastrophe and probably have her walled in a brick tower, Jahanpanah-style.

Her maqbara would have "Allah miyan, what's wrong me," as the epitaph. People would take selfies against it and laugh at the crazyass woman entombed inside.

 

At around 5:30 PM Zoya looked hopeful when a message from Asad pinged. Yay, maybe the program was cancelled and Dhoni had left town--chased away by a raving lunatic.

She crossed her fingers.

No such luck. She opened Asad's text and quailed.

     "Guy's not doing too well. He's been grumbling about some psycho let loose in Bhopal who ruined his day. I could kill that person if I got my hands on them. He's saying he encountered 'a weapon of mass destruction.' Can you even believe that? What's wrong with some people! You better have a super Zoya-style welcome ready for him to take his mind off this nasty episode." 

     "AMMI!" Zoya cried.

     "I'm dead. I'm so dead! Mr. Khan is going to kill me," she blurted in tears when Dilshad came running to the room.

 

Zoya had looked at the picture window and almost thought of doing a runner. 

She could run away, live at the Dargah or become a traveling female Pir who wore green and blessed random people or yelled predictions for the future. In fact, Zoya had also looked around for her runaway backpack. But it had been donated a long time ago. Her roving eyes had looked for escape but then sighted a napping Zaid. Allah miyan, what's wrong with me. Of course she couldn't run. She had to stay and face the music--the music of thundering horse hooves and trumpeting elephants coming her way to trample her into Zoya kababs. 

Zoya went over to Zaid's crib and laid a palm against his cheek. She took a deep cleansing breath. By god, she wouldn't go down without a fight. She would, till her dying breath, try to fix this mess. She was not Zoya Farooqui for nothing. 

But unfortunately Nuzzhat was at a performance and could not get her theater supplies to alter her Bhabhi's appearance in time. No wigs, no nose wax or prosthetics. 

Shoot. 

There was only one thing left to do. 

Zoya squared her shoulders.

 

Traffic had delayed them, but when Asad walked in with their guest of honor and others, he was pleased to see the living room clear of all Zaid-clutter. The sofa cushions were arranged in perfect martial order; all glass surfaces gleamed. Candles perfumed the cool air and an array of pastries, cookies and savory goodies graced the coffee table. Fresh flowers adorned console and side tables. Soft Indian classical music played in the back. A breeze blew the gauzy sheers gently. And there was no Dobby in sight. Probably in his crate or locked in the bedroom. 

The room could have featured in a design magazine. 

Good job Mrs. Khan, he thought to himself with a jealous pang. Of course she would go all out for her handsome and dashing Mahendra Singh Dhoni. 

Incredibly foolish.

But where was she? And Zaid? 

Asad was still distracted as Dilshad came forward to welcome their guest. 

     "You have a lovely home," he heard Dhoni say to Ammi and Asad's chest swelled with pride. Just wait till he met Zoya. 

     In the car, Asad had tried to tell him that his wife was his biggest fan and Dhoni had shuddered. "Please don't talk to me about fans. Gives me flashbacks." 

     "Ammi, Zoya?"

     "Aati hi hogi, beta. Please, do come in. Have a seat."

Asad was amazed when Chhoti Ammi and Dadi materialized from somewhere. Oh, they were here too? OK, looks like this was going to be a party. He still remained puzzled though. If the elders were here where were the girls? No Zoya, or Humaira or Nuzzhat. Aunty? Asad looked at Ayaan. His brother shrugged and ruffled his hair. 

     "Where's my champ?" Ayaan asked Shireen.

     "Napping," Dilshad said, too quickly.

Asad's gaze narrowed. His son was napping at this hour?

     "Yes, it was a long day for him today," Amit added. He had already reported and debriefed Asad on the mission. He'd even shown Sir pictures of today's adventures: Zaid Miyan coronated with ribbons of lace. 

Amit and Ayaan pulled out the dining chairs to set up around the living room for extra seating. 

     Asad texted his wife. "Where are you? We're here already." 

     "Relax, Mr. Khan. I'm coming."

 

Dhoni was seated by now and being plied with snacks by the moms. Everything was beautifully decorous and tehzeeb-e-afta and Asad's heart thrilled at the scene. 

Hands resting on his hips he surveyed his domain.

The bedroom door opened and Asad beamed in anticipation. Ahh, Zoya was coming. So she'd planned a grand entrance, had she?

But then he sucked air. His jaw hit the floor. Hello, who was this? This wasn't Zoya! 

He watched a woman glide out of the room, ethereal in a white abaya suit. There was no hop or bounce, or skitter or scatter that he'd come to expect of his wife. Not a giggle to be heard for miles. Where was Zoya? 

This woman wore a hijab, for god's sake. 

Asad tilted his head in puzzlement. 

There was something incredibly familiar about her and yet his brain could not process this angelic vision. She wore a kundan tika at her forehead and thick glasses at the end of her nose. Only her kohl eyes showed, the rest of her face was covered with a chiffon naqab. He could see the shadow of an elaborate nose-ring under the veil; its chain undulated when she came closer and half-bowed before Dhoni.

     "Adaab," she said in a husky voice. 

OK wait, Asad had heard that voice before. And he'd seen this get-up before too in one of their cosplays. But Asad's brain was still jetlagged. Zoya-lagged, rather. 

     "Hunh?" Asad heard Ayaan say. "Mona darling?" 

Dhoni had risen and turned around by now. Obviously the much talked-about wife was here. But did he just hear the words, Mona darling? Dhoni shook his head. This day in Bhopal was turning out to be the most surreal.

He bowed too as the regal woman neared and greeted him. How charming. He did not think that Mr. Khan's wife would be so demure and traditional. The way he talked about her in the car made her sound like a firecracker. Maybe he had two wives? No, no, he mustn't stereotype. But he couldn't imagine this woman being a cricket fan. Polo would more be her type of spectator sport. 

     "Please excuse my daughter-in-law," Dilshad said. "She has a sore throat and won't be able to talk much."

Asad's brow wrinkled in more confusion but he was diverted again by Shireen handing him his coffee. She patted his back.

     "Yes, yes, poor thing. She's a very quiet child," Dadi added.

Asad choked on his coffee. 

Ayaan had to leap up to pat him on the back. A quiet child? Asad reeled. Something was very machli as Tamatar always said. 

Thank god Asad's choking fit had distracted Ayaan or he'd be rolling on the floor right now. A quiet child and Mona Darling? Yeah, in an alternate universe maybe.

     "We are so blessed to have you here," Shireen said hurriedly. She looked up at a still-dazed Asad. "We're so proud that you said yes to working with our Asad. He has worked so hard these past years. All single-handedly--" 

They heard car brakes squeal outside. A minute later a harried Siddiqui Saheb rushed in followed by Rashid. 

     Siddiqui Saheb homed straight for Asad. "Beta, bechari ko maaf kar dena. Maarna mat. Itne saalon baad woh humko mili hai! I won't be able to live without her. Hum mar jayenge."

Asad's brow crinkled in alarm. What? 

     Everyone turned to look at Zoya when they heard a loud smack and then a louder, "ouch!" 

Idiot. In face-palming herself she had mashed the tika into her forehead and it hurt like the dickens. 

     "Abbu," she hissed. She had nearly gotten away with being Mrs. Azeem-o-Shaan-Shahenshah. "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you!"

Asad's head whipped around. He knew! He just knew it. It was all crystal clear now. He'd added two plus two and wasn't liking the result.

     He pointed an accusing finger at his wife and roared in helpless fury, "YOU! You're the psycho!"

His head fell back as he gripped the bridge of his nose.

     "I should've known! It could only have been you!" 

Dhoni's head swung side to side as though he was at Wimbledon. Say what now? What was going on? What psycho? This woman didn't look like a psycho. He saw Mr. Khan muttering angrily to himself and pacing the floor. Was the man actually counting backwards from ten? And then recounting from 20?

     Dhoni cleared his throat. "Umm, maybe I should--" Wait. Wait just a second. Those words: "Allah miyan what's wrong ..." 

Dhoni clutched his heart. He'd heard those words this afternoon. At least two times. It was--

As if in slow motion he turned to face the elegant woman. Funny, she looked so harmless. So statuesque. She could've stepped straight out of Mughal-e-Azam ...

He saw her remove the glasses ... those glittering eyes ... 

Realization was swift. 

     "Oh my god," he croaked and fell backwards. Those lightning-fast reflexes failed him. He looked at Asad for help. "It's HER!" 

     "Of course it's her! It's always her! You were right, she IS a 'weapon of mass destruction!"

     "Mr. Khan!" his wife stomped her foot. The naqab fell away. "You're so mean!" 

     "I'm mean? Me? Yeh lijiye, I am mean!" 

     "Beta please," Rashid pleaded with his son. "Don't be angry with Zoya." He turned to their guest. "Dhoni saheb, hum aapke gunehgaar hain. Please, humari Zoya ko maaf kar dijiye. Iss bechari ki koi ghalati nahin hai!

Dhoni was about to protest but he was interrupted by a frantic Asad.

     "Abbu please, yeh bechari nahin hain! Bechare toh hum log hain." 

Koi ghalati nahin hai? What was wrong with these people? 

     But a second later, Asad recoiled in horror as he thought of something. "Oh my god! She's going to be on the news! The restaurant must have CCTV. They must've already sold it to some media outfit by now. They'll be airing this for weeks! ZOYA!" he thundered and lunged toward her.

She jumped up on the sofa and assumed her warrior pose. Everyone caught the flash of jeans under the abaya. 

It made Asad even more apoplectic with purple rage as Ayaan and Amit tried to hold him back. 

     "Mr. Khan," Dhoni interjected. The cool and calm Dhoni was back. "Don't worry about that. I had my people buy the footage and delete it. There will be no news." 

Asad shook off Amit and Ayaan. He brushed his hair off his forehead and straightened his tie. His breathing was still ragged as he glared at his wife.

     "Nichey utariye!"

Fists at her waist she glared right back. 

The standoff would have continued into the night. There would be no draw to this day and night match.

     "Tell me, Mahi," thankfully everyone heard Dadi ask. "Did our Zoya really attack you with tea and ice cream after conking you on the head with a flower pot?" 

You could've heard a pin drop. 

     And then Ayaan guffawed like a lunatic. "Only Mona darling!" 

Dilshad and Shireen joined in when they saw a reluctant smile tug at Dhoni's lips. Soon he was laughing too. What a day!

Siddiqui Saheb helped his daughter down from the sofa and hugged her. Asad rolled his eyes. This woman would get away with murder at this rate and still be seen as bechari by his family.

Zoya stuck her tongue out at him. 

Brat.

     There was a clatter at the door. A breathless Nuzzhat came flying in. "I came as soon as I could! Zoya Bhabhi, here! I have the wig and fake nose!"

     "Too late!" Ayaan choked through fresh laughter.

     Siddiqui caught that look in his son-in-law's eyes. "Please beta, marna nahin."

Asad covered his face. Jeez. Thanks to his father-in-law, Dhoni would think he was a wife-beater. 

     "Siddiqui saheb, I would never do that. But you do see how impossible she is, right?" 

     "Forgive her, beta. You always do. Of course he doesn't hit her," Siddiqui turned to explain to Dhoni.

     "But," Zoya pouted. Everyone turned to her. She slowly ran a hand over her right arm--shoulder to wrist. Her eyes widened in innocence, the pout deepened, "I have scars."

Asad and Rashid groaned in remembered remorse.

     "Allah, yeh ladki," Dilshad cried. "Zoya, behave now. Chalo, go serve Mr. Dhoni some tea." 

     "NOOO!" Dhoni and Asad yelled in unison. 

     Asad stepped up. "Ammi let me do it." He scowled at Zoya. "You stay away. At least 15 feet away."

     "But--"

     "No!"

She made a face. 

     "Is it safe to come out now," Humaira called out from their bedroom door. She was dying to find out what all that laughing was about.

     "Humaira begum!" Ayaan loped toward her. "Why are you hiding in there? 

     "Because we wanted to make sure that Mr. Dhoni wouldn't recognize us," Raziya added as she stepped out with Zaid in her arms. 

The laughing started up again. Oh yes, there would be recaps much to Mr. Dhoni's dismay. 

     And then Zaid called out, "Oni Mamu! Ayy wuv yoo!"

There, the deal was sealed.

 

 

Song in Title:

Baadshaho (2017): "Mere Rashke Qamar" 

  

*My humble homage to "I love Lucy" episode: "Hollywood At Last"

 


	136. Meri Shaam Raat, Meri Qayanat, Voh Yaar Mera Saiyyan Saiyyan

 

 

Even long after Dhoni left, they'd continued to tease her mercilessly.   

     "The man won't be able to play for a few matches," Ayaan declared. "Bah-bye, IPL!"   

     "Really, and what makes you such a health expert?" Humaira defended her sister.      

     "Becuase he probably has a concussion from the hat trick chaukas Mona Darling clocked him with!"

    "Nahin, ab woh aur bhi achcha khelega," Siddiqui saheb valiantly added his two cents.

     "Kyun Mamu? Because Mona Darling's chauka and chhakka tightened all the loose screws in his head?" Ayaan dodged to avoid a Humaira-mukka. 

     Zaid laughed. He liked excited talk of chaukas and chhakkas. Crickkettt! But he loved to see flying mukkas even more. "Kkkaaa ... kkaaa," he mumbled. Sleep was knocking him out for a six--just like Dhoni mamu's head was knocked out by Ammi's gamla. 

     "What if he suffers from PTSD and ducks each time a ball comes too close, thinking it's a flower pot? Ab toh retire karna hi padega!" Ayaan crowed.  
   
The number of silent screams she'd screamed in her head, Allah miyan! All of Ayaan's cackling commentary had made her heart toss around for multiple fours and sixes swatted around with classic helicopter shots. But no, she didn't even scale any boundaries. It was an OUT instead! A ducking Golden FU*CK, that's what she was. Back to the pavilion for our Ms. Farooqui. 

Allah miyan, what's wrong with me? 

And god nooo, please, not retirement!

Her skull was a battered batting cage... 

 

  
And all evening Zoya had avoided looking at Asad too. Jeez, she had never been so mortified. This time if the Jahanpanah lost his temper and exiled her, even she wouldn't blame him.

And Asad didn't bother coming to her defense either. 

The woman had made a national pest of herself; she deserved the ribbing. But his heart knocked in his chest as the night wore on. That too-bright smile was pasted on. It slipped whenever she thought no one was looking. She pretended to be engrossed with Zaid long after he'd fallen asleep on her shoulder, absently playing with the mini toes. The fierce pout chasing that wobbly frown...Those perfectly kissable lips... 

Ahhh.

Asad sighed as he saw her avoid his gaze once again. Wearing all that brattitude as armor? Typical Ms. Farooqui. Using her hair to hide her face... Clear signs that she needed to be bailed out. Stat.

     "OK, that's it," Asad put his foot down. 

     He rose from the sofa, and stetched his arms to signal that it was time to wind the evening down. "I'm done with this post-mortem. Ayaan, we've lost a whole afternoon of work, I need you to contact Mrs. Walia from legal, ASAP..."

He rattled off more instructions that had Ayaan standing at attention and Amit scrambling to take notes.

     "Did you get the email distribution list going?" 

The guys synced their notes on phone calendars and reminders.  

Bringing Ayaan to heel meant that the Dhoni post-game analysis was officially over. 

She should've been grateful, but Asad's clipped tone made Zoya quail even more. 

Sheeeeeeiiit. 

The moment of her sentencing and execution was close. She was a dead woman walking and hadn't even got to enjoy her last meal.   
Zoya squeezed her eyes shut but they sprang wide open. Because each time she closed her eyes, the restaurant scene of her clean-bowling the mighty Dhoni kept playing on an endless, technicolor loop in her head. Slo-mo, replay after replay. Even the Third Umpire had had to rule against her.   
That flippant verdict by Ayaan, "ab toh Dhoni ko retire karna hi padega," had her mentally hyperventilating too. Jeez, who would have known that his biggest fan would be the man's downfall? Please, don't retire!

Asad cleared his throat. 

Zoya sat up at attention.

Sh*it. Sh*it. Sh*it. After everyone left, she would be summoned for her peshi and hazri, and Zoya was pretty sure this time Jahanpanah would be on the warpath. She could just picture his face -- the straining pulse on his forehead, the gritted teeth... She would be fast-tracked to being walled in: "Iss badtameez kaneez ko deewar mein chunwaya jaye!"

As Asad's brusque orders fell on Munim-Vazir ears, Zoya vaguely wondered about him contacting the legal team... Mrs. Walia? Why? 

Oh my god! Oh my god! She couldn't seem to tamp the rising hysteria... or breathe. No, no, it's nothing to do with you, a tiny voice in her brain said.  

  
So when Asad came closer and lifted Zaid out of her limp arms, giving her hand a tight squeeze in the process, she nearly sobbed out loud. Zoya ducked her head again so that no one would see the sheen of tears. Damn you, Mr. Khan, I'd prefer your anger to pity!

She didn't realize when that puff of indignation at her husband's charity evaporated the oncoming panic. 

Zoya breathed. Deeply. And this time she brazened it out to meet Asad's gaze. She was ready. His barely repressed chuckle and side-eye made her gather up her ruffled feathers into an offended heap of outrage.

Bring it, Mr. Khan. 

  
   
Asad had really wanted to roll his eyes when Aunty came over twisting her dupatta between her hands. They were all leaving. She lingered to have a word with him.     

     "Beta, usko zyaada mat--"

     "Aunty please, I'm not going to eat her up, or kill her. Please don't worry." Good god, did they all think he was such an ogre after all? Even Siddiqui Saheb's brow was pinched.

     "I know. But still... Tumhara naraaz hona bhi lazmi hai, akhir. Yeh Ladki bhi na... Maybe she should spend the night with us?" Raziya asked with sinking hope.

     He patted her shoulder and walked her to the waiting car. "I promise nothing bad will happen to your ladli Zoya. I'll try to control my rage. Maybe break some plates in the kitchen or a couple of chairs to blow some steam off?" 

Raziya looked up at him in alarm. But then she breathed a sigh of relief seeing his smile. He seemed relaxed. There was none of that famed Akdu Ahmed Khan storm and rampage in sight. 

Zainab, she thought to herself, I'll bring flowers and a chadar tomorrow. We'll feed the poor. This girl is so crazy and, Alhamdulillah, so lucky...   
But then her eyes misted as she gazed up at Asad. 

No, not that lucky. 

I wish...

 

  
Dilshad was smiling too as she discarded her dupatta on the bed and tied up her hair. What a day, she shook her head. Anwar had been right about his Category 5 Hurricane Zoya... 

Allah!

She looked down at a sleeping Zaid. Nearly half a dozen pillows borrowed from all over the house, made the perfect nest. Fingers crossed, this time the Dadi-pota sleepover would be a no-hitch hit. After charming the pants off Dhoni Mamu, Zaid was exhausted enough to sleep the full night without trying too many acrobatic stunts. Dilshad bent to brush his forehead lightly. Those puckered lips...the flickering lashes and translucent tremors... What did those eyes dream?

A fond dua escaped her lips.

The room was so warm. Dilshad went to the window to shut it before turning the AC on. 

Asad's laughter floated up from the backyard. That rich, hearty sound of breathless delight made her cozy all over.   
Another day, another blessing. 

Her palms rose in gratitude. Because till about two years ago if she ever heard Asad downstairs, it was a series of growls on the phone, or the clatter of locking horns with Zoya.

An outraged, "Mr. Khan!" had Dilshad laughing to herself. These two! 

She shut the window behind her after another silent prayer. 

 

Asad wheezed some more as he tried to cut off the laughing (in deference to his wife's wrath). He was holding Zoya from the back as she struggled against him. 

     "Mr. Khan, it's so not funny! It was humiliating!"

He laughed again and she smacked his arm. 

     "I can't believe you did that," Asad said as he finally managed to turn her around to face him.

Zoya covered her face with both hands. Yeah, she couldn't believe she'd done that either. And she also couldn't understand why her husband was so happy about the worst day of her whole entire life. 

     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you, Mr. Khan!" Had the man inhaled some laughing gas on the way from the living room to the backyard?   
And then she got it. 

     Zoya whirled on him. "Oh. My. God. You're actually thrilled that I hurt Dhoni, and would never want to face him again, aren't you?"

     "Hurt? I think 'battered' or 'bruised' would be a better term for it. And 'I'm not gonna lie'," he mocked her Americanese with more air quotes. "I do love the idea that you're radioactive to Dhoni now!"

     "Asad, you're so mean!"

Taking her hands in his, he kissed their tops but saw her grow quiet. Distant even.

     "Zoya?"

She turned away from him once again, head bowed. 

He hadn't expected her to start crying after the signature, "are you OK?"

     "Zoya," Asad rushed to hold her and she sobbed into his chest. "Babe, it's OK. Everything's fine," he soothed. 

She shook her head grinding her nose into his shirt. "Numphits nodumph!" 

     "Hmm?" Asad bent his head lower to catch her words. 

     "Everything is NOT fine! I ruin everything," she sobbed harder.

     "Shh," he soothed holding her tighter. "That's nuts, you do NOT ruin everything. Only some things...sometimes!"

     "MITTER KHNAN!" came an indignant cry from somewhere near his chest.

     "Come on," he coaxed. "It's not so bad."

     "Not so bad! I will never be able to watch a Dhoni match now--not without thinking about what a giant--" she spluttered, unable to even say the words. "About how I--"

     "Decked him? Conked him? Concussed him? Then topped him off with tea and ice cream! Made a Dhoni-sundae out of him?"

She growled and snapped piranha teeth at him.

     Asad couldn't help repress another laugh. "But that's great isn't it? Think about all the hours you won't waste watching TV now! So much more work you'll be able to do. You've been complaining about not having enough time. Now you do!"

     "Mr. Khan! Stop this--you're having way too much fun! You don't understand. My life is over..."

     "Zoya, stop. Your life is NOT over! C'mere."

     Asad walked them to the bench and pulled her into his lap. "OK I agree, right now it looks bad. But tomorrow it'll be better. And you've got to forgive yourself. You're the one who taught me that!"

She snorted, not wiling to believe him. He just didn't get how awful this was for her. Her whole, entire Dhoni-worshipping life was ruined forever.

     Asad tipped her chin up. "A long time ago, someone told me that we needed to stop looking behind, and look ahead instead. That forgiving oneself was the only way to move on and open yourself up to love and Allah's blessings." 

Zoya made a face. Of course she'd said that. She'd said that to convince him! This was different though. How could she even-- 

     Asad wasn't done. If she was going to be stubborn about her Dhoni self-pity then he was going to be just as relentless about talking her out of it. If he had to resort to blackmail he'd do it too. He'd learned from the best after all. "If you can't forgive yourself for this, then I guess I have no right to forgive myself for all the terrible things I said and did to you in the past."

     "Asad!"

     "No, I'm serious. You just conked a man's head with no intention of hurting him, I hurt you so much. Sometimes intentionally. When I think about how I insisted that you apologize to Akram--" 

    Zoya sighed. "Mr. Khan you're being so unfair and you know it too! Allah miyan what's wrong with you, such a drama queen! I know exactly what you're up to," she poked his chest. "Don't you dare bring up all that stuff! One has nothing to do with the other. This is totally different!"

     "So I should forgive myself for Mangalpur, for our mehendi night? For that bloody ass, Akram?"

     Zoya groaned. "Really? We're going to do this? Now?" She took a deep breath and held up a hand to count off these pitiful trespasses on her fingers, "Maglapur Part II already made up for Mangalpur. Our Mehendi night ended beautifully." Asad grinned and waggled his brows. This tugged a reluctant smile from her. "And hello, Akram is in jail thanks to you, so I'm all good. So if this is your weakass way of distracting me from Dho--"

     Asad placed a firm finger on her lips. "Stop! That man's name will never again be mentioned in my house."

     " _Your_  house?" Came the roar of outrage as she jumped off his lap. "My house too! And I say his name WILL be mentioned in MY house whenever I WANT to mention it!"

     "Fine, 'you do you'," Asad used air quotes again to mimic yet another Americanism of hers, and another, " Whatever floats your boat.' She was too riled to pay attention to this piss-poor parody. "Though why you'd want to say his name or see another match of his, I don't know..."

     "So I should be ashamed of what happened today? That's what you're really tryna say, aren't ya?"

She glowered at him when he grinned shamelessly and shrugged those shoulders. He always found her descent into indignant American slang hilarious. How soon would he hear "ain't nobody's got no time for this!"?

     "Never!" Zoya was still ranting. "Hey, if I want to see another Dhoni match, I will! It's my house. I'll watch one right now. And there, I said his name--Dhoni! Dhoni, Dhoni, Dhoni!"

Asad grinned. Bingo!  
Zoya narrowed her eyes. Why was he looking like the Cheshire cat that'd swallowed Tweety bird and Jerry?

     Asad brushed her nose with a fingertip. "If you're going to say THAT name aloud so often, I guess I should just put his name outside my house. He held out his hands to frame an invisible rectangle. " 'Dhoni Villa' in gold letters. Will that make you happy?"

     His wife huffed. "That's crazy talk. I don't even know where you're going with all this drama. What's gotten into you? Did you have bhaang again?" 

Asad laughed. As if if he had bhaang again, he'd have it without her. She was his bhaang-mate after all. And why would he even need bhaang? Wasn't his life a psychedelic bhaangalicious carnival even without intoxicants?

     "No Mrs. Khan, I haven't had bhaang." He tucked a loose strand behind her ear. "Do I need to, when I already have you to make my head spin?

     "As--ad," she grumbled in surrender. 

     "Babe..."

    "Shall we?" she asked after a long soul-drenching squeeze.

     "We shall," Asad said sweeping her up in his arms and heading inside. "Why else would I pack off our son to camp the night with Ammi?"

     Zoya pouted. "Why would you exile my sweet baby so far away from us?"

    "Because his mother needs a good spanking and some private coaching on cricket."

     "Oh really?"

     "Oh, really!"

     "Can I bat first? Get a nice firm grip?"

     "After the spanking, and only if you win the toss."

     "Heads, hmm?"

     Asad laughed. "Koi shaq?"

     "And if I lose?"

     "Then I'll bowl first."

     Zoya pinched his cheek in satisfaction as Asad carried her to their room. "I looorve you, Mr. Khan!" she whispered in his ear theatrically. "You're my trophy and my captain! My googly and my sticky wicket--"

     "Shut up Mrs. Khan, and start batting!"

  
   
It still drove her husband insane that she wore mismatched socks. The first few times he'd pointed it out to her, thinking she'd been mistaken and he was doing her a favor.   
Nah.

     "It's my style!" Zoya had retorted as she flipped her hair over a sassy shoulder. 

     "What do you mean, it's your style?" Asad asked.

    "It means Mr. Khan, that I've always done it this way!"

     "What! Incredibly foolish. I bet you did it because you were too lazy to sort and match the socks." 

Zoya pretended to look shocked. That was one of the reasons for sure--Aapi said it too, all the time. 

     "Didn't Aapi and Jeeju talk you out of it?"

     "Aapi tried. Hard. But Jeeju always took my side. He said that it was a mark of my independence. My signature. In school, my friends copied me."  
     "You went out like that!" he bellowed. "What's wrong with you?" 

     She laughed. "Absolutely nothing. Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan?" 

Zoya didn't have the heart to tell her husband that now she even ordered mismatched socks from the net. There were actual businesses devoted to catering to geniuses like her. She had ordered multiple pairs for Zaid too, but that had been too much for Jahanpanah. She needed to ease him, gently, into some incredible foolishness or he'd combust.

     "Jeeju spoiled you rotten," was all Asad could manage to say.

     Zoya grinned as she raised an eyebrow as if to say, "and you don't?" 

There was no dampening her mood today. What Dhoni dud? Her mind had re-written that little chapter into a fairy tale of the best star-fan meet-cute. And weren't the world's best fairy tales edited and prettified for their audiences? So there--all unhoni was now perfect honi. She was back to reciting her sher about dashing, handsome, Mahendra Singh Dhoni. Social media was doing its thing and everyone who knew her, sent emoji-filled congratulations on a dream coming true. 

     "Wow, he came to your house for tea and ice cream??!!!" 

     "So lucky, yaar!" 

     "You TOUCHED him!!!!!!" 

Pfft, they didn't need to know  _all_ the details. Besides, which other fan could boast of an extended Dhoni-darshan assisted by her son and husband? Only Zoya Farooqui Khan, that's who. 

     "The socks don't match. Again!" Asad prompted afer clicking his fingers to draw her attention.

Zoya harrumphed. She didn't want to tell Asad that Jeeju had even allowed her to wear her shoes left side right as a toddler. That would send her Jahanpanah into proper 90 degree convulsions. 

     "Thanks a lot, Jeeju," Asad mumbled unhappily.

     She pinched Asad's cheek. "Yeah, he did spoil me. And now you get to do it, so we're even!" 

Asad rolled his eyes. For a tech wizard, his wife was terrible at math. But if her mismatched socks and upside down math helped recover from the Dhoni-fiasco, then why was he complaining? 

Why do I even bother, he muttered to himself. She does what she does. 

Because it makes you happy, some voice chirrupped from somewhere inside his head. 

  
  
But the Dhoni-euphoria from the post-Dhoni fanfic was short-lived.

     "I know Jeeju, it makes me so mad! Why are people so cruel...so ugly?" 

She felt so powerless.

Zoya's lips drooped. Thank god for Jeeju! They were skyping again. She couldn't talk about these things with anyone else besides him and Asad. Najma freaked out. There was no way she would trouble Ammi with her fury and fear. Humaira just wound herself up into a tight ball and went silent. And Ayaan flared up like a raging bull. She could talk to Aunty about some of it, but not too much. 

Zoya still didn't get this Indian habit of burying fears deep, not talking about volatile stuff because people apparently had weak hearts and could keel over from a bad discussion. 

     "Beta, we have to calm down, not let anger get the best of us," Anwar said in his usual gentle manner. "Yes, it's infuriating, but sometimes the best thing to do is to put your head down and go on." 

     "No Jeeju, it's not right! It's plain wrong. People cannot treat others like this!"

These past few weeks she'd been super-frazzled and moody. No super-cali-fragilistic-exta-ali-docious for her in these troubling-bubbling times. Everything seemed to be going wrong. All her do-good pet projects that had gotten off to a grand start over the past months, almost a year now--at the factory, the children's center, the university courses and sensitivity training modules and webinars, the neighborhood kids' cricket--were getting too messy and big, and way, waaay, beyond control. 

     "So, delegate," Asad had thrown her own words back at her half-seriously. He'd laughed when she made a face. "So 'Zoya Farooqui kuch bhi kar sakti hai' isn't so true anymore, huh?" She had really made a face then and bared her teeth at him.  

     "Mrs. Khan, behave! You want that pretty face to get stuck like that forever? Zaid will have nightmares"

     "Mr. Khan!"

Thing is, the projects and missions were all too dear to her heart. Which is why delegating was turning out to be murder. There was so much more she wanted to do. The prom for the kids at the center, fashion show with the dolls, co-ordinating the new IT-dev training for Asad's staff... She wished she had four clones, 10 hands and 15 screens from which to control her fraying life! Why the heck weren't there more hours in a day? 

There was just no time. The gym memberships languished. Ms. Sheena was beginning to do choo'n-choo'n about the missed Taekwondo classes. Ayaan made fun of them all for being stuck at baby-belts forever. "You can get a black belt with dentures and a walker," he teased. The monogrammed boxing gloves still hadn't been inaugurated. And how long had it been since she'd last had se*x? Those quickies didn't exactly count, OK? She was so not a single-org*asm girl.   
Worse, Zoya was missing out on fun with Zaid. Not fair that he had taken his first steps without her and she had to watch it on video! Thank god, Asad was with him at least. But even Asad had started makng noises about missing her, not seeing enough of her, or her being stuck for too long in her storeroom office if she was home. She'd even had to miss her beloved IPL matches (Asad still moaned and groaned about IPL not being "real cricket, but when did that ever stop Zoya). Watching the highlights and recordings weren't no fun at all. Dhoni must've wished for this--he must've asked Allah miyan to ban his single-BIGGEST fan from the IPL live broadcasts! "Gamla ka badla," as Ayaan chanted. 

Oof!

And then the steady trickle of terrible news from back home and even recent events in India. Oh god, how much she hated Trump! Why did Americans have to vote for this orange monster? She had cried so hard on that 8th November! So close to her birthday, and this...this clusterfck!   
More recently, she and her friends from New York were still recovering from that nasty incident with Shabs. Poor thing, how two white strangers had tried to rip off her hijab on that subway? What. The. Hell. Where was all this hate coming from?  
Closer at home, things weren't pretty either. Nasty fake news and WhatsApp videos inciting violent thugs across India. Lynchings! In the 21st century? How was it even possible? 

A grim Asad and Abbu had both increased security at home and around their offices. More daily restrictions about not going out too much, or alone. Forget picnics around the lake or even taking Zaid to the park. Forget spontaneous trips out for kulfi, or chat, or ice cream.

     "We'll put up a swing set and a slide in the backyard for Zaid," Asad said when she'd pouted about Jahanpanah's new fatwas. 

     "And a fort and the treehouse you promised me?" It was so easy to get Zoya to hop happily, and Asad knew it too.

     "Of course, why not? We can have a whole Disneyland back there!"

     "Yaay!" went Zoya.

     "Yayaya YAAAY," went Zaid. 

They watched Zaid trundle off to play with his dump trick and looked at each other. Zoya's smile slipped as she saw Asad's lips thin. She knew what he was thinking. She was thinking the same these days. 

How do you raise a child in an environment of hate? How do you stay hopeful in the midst of fear and distrust? What could you do to not become a statistic? How many more walls did you have to build?

The grandparents were perhaps the most terrified...firmly convinced that Zaid would be kidnapped. A new dadi-nani competition had spontaneously unfurled: who would do the maximum number of kala teekas, tawizes, phoonks, and mumbled duas? Extra Quran saparas, nawafil and wazifa prayers were recited to ward of evil eyes, Bhopal to New York.

     "Delete your social media accounts," Asad had said to her the other day.

     "No!"

She had told him about some trolls she'd engaged with. Of course his classic response was to duck your head into the shell. 

     "I've blocked them, muted a bunch of asshats and even reported some of the really terrible ones," Zoya tried her best to smooth things over.

     "That's not enough! I've heard they can dox you, make fake profiles, send threats. I don't want you to deal with all that venom. if you take on some of them, you'll get the usual bull about 'why don't you move to Pakistan or Saudi Arabia'!" 

The pacing had begun. The teeth now getting a grinding workout.

     "I always tell them: 'hey, a democracy is a democracy! I'll stay here where my rights are constitutionally protected, thank you very much'!" 

     "That's not good enough to shut them up," Asad rounded on her. "Just don't engage with the haters!"

     Zoya exhaled. "OK, we'll compromise. Ramzan is coming up and I could go on a social media fast too!" One of her favorite Twitter heroines did this every Ramadan.

     "Hmm."

Zoya knew that wasn't agreement as much as displeasure. Oh, Jahanpanah.

     "OK, how about this? I'll delete my Snapchat and Insta. I hardly use Facebook anyways. But let me at least have my Twitter--I follow some really smart people. I need that."

     "Fine, but you will do that fast thing during Ramadan?"

     "Done."

     "And no posting of Zaid's pictures anywhere!"

     "Already done. In fact I've told Humaira and Najma and everyone else to not do that either. Total Zaid blackout on SM! Took down his older pics too. No way, I want strangers to see my baby!"

     "Good. What about WhatsApp? I hate WhatsApp," Asad'd muttered.

Didn't she know it. It had been hard enough to bring him on board two-ish years ago. He barely opened the app and had to be reminded to check out newly-posted photos. Right off the bat he'd made her block some distant cousins and relatives on his phone who routinely sent incredibly foolish posts. In fact, that phone had come dangerously close to being flung against the nearest wall more than once. 

And Asad routinely vented against the ills of social media. 

     "These people have poisoned civil discourse! Ruined the country! So toxic. They only spread hate and division!"

Zoya agreed with this part. But she was of the school that you openly engaged the opponent with facts, tried to change minds, and spoke up loud and proud against hate and small-mindedness. Her Akdu Ahmed Khan was a believer in shutting up and shutting out though. Walls, the man was after all the Jahanpanah of building walls--was that why he had chosen to become an architect? He thought he could protect loved ones by sealing up those walls airtight? And wasn't it her heavenly mission to punch life-size holes in those walls? Damn straight. She'd donated to various causes, American and Indian. Even participated in a peace march (and no, what Asad didn't know, couldn't hurt him). It killed her that she couldn't post her marching selfies on social media. So sucky. But she needed to play superwoman too to protect her Akdu every once while. 

And Insha'allah everything would be fine. After all, their favorite Rumi had said "With life as short as a half-taken breath, don't plant anything but love. She had pinned this saying to her Twitter profile. Cos. she firmly, deadass seriously, believed in it. They would plant love. Lots of it. A fu*ckton.  
 

  
     "Asad, stop!" 

He sat back on the tub's edge with a lazy smile.

The hot shower water laved her. Zoya bent to soap her legs and Asad leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His heated gaze ate her up and she blushed.  
She didn't get this weird obsession.

     "We just made love like 20 minutes ago (like properly, after ages, thank you Allah miyan!), then why are you looking at me like that?"

     "Because...I can."

     "Asad!"

     "What? Can't I watch my wife take a shower without being cross-examined?"

     "You've seen me naked more than a thousand times!"

     "I can't wait to see you naked for a few thousand more."

His eyes narrowed as she soaped her bre*asts but turned away from him.

He made a noise in the back of his throat. 

     "What?" Zoya pivoted. Of course she had to know. 

     "You missed a spot on your back...and that luscious butt..."

     "Asssadd!" she hissed. God knows why she felt so embarrassed, but she did. If she turned her back on him he made her conscious of her ass, and when she turned to face him...

     "Shampoo you hair..." he drawled.

     "I wasn't planning on washing my hair today." 

     "Please. For me."

     "Mr. Khan, you are evil. I know exactly why you want me to--"

     "Oh really? You're such a mind reader?"

She huffed. 

Asad rose to walk up and lean his forehead against the glass door of the shower cubicle. Zoya's hand stilled. His heavy-lidded eyes looked drugged. Asad pressed his fingers against the glass. 

     "Do it."

She couldn't look away. 

Zoya's hand rose to unclasp the hair tie at her crown. She shook out her hair and let the water run through it. Her hand fumbled to find the shampoo bottle. Still looking into his eyes, she uncapped it and drizzled some in her palm. When she raised her arms to lather her hair Asad's eyes dragged to her uplifted bre*asts.   
Even though she wanted him to, she wasn't prepared for his yanking the door open and stepping in. Before she could yelp out a response he had her pinned against the shower wall. 

     "Asad, your t-shirt is getting wet," she remarked uselessly, even as she gripped the fabric to drag him closer.

His hands were already busy--one flicking a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and the other slicking between her legs. She was still swollen from her three-alarm multiple orga*sms. And so ready. Zoya moaned. 

     "Oh god Zoya, you've ruined me, you know." Asad sucked the side of her throat. "I can't get enough of you. Can't get my fill--" his guttural voice breathed in her ear.  
Zoya turned her head to capture his lips. After she'd had her fill she threaded her fingers through his hair.

     "Never, ever get your fill of me K, Mr. Khan? Twenty years from now, thirty..."

     "Twenty years from now, can I still watch you taking a shower?"

She was already melting from the inside out...she was already a gooey, marshmallowy, drippy--

A press and rub of his thumb on her cl*it...two fingers sliding inside her...then three...and she was already coming undone, shattering, keening...  
It was only after he'd unsheathed himself, mounted her and made her come screaming again when she remembered his question: "Twenty years from now, can I still watch you taking a shower?"

     Zoya rose on her toes to whisper in his ear: "watch me twenty years from now. Thirty... In fact, you have to--it's in the Nikahnama's fine print, Mr. Khan."

She felt Asad's laugh rumble through her body since she was still plastered against him.

     "Now how did I know you'd say exactly that?" he asked tightening his arms around her waist. 

Their lustmist was fading, their bodies cooling. Zoya tilted her head back and co*cked an eyebrow.

     "I'm that predictable? Can't be cos' you're a mind reader!"

Asad guffawed. Predictable, and his wife? Sassy as fu*ck, but no, not predictable.

     He rained tiny kisses on her wet jaw. "No. You're delectable...incredible... And I love that our Nikahnama is a living, breathing document that accommodates all my lust and desire for you."

Zoya purred in satisfaction. One reason why she loved this man so much was that he always managed to say the most incredible, adorable, charming, and perfectly fu*ckable sweet everythings to her that she could just die a happy girl.

     "Oh Mr. Khan, the things--"

     "Say my name."

     "What? Why?"

     "Just say it. Say my name!"

     Zoya giggled. "Heisenberg?"

     "Hunh?"

     She laughed. "Just kidding. Something I remembered from an old show."

Asad heaved a sigh of resignation.

     "Was it about that drug cooking chemistry teacher? You're calling me a drug dealer?"

     Zoya grinned shamelessly before rubbing noses with him. "You are my dealer and my drug. My purest, bluest crystal that has me addicted and keeps me coming back for more. My Meth Ahmed Khan!"

He frowned, forgetting to waggle his brows at the "keeps me coming back for more." Asad wasn't sure he liked being named for an illegal substance. 

     "Do you even know how dangerous meth is? It's high lasts for--"

Damn, Zoya thought. What a missed opportunity to praise her smartass wordplay. And uh oh, here comes Jahanpanah, high on a fit of righteousness. Zoya rolled her eyes. Jeez, trust the man to bellow away her mellow. 

     "Asad."

He stopped his rant mid-way. 

      Zoya pinched his cheek. "Asad," she said in a huskier voice.

     "Hmmm?"

     "Just sayin' your name. Liked you asked."

He smiled. He liked it when she did things he asked.

     "I love you."

  
   
She was ignoring him. And he knew it too. Asad had dared make fun of her chronic fix-it-tiveness. Again. 

This is what had happened: One evening when he'd returned from work Zoya had welcomed him with a box at the door and grabbed his hand to lead him right back to the car. 

     "What?" Asad had asked, and not as patiently. It had been a long day and he was beat. He was in no mood to go out even though it was one of those rare days when his Mrs. was actually free from her overloaded fingers-in-mulitple-pies schedule. 

     "Remember, when that night we were returning from Abbu's place and you had a flat tire? Right after Zaid's birth and our se*x-curfew--you know!"

Asad's eyes crossed. What did that have to do with anything? Where was this going? Why were they here and not inside the house with him freshened up and holding Zaid?

     "Remember, that night we were super jodi Asad and Zoya and beat up those gundas?" She had started to bounce with excitement. The eyes were sparkling, the dimple was flashing in its full glory. "And you would've had to change the tire with all the traffic on your side?"

     Of course Asad didn't need reminding of this incident. That horny night was pure hell...those incredibly foolish delays after delays..."Yeah, so? Zoya, why are we here rehashing bad memories?" 

     "Mr. Khan, look what I ordered from Amazon!" She held out the box for him to peer in. Something orange flashed in there. Asad reeled at the color assault.

     "What are these?"

     "Traffic cones with reflectors!" Zoya announced with her usual you're-welcome-I'm-so-awesome face.

Asad tilted his head in puzzlement. Here was the problem: if he let his wife explain things at her own terms and pace then they'd be here for another half hour. But if he asked to get to the point ASAP, she got to the point with glaring gaps in the information. So he had to decide: was he going to listen to her whole speil, or was he going to play detective trying to figure out the clues on his own.

     "Traffic cones?" 

     And then Asad remembered that even that night he'd laughed at her when she'd come up to him wrapped in a perfumed saree, a peek-a-boo thong and teetering on her fu*ck-me heels. He'd been sick with se*xual frustration then and in the middle of this lust-logged crisis she'd demanded, "where're the traffic cones?"

    "Hunh?"

     "You know, those orange cones with reflectors that you put out around a car so that oncoming traffic knows to avoid you? It's for safety reasons, Mr. Khan!"

     "Americans and their fantasies of chaos-control!" Asad had muttered that night too. 

Asad shook his head now. His wife was still congratulating herself on her smarts.

     "You should keep them in the trunk for any future emergency. And then when you have to pull over, you just set them out like this." And she bent over to set five uglyass orange cones around the car--his car.

Asad groaned. First at the delectable ass waving in his face. And then at the junk that was piling in his car thanks to a very determined wife. There were now baskets of back-up supplies in the trunk for supposed emergencies. Caps for cap emergencies, a tissue box for tissue emergencies, extra shopping bags for shopping emergencies, Zaid things for Zaid emergencies, phone chargers for charging emergencies, hand sanitizers in the front and back for hand-sanitizing emergencies, a comb and brush and scrunchies for hair emergencies, air freshners for freshening emergencies, a pair of sunglasses for emergencies when she went flying out of the house and forgot to pick up her sunglasses on the way out. A pair of tweezers for when something fell between the car seats, a glitter-coated trash receptacle for trash emergencies, a neck roll and eye-mask for sleeping on long drive emergencies, a soft blanket for when it became too cold for Ammi in the car... 

     "Why has the car become a mini-house as if we're going camping?" Asad had mumbled.

     "Exactly!" Zoya had gloated, so proud of her equally-smart husband. "Back home in New York, my car was my office. It had everything I ever needed!"

     "Even traffic cones?"

     "Even traffic cones," Zoya clapped for his intelligence. "In fact Jeeju made me keep flares in the car too."

     "Flares?" Asad asked. Why would Jeeju make her keep bellbottoms in the car? Must be another American thing.

     "You know, those stick things that you light up? They're also for emergencies to signal for help, or to barricade a traffic lane." 

Asad had smacked his head. This was really too much. 

     "Zoya, this is not New York. Please don't go around putting cones and flares around a car here--you'll get run over in a second. In fact I refuse to put those dumb cones in my car--they'll get stolen the minute you put them out. And don't you even dare order flares from Amazon!" He could just imagine what disaster would follow if Ayaan got hold of them. 

And then his face paled. 

  
Oh. My. God. Being Muslim and ordering flammable stuff on the internet? RAW would be on them so fast that his wife wouldn't be able to Allah-Miyan-what's-wrong-with-you out of it to save her own pretty little ass. She would be deported for sure and he would just die. 

  
And so she was ignoring him even today. And he knew it too. He had after all tried to make her simple act of helpful Zoyaness into an international incident rife with SWAT teams and immigration police. And he'd threatened to have her Amazon account frozen.

Dilshad loved to see them around the kitchen. In typical American ease for PDA, Zoya stopped to hug and plant a kiss on Asad's cheek every now and then in between mashing bananas for Zaid, or whipping eggs or folding in pancake batter. And even though he loved it, he would redden knowing that Ammi could see.

In the early days Asad would try to remind his wife to behave with a throat-clearing, or one of those signature head-nods. But now he'd learned to ease up on himself too. And although Dilshad was strict about them behaving in front of others, she never minded this Asad-Zoya non-nok-jhonk moments. It was good to see them fight; it was even better to see them bantering and touching each other. 

Though today, there was some moody tension between the two. There was obviously some post-spat and almost-made-up chemistry at work here.  
She watched Asad sneak a kiss on Zoya's fingers. Her happy chirrup made him frown. He had just planted a quick kiss on her hand so Ammi wouldn't look. And now she had broadcast it to the whole house!

Thank god for Zoya being demonstrative, thought Dilshad as she turned away with a smirk. It had made her son uncoil--a Persian rug unfurled in its glorious reds and blues. A walled-in Asad had had to slice open his heart to let her in. And Zoya, zindagi par excellence, had crawled right in and burrowed in there to find home. Once inside, she'd thrown all the old junk and angry gunk away. So what if her son's car was filling up with labors of love?   
Dilshad watched Zaid play with his dump truck. The truck family had multiplied as had his truck vocabulary. To his Dadi all the vrrr-ing and brrrmmm-ing was music. 

But this music was soon interrupted.

     First a clatter and then an annoyed Jahanpanah voice: "why can't you be more careful!"  
  
     "Mr. Khan, chill will you? Why are you so hyper? Jeez, it's just a spoon."

     "A spoon? It could've been a knife!" Like it had been only a few weeks ago.

     "And it could have been a spoon, and guess what? It was! Life happens."

     "What does that even mean? Do you even know what it means? Don't just throw around random American phrases to cover up--"  
     "Allah miyan, what's wrong with you Mr. Khan? Get off my ass!"

Mmm. That ass. It did distract him for a moment.

     "I'm just saying that when Ammi is in the kitchen she doesn't go around dropping knives and spoons."

Uh-oh. Now he'd really stepped in it. 

     Zoya's eyes squinted. She grabbed his head by the ear and hissed in it, "there's a lot of things I do that Ammi doesn't do for you! Shall we make a list?" And to punish him for being a total ass she shoved her tongue down his ear.

Asad blushed a beetroot-red and went hard the same instant. 

I guess you're going on a se*x-fast today too, Mr. Khan, his wife's murderous glare implied. 

     "Incredibly foolish!" he spluttered. Where was that woman who he'd once made the mistake of thinking as "bholi" and "masoom?" 

     "Control freak!" Zoya cried out as she took a bunch of spoons from the drawer and threw them all on the floor. 

     "Ms. Farooqui!"

     "Mr. Khan!"

     "Allah!" Dilshad smacked her forehead.  

     "La mya, aaa yuuu... bbbrrrmmm," sang Zaid as the dump truck chugged up the sofa arm.

Welcome to Sunday mornings at the Khan house.  
   
 

Song in Title:  
Dil se (1998): "Chhainya Chhainya


	137. Taaveez Banaake Pehnoon Usay

 

     “Did you read about the new Apple Watch?” Asad asked.

     “Hmm?” Zoya was dressing Zaid who refused to stay still enough to get his munchkin arms into the tiny tee. Bathing him had already been an exhausting splashfest. She’d get changed herself if she found the time. 

     “Apparently it can detect if you fall and send an emergency alert,” Asad continued. 

     “Really? That’s so cool, especially for the elderly--Zaid! Settle down, baby!”

     Asad grinned. And not just at his squirming son trying to wriggle away from his Ammi. He took hold of Zaid’s waist to steady the little guy. “Hmm, it would be cool for you in particular.”

      “What would be cool?”

      “The watch. For you.” 

      “Why?” Her old one, a birthday gift from him, worked perfectly fine. Why’d she need a new one?

      “Well … since you’re such an expert at falling! It could send me an alert and I’d rush to your rescue.”

      “Mr. Khan!”

Asad laughed as he knew he would. Making fun of his wife  _and_ reliving their history had to be the most M.A. bonus of married life. But then he needed to behave himself too once in a while. How else would he enjoy the benefits of married life? 

Meanwhile Zoya flung Zaid’s shorts at his face. Asad managed to dogde the missile. Zaid crowed wanting to play this new game. He crawled-toddled to his dad wanting his shorts back. Zaid cackled when Abbu tackled him on his back and shoved his resisting legs into the shorts.  

     “Buu,” he giggled when Asad kissed his toes. “Ah may! Ah may!” Zoya was convinced her son was saying M.A. 

And maybe he was. 

     “So that list, hmmm?” Asad asked after Zaid and Dobby zipped out of the room to go in search of Dadi to tell her how their team won the wrestling game against Ammi and Abbu’s.      

     “What list?” Zoya asked hair scrunchie in her mouth as she re-tied her hair. Zaid and Dobby were chasing each other in the living room, Dadi-search forgotten. 

     “The one you were reminding me of this morning in the kitchen? The things-only-Zoya-does-for-me list.”

She laughed. Now how did she know  _that_ list would come back to bite her in the butt. 

     “Tonight,” she promised before skipping off to join the kids. 

 

His phone pinged and Asad pinched the bridge of his nose. Great. Just bloody great. She’d assigned him homework in the office again. He’d made the mistake of telling his wife the other day that she had started to cuss a bit. A lot actually. A lot of F-bombs and shi*ts. And he’d been perfectly neutral in his tone. Totally non-judgmental. Not even a little Akdu. He didn’t even frown and growl. There was no Jahanpanah edge to his voice even.  But that hadn’t stopped her from climbing up that high horse of hers and lecturing him for not understanding context. The context of why she needed to cuss and swear. Or even why he thought she needed his “permish” to speak her mind. When had “permission” been re-named “permish” he’d wondered as she berated him. Where was he when this naamkaran happened? 

     And now madam had sent him a link to an article. With an angry caption that read: “Here Mr. Khan. Here’s your ‘context’.” He could imagine her making the angry air quotes and even splitting the word into two: CAAN and TEXT for added emphasis. She would probably jump up on the settee to make her point. 

     “Read. It,” came the imperial instructions next. “And please note that the writer is an Egyptian-American Muslim feminist--so don’t try n tell me about tehzeeb and tameez, K?”  

Oh sh*it. Now there really would be a quiz. He better get it right. Asad was almost looking forward to failing and getting deliciously punished. But his wife couldn’t be trusted. Asad shuddered. What if she decided a se*x strike was to be the punishment?  

     Another text soon came tripping. “LOL, I’m not as serious or ticked off as the previous text suggests. Just pash enough about the subject to napalm the opposition!!!” 

Oh god, more Americanese vernacular to add to his Zoyadictionary.  

     Then a final message: “Ironic hunh, that her name’s Mona!!!” Little did Raabert know the sisterhood he’d made her a part of with this flippant moniker.

Shaking his head, Asad clicked opened the article. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Fifteen minutes later he was still reeling. Asad bookmarked the article to re-read later because this needed some serious re-alignment of his “Jahanpanah mode” as his wife liked to call it. Zoya had chipped away at many of his 17thcentury ideas. Thank god. And now thanks to her “pash,” he was being introduced to a slew of feminists the world over. Two-three years ago, his Tehzeeb-meter would have gone haywire before going up in smoke at this “radical rudeness” as a form of patriarchal resistance. Now he was wondering if suggesting making a red-haired Mona Eltahawy doll for their collection would get him brownie points with his wife. If it did, by god, he’d die trying!

 

     “Asad?” Zoya asked after one item had been checked off the wish list that night and she’d quizzed him about his new feminist education.

     “Hmm.”

     “I’ve changed my mind.”

She couldn’t understand why her husband was laughing all of a sudden. Zoya pouted. “What? What’s so funny, Mr. Khan?”

     “You’re so funny.”  
  
     “Me? What’d I do that’s so hilarious?” That frown was growing. And he was about to be treated to a tempestuous tantrum if he didn’t behave his non-funny self. 

     “You changed your mind once before too. When I got you the iPad and phone to replace the ones you lost in Maglapur.” 

Zoya still couldn’t find the humor in any of this. That was ages ago! What did one thing have to do with the other?  

     “So?” 

     “You were up to your usual Jhansi ki rani antics trying to stop me from finding out that Mariam was hiding in the store room, remember?”

     “Hmmm.” Of course she remembered that! Silly Mariam had gone traipsing into Mr. Khan’s bathroom and left her dupatta there. The only way to not raise his suspicions (or hackles) was to waltz into his room and pretend the dupatta was hers. Luckily she’d spied the paper bag with the new iPad and phone. She had rejected his peace offering just a half hour ago. And voila, her brilliant mind had come up with an M.A. solution. As usual.

     “I’ve changed my mind,” she’d said as she grabbed the bag of tech goodies--the perfect decoy. So smart Zoya Farooqui. Always thinking on her brilliant feet!

And Mr. Khan’s lips had curled in amusement--even then she’d wondered that the man actually knew how to smile.

     “Accha hua badal liya,” he’d said. “Pehle wala kaam nahin karta tha!”

And her jaw had come unhinged. Her mouth had formed the biggest, roundest O. Mr. Khan actually being cool and collected and so gorgeously snarky? Admiration at his wit and indignant outrage had warred inside her even then. 

     “ ‘Accha hua badal liya. Pehle wala kaam nahin karta tha!’ You actually said that to me! To my face! How dare you? So, so evil, Mr. Khan!” And Zoya grabbed the nearest pillow to wallop him.  

     Asad laughed as he dodged her lobbies. “OK fine, fine. I’m sorry. So what’ve you changed your mind about this time?” 

     Zoya’s frown reappeared. She wasn’t sure she was in the mood to tell him any more. But she couldn’t resist laughing when he started to tickle her. “No, stop! Asad, please!”

     “Tell me then.” 

     “I was thinking …” she began after catching her breath. She flashed her eyes at him in warning. Asad held his ears with both hands in mute apology. Would he dare to make fun of his begum’s thinking when god knows what pearls of wisdom were about to fall from those lips? 

     “Hmmm.”

     “I was thinking that we won’t name our first daughter Amna.” 

     “Why not? I love that name!” 

     “I know. Me too. But …”

     “What?” Asad sensed her seriousness. Something was bothering her. He pulled her to him to tuck her head under his chin. “Are you OK?”

She nodded. And sniffed. 

     “Zoya?” Asad grew alarmed. Now he felt more of a heel for making fun of her earlier. “What is it, baby?” 

     “No, it’s nothing to worry about. I was just thinking … what if we named her Zainab? Would you mind too much?”

     “Of course not! That’s a great idea--and a lovely tribute to your Ammi. I love it.”

     “Really?”

Asad smiled. It was so easy to make her smile. And laugh. 

     “Really. Truly.”

     “Umm, and it’s not just because it’s my Ammi’s name. I’ve been reading about the historical Zainab of Karbala too--from the seventh century. She was badass! A great orator and leader. And I found out that Zainab means ‘lion-heart.’ Wouldn’t that be perfect? Asad the lion’s daughter, Zainab!”

     “And Zoya’s,” Asad added. “And you’re the most lion-hearted of us all!” 

Aww, this is why kids, I love your Abbu so damn much. 

     “So tell me again, what the cumgutter things are?” Asad asked after a proper kiss.

Zoya rolled her eyes. She’d explained the term to the man, in excruciating detail, at least eleventeen times by now--the physics and geography of it, the anatomy. The chemistry. But Mr. Khan was being badmash again.

Asad grinned when he saw her huff in impatience. He loved to see her eyes sparkle, the manic hand gestures, and the eventual blushing when she played the se*xual teacher armed with brand-new lesson plans and vocabulary. My god, the things he had learned from this woman! The things he had no awareness of till she swooped from heaven into his life.  

     “Hmm?” he encouraged doing his headshake thing when she said nothing. 

     “What?” The pout and frown intensified. But her lips were curling.

     “I forgot. What do they mean, again?” 

     “Mr. Khan, you know exactly what they mean! You’re just being naughty.” 

     “Hey, I was always the best student in school--never naughty!” Asad held the skin at his throat to swear absolute truth. “And I need to know. What if there’s a test? I need to get an A+ to impress my teacher!” 

     Zoya pursed her lips to keep from laughing and flashed her eyes at him. In her book, this guy always got an A+. And he knew it too. She started giggling as she covered her face. “Asad, you’re so bad!”  

     “How bad?” he asked, pulling her hands off her eyes. 

     “Bad, bad.” 

     “That bad?” 

     “Um-hmm.” 

     “So an F?” 

     “Totally!” 

     “You know what F stands for, right?” 

     “As--ad!!!” Only multiple whacks with a pillow would stem all this full-on badmashi. But her giggles got in the way of true retribution. 

     He tossed the pillow to the floor and dragged her to him by snagging a slim ankle. “How about a live demo this time? You can use my body to show me what cumgutters really are!”

     “Oh really? You’ll be my anatomical model?” 

Asad swallowed. What was he getting himself into? 

     “Really.” 

Ooh, that husky “really” was too much. She thought about the infinite possibilities for a micro-second. And then Zoya hopped off the bed to rummage in the console drawer for his old architect’s tool kit. He’d told her about it being his first one from college. It had been expensive at that time. He’d scrimped and saved to be able to buy one. 

     “Hmm,” she murmured as she tapped a thoughtful finger to her chin. “Let’s see, what do we need here for our demonstration … Yes, a ruler! But why are there so many?”  

     “Some are architectural, and some engineering scales.” Asad groaned as she pulled out the anodized aluminum scale.  

     “Perfect!” Next Zoya held up the T-square. “Nah!” She poked around some more. “What’s this?”

     He gulped. “It’s a laser distance meter.”  

     “A camera? Why a camera?” 

     “For project photos. And documenting construction progress and design changes.” That and the laser meter too had been expensive at the time. He’d had to settle for used ones paid for in installments. Thank god for Mr. Yadav’s second-hand electronic shop near the college. And his generous credit policy! It had been a lifesaver for poorer and disadvantaged students.  

     “Good,” Zoya put both articles next to her multiplying supplies. Supplies of torture they would be.  

     “And this?” 

     Asad cleared his throat. “An adjustable triangle.”

     “What’s it do?” 

     “For drafting angles.”

     “Angles, hmm? It might be just the thing we need to measure cumgutter angles! What’re drafting dots?”

Ahh, drafting dots. Something he’d decided to skip buying the first two years. Why spend on frivolous items when common tape would do? Drafting dots were for students whose parents had disposable incomes.  

She had added tracing paper, Sharpies and mechanical pencils to the growing pile. My god. The drafting brush too? What exactly did she have planned for him? 

     Zoya clapped softly for herself. “OK, I think we’re ready to begin.” Zaid was sleeping after all. She turned around to order her student. “Strip.”

     “What?” 

     “Why so shocked, Mr. Khan? You’re the one who wanted an extended lesson with a live demo! I thought you wanted to impress the teacher?” 

     “Umm … voh, actually …” 

     “Nope, too late now. So class, here we have our student volunteer, Asad Ahmed Khan. Let’s give him a big round of applause.”

Dobby paused in the middle of washing himself. Ammi was obvio talking to him. She was doing the soft golf claps again. Those always meant that either he or Zaid had done something marvelous … and since Zaid Miyan was asleep it must mean … 

Dobby stretched his back and rose to stalk over to and circle Ammi. He arched against her jeans. 

     “Good boy,” she murmured in approval. Dobby purred. Though she had probably meant it for the student who was now divesting himself of his kurta.

And that night Mr. Khan was passionately tutored in the subject so he’d never fail any exam ever again. His body as a living canvas, the cumgutters were carefully measured, then outlined and marked with a Sharpie. Zoya had trailed kisses along them after she wrote boldly on his chest in black ink, “MINE!” She told him to roll over and stamped, “Sole Property of Zoya Farooqui,” across his back. “Tresspassers will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law,” was in fine print--all across his butt. Asad saw what it all looked like in the photos she took, and blushed with pride. 

     “Delete these,” he said later.

     “Never!” 

     "Zoya, please! What if someone sees the pictures?”

     “Oh, Mr. Khan! You’re too cute but need to have more faith in me. These pictures will go into a special password-protected vault. Along with the others.” 

Asad gulped. He’d forgotten there were others. 

     “What others?” he teased, knowing full well he’d be treated to all of them in welcome punishment. He also knew the name of this vault and went beetroot red whenever he remembered the album title: Fifty Shades of Jahanpanah. 

Zoya gasped at his audacity to ask “what others?” 

     “You know exactly ‘what others’!” 

     “I’ve forgotten. Remind me again.” 

     “Really, Mr. Khan? Fishing for compliments again?” 

     Asad grinned. “I don’t need to fish. You’ll be thanking me for each one of those x-rated pictures for fifty years to come!”

     “And video!” 

     Oh shit, yes, there was a video too. “Let’s watch!” 

     Zoya cackled in triumph. “Told ja!”

And they relived a video from their honeymoon of a certain rockstar strip-tease he’d performed for her--and the backstage party. This was followed with a live se*xual intermission. 

And then they flipped through the snaps of the other strip-tease he’d done for her with a pink boa around his neck with Dobby in front of his junk. This “Desi Boyz” act had been later accompanied by a guitar and the strains of “Beintehaa.” There were other risqué pictures of Mrs. Khan from her first morning after their nikah, another with her pregnant, and decked in only his tie. And yet another, her breastfeeding their son. In the nude. 

This vault was soon closed up, sealed tight with hazaar kisses. 

 

 

Ahh, the prom! Zoya couldn’t help patting herself on the back again. It had been M.A. Better than she’d even imagined. Thank you, Allah miyan!

But like all things in her life, it had seemed like it would be a major disaster at first. First, Zaid had taken ill. A nasty cold and cough had wiped out the little guy. All the phoonks and duas hadn’t been able to prevent the cold from setting home in the tiny chest. Poor little Zaid Miyan had to take a leave of absence from his adventures with Dobby Miya-oon--no Operation Pyaari Atma or Lal Dhamaal, no daring Dhoni rescues from Toofan Mona for the kids. The doctor had used terrifying words like “infantile asthma.” Local pharmacies had been raided to find just the right nebulizer for Baby Khan.  

And then making Zaid miyan sit still for a minimum of ten minutes to wear the nebulizer mask and inhale the congestion-clearing dawa was an Olympic sport. The kid bucked and kicked worse than a horsey. He struggled against the nanu-dadu arms trying to hold him captive. The Badi Dadi-Dadi-Chhoti Dadi and Nani dance choreographies and concerts had no calming effect on him. Nor balloons and bubbles. Even Dobby dancing to “DJ wale babu mera gana bajaa de” and assisted by Ammi didn’t work. 

Only his Nuzzhat Phuphi was somewhat successful with her drama props and dialogues. And only when Abbu read him stories, Zaid didn’t mind sitting still while putting the monster mask on. Abbu had taken two days off from work. Ammi had stayed home with him and then she’d fallen sick too. 

Tissues flew, a thousand and one thermometers competed with each other as Abbu declared each one of them incredibly foolish. 

Asad had his hands full with a sick baby and wife. Dobby tried to help by sniffing both patients’ noses, but he’d go flying when either them sneezed in his face. He missed his hourly scritches and petting. Life was generally miserable and there was nothing good to purr about.  

And in the midst of spiking temperatures, achy bodies, and phlegmy chests, Zoya was also trying to co-ordinate the prom details. She had to poke her stuffy nose into the finishing touches that Humaira, Aunty, and Nuzzhat were handling. She hated missing out on all the last-minute planning fun! And she also hated that Asad had banned her from chaat, chilled diet cokes, kachoris and pizzas. 

     “Incre-DIB-ly foolish,” she muttered behind his back, making a face. Asad turned around just in time to snatch her phone from her on which she was texting Humaria to pick up a pizza on the way. 

     “Do I have to confiscate your phone to get you to behave?” he asked patiently, fists on his waist.  

     “But Asad--”

     “No,” he held up a firm finger. “Get better soon and then you can eat whatever crap you want.” 

     “But I’m feeling fine!” 

     He came over to place a hand on her forehead. “Really? I don’t think so.” 

     “Hmmmph!” 

     “Rest. Behave. And if you’re not running a temperature by this evening, I may think of treating you to a lava brownie.” She perked right up with that. Jahanpanah had mastered the art of microwaved mug cakes and brownies lately. “But only if you’re good. I’ll check with Ammi.” Zoya’s face fell at the mean-ass finger wagging. 

She nearly snapped his finger off but Asad was quicker. Chuckling, he dropped a kiss on her head before heading for work.

Zoya flopped back on her pillow. Ugh, she hated being sick. And so sad that Zaid was sick too. His coughing sounded pretty rough and that gurgle in the chest was simply heart-breaking. And then the big, bad antibiotics had led to a runny stomach. Poor baby. The only silver lining was that he would let her hold and cuddle him without squirming too much.  

Zaid snuffled next to her. Zoya lifted him to settle him on her chest. 

     “Hi baby!”

He raised his head and beamed.  

     “Is my baba-baby feeling goody-good?” 

     “Goooooooody!” 

     “Awww, good boy!” She hugged him. This was good news indeed. Looks like the little Khan was on the road to mending.  

 

 

Zoya had stopped worrying about Zaid's toota-phoota vocabulary. His babbling had expanded to including multiple syllables however nonsensical they may be. 

     “If he’s respoding to your talk and expressions, waving, pointing … reaching out for a hug, then he’s being perfectly normal,” Dr. Sharma had reassured them.  

Asad’s research had corroborated this as well. So had Ammi’s gentle advice. “Najma talked sooner because girls do that. But Asad took his sweet time.” 

     “I bet it was because Mr. Khan was waiting for his words to sound just perfect! What was his first word, Ammi? I’m sure it was ‘Ammi!’ ” Then Zoya’s smile fell. What if it was “Abbu” instead? Poor Mr. Khan--that would be such sad irony. 

Dilshad laughed and Zoya perked. OK great, this meant his first word wasn’t something that would’ve caused pain to both of them as Asad grew older. 

     “I wish it was ‘Ammi.’ But Asad’s first proper word after variations of ‘mama’ and ‘baba’ was, ‘nahin’!”

     “So you’re tryna tell me that he didn’t say ‘no’ which woulda been shorter, more efficient. That Jahanpanah actually went in for a two-syllable, harder word, ‘nahin’? 

     “Exactly!” 

     “And he even pronounced the half ‘n’ sound? ‘Nahin’ he said and not ‘nahi?’ ”

     Dilshad raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

     Zoya started giggling. “Oh my god, how appropriate! Of course, it couldn’t have been anything else. He was born trying to control the universe around him, right Ammi!” 

     “That’s not all. As he said ‘nahin,’ he also held up his tiny little hand to wave a finger--”

     “Like he still does?” Zoya was in splits. “Oh my god, I wish I could’ve seen it! How cute. No wonder I love him so much!” 

     Dilshad giggled. “Me too!” 

They laughed. 

     “What’s so funny,” Asad came in wanting to know. He strongly suspected he was the butt of the joke. He smoothed his tie, hung up his suit jacket on the back of a chair, ever so precise, before sitting down at the dining table. Asad leaned over to wipe Zaid’s chin.

     “We’re just talking about how much we love you!” 

Asad blushed, not sure if Zoya was teasing. 

     “Seriously, I’m not kidding!” Zoya came up to Asad, tipped his head back by his hair, and kissed him smack on the lips before skipping off to their room.

Asad blushed harder. Damn, right in front of Ammi. Now he’d have to re-comb his hair before leaving for work. The woman had not an ounce of decorum, tehzeeb, lihaz or aabroo. 

Thank god!

 

 

The fevers eventually receded. Coughs lingered. But both Zaid and Zoya re-found their grooves in a fingersnap. Dobby’s depression lifted too. And the families heaved a massive sigh of relief.  

Even the prom prep’s hiccups dissolved.

Asad had flat refused to attend the event initially.  

     “But why?” 

     “You know I hate parties and get-togthers.” 

     “Yes, but the whole family will be there!” 

     “You also know I wouldn’t have said no to just family. But there’ll be too many other people there and I don’t want to chit-chat and move and mingle with someone I don’t know. I’d be happier at home.”

     “But Asad, you have to meet with people, be social!” 

     “Why do I need to be social? I have you.” 

Arrrgh. Now how do you counter that kinda sweetness!  

     “But I’ll miss you and won’t have any fun without you.” 

And that, apparently, was just enough to blackmail her Akdu into going.

  

 

Zoya had been dying to get a DJ and Ayaan had appointed himself the manager for this particular event. But no, Mona darling wanted a female DJ. No lists or reviews of the city’s bestest and toppest DJs had persuaded her. 

     “I want a badass girl DJ, and that’s that!”

Humaira hadn’t been too pleased about Ayaan supervising the auditions. Her General Jeeju had come to her rescue by assigning Ayaan work that would take him far, far away from girl DJ performances. Amit had filled in instead.

Another mushkil tackled and overcome.

 

 

On the big day they had all dressed simply to not overshadow the kids’ proud outfits and costumes. The older girls had designed and crafted their own wrist corsages. The moms had helped by teaching them to crochet roses and orchids that would be the centerpiece of each ornament. 

Juice, chaat, Chinese food, tikki, samosa, jalebi, kulfi and ice cream stalls pocked the courtyard at the Children’s Center. Some were manned by the students themselves. Carnival games entertained guests of all ages outside; graduates mingled in their finest inside the auditorium. Photo booths and props in the corners had everyone modeling in super formal as well as whacky poses.  

The freestyle dancing and party moves were preceded by boisterous choreographies of the children’s performances. The tiny ones performed to “Yahan ke hum Sikandar” and a standing ovation. The middle schoolers did a funny skit on the power of education. Everyone loved the old song, “Sikandar ne Porus se ki thi ladai” that opened their act. Even the teachers danced on a medley of Bollywood songs much to the kids’ delight. The high schoolers had topped it off with “Masti ki paathshala!” 

The DJ and dance party were the perfect icing to follow the fashion show and crowning of the prom king and queen. 

Asad had been particularly charmed by the choice of some old dance songs. And how the oldies had perked up! Dadi lapped up all the attention as she belted at the top of her voice, “Monica, oh my darling!” Siddiqui Saheb hadn’t been too horrified at this display. And then he too couldn’t help but smile at the youngsters dancing to “Eena, meena, dika,” “Udein jab jab zulfein teri,” or “Uthe sabke kadam.”

Of course Asad had forbidden slow dances despite his wife’s infernal pouts and verbal acrobatics.  

     “This is Bhopal not New York.” 

Duh! 

     “But being in love is such a grand thing!” 

     “Zoya, they’re kids!” 

     “Hmmpph. Mr. Khan, you act as though I know nothing!”

     “I don’t act as if you know nothing, YOU act as though you know nothing!”

     “But Asad think, what if you had taken me to my prom! We’d have slow-danced together all night long. Wouldn’t it have been absolutely gorgeous? We’d be childhood sweethearts who married young and lived happily ever after.” 

     Of course his wife knew exactly how make him feel guilty for being right. And sensible. “So you’re not content with our  _real_  love story and would rather have fiction? Aren’t we married, and already living happily ever after?”

     “Mr. Khan, you’re so useless!” 

     “I’m useless? Mrs. Khan, you need to get your head examined.” Asad yanked her to him. “Get this straight: one, these are kids in Bhopal not unsupervised, se*xually active teens in New York. Two, how could you and I have gone to your prom together? I was looking for a job at that time, barely out of college. Najma was still a kid! I didn’t have time for high school dances, nor the clothes to escort anyone to a party.”

     Zoya sniffed. “Not fair Mr. Khan, making me feel terrible now for wanting you to be my prom date. Can’t a girl dream of alternate endings and beginnings to a fairy tale romance?” 

     Asad sighed before kissing her. “Fine, you dream. I’ll be the practical one. God knows, one of us needs to be the sane one around here.”

     “Oh really? And you think I’m insane?” 

     “Maybe just a little?” 

She made a face. 

 

  

But she didn’t make a face when Asad surprised her on day of the prom. First of all, she got a million dozen red roses delivered to the house in the afternoon with a card asking: “Will you be my date for the prom?” There was even a small box with the traditional corsage.  

She had screamed. Dilshad came running to find her daughter-in-law jumping on the sofa. Even Zaid had fallen back on his startled butt, distracted from reading Abbu’s book--he was putting Dobby to sleep by patting the cat’s back and telling him a bedtime story, like Ammi and Abbu did to him.  

Only later would Asad reveal to her how much time he had spent googling American proms and its quaint customs. The corsage was tricky and had to be special-ordered and designed--Asad had spent a good amount of time on the phone, sending pictures and Youtube videos to get the details just right.  

Then half way through the party Asad pulled out his second and best surprise yet--a head-signal to the DJ was all that was needed and the music slowed down. Zoya’s eyes misted when “Teri meri, meri teri prem kahani hai mushkil” came on. And then when Asad stepped forward to formally ask her to dance, she blushed. Mr. Khan, you’re impossible. And so perfect!  

He twirled her and the kids around them giggled and oohed and ahhed. Ayaan led Humaira to the dance floor and Nuzzhat dragged her Abbu to be her partner. Amit asked Dadi for a dance and she beamed. Other couples were soon swaying around them. 

     “Happy?” Asad asked after a serious dip and spin.  

     “Incandescent!” 

     “So I’m forgiven for being too practical?” 

     “Yes you are, Mr. Khan. Yes you are. You do you--continue to be more practical than ever!”

     “Thank you." Asad dipped his head in acknowledgement of his romantic superpowers. "Sugar, tonight?” 

     “Most definitely!”

     “Wish list?”

     “Everything on your wish list! But why did you choose this song? It’s kinda sad.”

     “Hmm, it had the 'prem kahani' part that you wanted. And our love story started a bit sad." She pouted and nodded her head. Asad tipped her chin up. "And I did ask her to play the best song later.” 

     “Really? Which one?” 

     “You’ll just have to wait and see. With both these songs we get the beginning and middle of our 'prem kahani'.” Asad caught the DJ’s eye and tilted his head yet again. 

     “Oh my god Asad, have I told you how much of a super Adorable and Romantic Khan you actually are!” Zoya gushed when she heard the opening bar of “Bol na halke halke.” “I love you so much for being my prom date,” she whispered as she rested her head on his shoulder.

     “You’re welcome,” Asad breathed as they swayed in each other’s arms. When Dilshad came to deposit a sleepy baby in their arms the three of them held on to each other till Zaid fell asleep at his dad’s shoulder.  

Of course the DJ didn’t forget to play the newer songs. So the kids didn’t miss out on dancing to “Abhi to party shuru hui hai,” “Kala chashma,” "Ladki beautiful," or “Nachenge saari raat.”  

But by that time Zoya had checked out. 

The rest of the evening she sat by a parked stroller, animated face in her hands, her son fast asleep next to her. Zoya was still in a dreamy fog of being hopelessly in love all over again. 

Damn, she loved proms! 

In her love-coma Zoya missed Humaira trying to make eyes at her to indicate how taken up Amit was with the DJ. Amit has enthralled the younger guests with a rap performance on true love and happily ever afters. Of course it had been PG-13! There was no way he'd offend his favorite Sir. But if anyone paid real close attention to the lyrics, they'd have connected the dots to a certain prem kahani that they were all witness to. It talked of head-on collisions, daring rescues from vipers and vampires, and "Ishq pe zor nahin." 

 

 

 

Song in Title:  
Dil se (1998): "Chhainya Chhainya  
 

 


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